Tracks like 'Spirals' and 'Gravity' traverse territory dangerously reminiscent of John Mayer, particularly as his vocals become breathier and less layered. It's when that stylized production suddenly vanishes that the album suffers, and following the triumphant 'Spirits,' Mirrorwriting begins to spiral downward into open-mic night fare. It happens to uproarious effect on the blue-eyed soul of 'Lady Luck,' and is just as affectingly nervous and tense on 'Spirits.' When the multiple Woons mesh with the whisper-quiet percussion and gentle chords, it's often irresistibly sleek, futurist in sound and suavely retro in execution. One particular trick you'll hear a few times: Woon weaving vocals into stunning choral arrangements. The understated instrumentals are an excellent showcase for his singing, making tiny details (the perfectly-placed synth chords on 'Street') that invade the perfectly rendered frigidity all the more powerful. Woon's production is suitably nocturnal, and for its first half Mirrorwriting is a solitary walk through the deserted city night, hinting at his past working with dubstep producers like Burial (who co-produces 'Night Air'), Subeena and Ramadanman. Think garage-tinged synth pop with full-throated R&B vocals. Woon's debut album Mirrorwriting is, like Blake's, a bona fide solo album, a hushed and isolated world where every sound comes from either his throat or the machines at his fingertips. Although his dubstep-gone-pop trajectory aligns him with James Blake or Katy B, the fellow Londoner has a sound too hooky for the former and too withdrawn for the latter, and he's more rooted in soul than either. He could sing his shopping list and I'd be swooning all the same.

Jamie Woon can sing, and that's the most important thing you need to know about him.

Jamie woon mirrorwriting rar