Yves Jarvis Credit: Courtesy the Artist

Songs don’t so much rise out of Yves Jarvis’s Sundry Rock Song Stock (Anti-) as they swim around, fray, and dissolve. In that sense, the most characteristic track on the Canadian producer and multi-instrumentalist’s new album, the woozily liquid “Ambrosia,” is one of the oddest. Anxiously percolating keyboard and an echoing, violinlike noise wander past each other for the first two-thirds of the song, at which point a distant, distorted bass beat creates an abstract, aspirational groove, as though a dance floor is trying to coalesce from a primordial but pristine pool. The sound of Sundry Rock Song Stock has some crossover with Animal Collective’s psychedelic folk and with Syd Barrett’s deliberately broken compositions, but it’s more insular than the first and less desperate than the second. Listening to an Yves Jarvis album can feel like hearing the whisper of pleasantly chemically enhanced contemplation, with thoughts cohering, morphing, and flowering into sprays of color somewhere between the medulla and the cerebellum. Gentle folksy tunes strum their way into new age ambient electronica, experimental dissonance, or both at once, and his multitracked vocals slip in and out of harmony—he creates a singular voice out of delicately curated incoherence.   v