Like Damien Jurado or David Ackles, Toronto's Rutledge is a master of gothic understatement. This wintry debut—shrouded in slow-tempo melancholy—is slyly addictive. Against spare backdrops of folk-country guitars, mandolin, piano and the odd banjo, Rutledge sounds weathered beyond his twentysomething years. An array of talent is on hand, not least of which is the reclusive Mary Margaret O'Hara (woefully underused on just one track, "A Letter To Heather"). Otherwise, Rutledge judges the balance perfectly.

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