Robbie Lee’s bio on I & Ear records begins with this proclamation, “I play everything on this record from the bells to the bass clarinet. The guitars are just the obvious part.” Though this crowing may come across as overly unabashed to many, Mr. Lee is not the first musician to “play everything” and toot his own horn about it. Nevertheless, this fact may serve to swerve some listener’s opinions of his music into a more positive light while forcing others, afraid of unchecked musical meanderings, to walk away from the album. And on Sleep, Memory (An album that plays out like a traveler’s diary: beautiful poems dispersed among unhinged ramblings, shards of interesting ideas, and gaps of recollection.) those dueling impulses share validity.

In my notes, of the 20 songs that appear on Sleep, Memory I have placed stars by the titles of 11. Eleven – this is the uneasy number of songs I might like to see this album edited down to. I feel as bad about saying it, as one does scratching lines from a friend’s heartfelt poem. Still, if one wants to gain more from their art than catharsis, then they must be able to self-edit. I say this out of concern – there are gems here, as hidden as they may be.

“Comes Morning” is one such gem. On it, Robbie Lee shows off (without being showy) his ability as a songwriter and multi-instrumentalist. Though, the song isn’t very “multi-instrumental” Lee exchanges his rhythm guitar for piano keys. “Comes Morning” is strikingly catching despite of and because of its simplicity. Slow, melancholy notes combine with Lee’s whispery, wire thin vocals and the occasional twinkling keys to make it beautiful. Of course this combination is nothing new in the world of longing pop music, but Lee makes it not only fresh but his own.

“Still On Their Trail” finds Lee strumming his acoustic guitar in the foreground of some well-timed sound effects, with his voice affected in quivering echo — “Sometimes they get lost/ I speak of those companions/ Spotted if they must/ In rivers, that form canyons.” Again Lee pulls the listener in by making the traditional sound distressed, even haunted, for the first time. The key here, as with the other successful songs on Sleep, Memory, is that Lee’s instrumentation complements his fragile voice, while maintaining a reassuring tone.

Some other notable tracks include: “GmbH,” a piano led song that follows a standard pop progression into a arresting ode to an old friend; “Anatomy of Melancholia,” one of the catchiest songs on Sleep, Memory, finds Lee unintentionally falling into somber My Morning Jacket territory; and “Hymn,” the album closer, shows Lee at his most successful instrumentally. “Hymn” showcases his use of: sound effects, haunting vocals, bells, and plucked guitars seamlessly, without jarring shifts in structure.

Nevertheless, the listener must have the fortitude to wade through many less than engaging tracks, such as: “Star Star Star,” “Clocked,” “Interlude 1,” “Summer Breeze, Bombs Away,” and “Barbry Allen.” Of course, all of these songs aren’t complete losses, and even have interesting moments within them. However, the sudden shifts in instrumentation and poor choices in song length, both too long and too short, cause the listener to loose patience with songs that, when taken out of context, might be quite listenable.

Robbie Lee has written an undeniably personal album. Sleep, Memory, at its best, reeks of potential and striking songs. While at its worst, with random shards of instrumentation and unmuted ramblings, we find an artist reaching for a further means of expression. And though these meanderings may serve to further his creative endeavors in the future, for now they are better left in the closet.

Grade: B