It came as something of a surprise the other day to discover that it’s been something like eight years since Jim O’Rourke released a new solo album. In the interim, he’s not been entirely quiet, as involvement with Sonic Youth and the Loose Fur project with Jeff Tweedy and Glenn Kotche, as well as sundry other lower-profile activities prove. Around the time he left Sonic Youth, however, a story began to circulate that O’Rourke had moved to Japan and retired from music-making. As it turns out, only the first part of the rumour was true, as this excellent interview points out; perhaps, after so much intensive work over the preceding decade or so, he just needed a break. “The Visitor” is his wonderful, though perhaps predictably eccentric, return to action. Unlike the tightly formed rock songs of “Insignificance”, “The Visitor” consists of one unravelling 38-minute instrumental piece, harking back to the textures of 1997’s “Bad Timing”, or perhaps a vast cousin to “Ghost Ship In A Storm” from “Eureka”. It begins much in the style of “Bad Timing”, with a John Fahey-ish guitar figure; later, elements of the piece are as reminiscent of late-period Fahey (“Red Cross”, notably) as the more canonical earlier work. Soon, though, the music opens up and surges forward, as O’Rourke keeps trying out different combinations of instruments, as if trying to find a harmonious way of synthesising at least some of his massively eclectic musical interests. At times, then, it recalls a kind of folk symphony, a heavenly realisation of modern composition rescored for Laurel Canyon habitués. Picking out a bunch of possible reference points, I’m reminded of ‘70s Grateful Dead (“Weather Report Suite”, perhaps), Van Dyke Parks’ “Song Cycle” (a big O’Rourke favourite, I seem to remember), the Takoma pianist George Winston. Often, when the simple theme starts to gather momentum, O’Rourke pulls away from the meticulous arrangements and introduces a kind of loose punctuation, where the music is pensive and hesitant; hovering somewhere between minimalist composition and improv. It’s a measure of O’Rourke’s multi-disciplinary skills and sleight-of-hand that it’s tricky to tell how, exactly, “The Visitor” has been constructed: as a studio collage of part-arranged, part-improvised fragments; as a formal whole; or, as I suspect, some intangible hybrid of both . Whatever, it’s full of beautiful and engrossing music, and doubtless plenty of musical jokes and references that I’m not learned enough to spot - though I should say that O’Rourke’s expansive gifts of melody, arrangement and production make this a warm and rewarding listen even if you’ve only a fraction of his musical knowledge. Favourite bits this morning: a brief flutter of prog rock guitar, which sharply fades away to reveal a banjo moving artfully in its tracks; and a lush passage about 12 minutes in where the piano and Hammond combine in a way that wouldn’t shame Richard Manuel and Garth Hudson. A lot to take in here, though.

Over the next few weeks, there’s probably going to be a lot of words expended on how much the Arctic Monkeys have radically changed on this, “Humbug”, their third album. There’ll be a lot about the influence of Josh Homme, about the lack of perceived immediate hits and so on. Plenty of more parochial music fans may well see “Humbug” as a Great British band absolving their local cultural responsibilities and becoming seduced with America and the desert rock sound nurtured so assiduously by Homme over the past decade and a half. The truth, of course, is a fair bit more complicated. The first thing to say about “Humbug”, perhaps, is that it takes a while to bed in. As those who’ve heard “Crying Lightning” a few times now will testify, these are earworms, insidious songs which aren’t as immediate as, say, “Fluorescent Adolescent”. The second thing is that heaviness is not necessarily what Homme has brought to the band. Certainly, the guitar frequencies are deeper and more resonant in places, and that wiry sound derived in part from The Strokes and The Libertines has been largely put to one side. But Alex Turner’s snaking, edgy way with a melody remains instantly recognisable, and there’s a good argument to say that the clattering extremes of “Favourite Worst Nightmare” are a lot chewier and heavier; plainly, Queens Of The Stone Age are far from a new influence on the band. Homme’s role as producer, perhaps, has been to nurture the soundscaping that was attempted on “Humbug”’s predecessor (there are a lot of chill winds and ghostly harmonies blowing through these songs), and, critically, to encourage a sense of space and stealth. Arctic Monkeys songs are generally a lot slower this time round, moving at a measured pace with a heightened sense of menace and assuredness. Once, songs like “Dangerous Animals” and the very fine “Dance Little Liar” would gallop along at twice their speed, but now there’s a confident swagger where you can hear the musicians manoeuvre round each other in preparation for a ringing Jamie Cook solo, and detect Homme’s high, strong backing vocals finding room in the depths of the mix. Only “Pretty Visitors” really flies off the handle, but even that keeps riding up and down through the gears. A couple of highlights. “Potion Approaching”, that begins like Homme’s patented robot-rock, then shifts and evolves into a kind of twanging, shuffling glam rock. Great last line: “Would you like me to build you a go-kart?” And “Cornerstone”, one of two songs produced by James Ford rather than Homme, manages to fit into the prevailing vibe perfectly, while also suggesting an upgrade of Turner’s Last Shadow Puppets schtick and providing plenty of fuel for those who see the Arctic Monkeys as natural heirs to The Smiths.