On Heartmind, Cass McCombs enters the double-digit-album phase of his career, a quantitatively rarified place for any songwriter; rarer still, though, is the fact that he does not yet seem to have settled into a qualitative sound or pattern, of singing the same thought twice (or perhaps even once). Songs like "Karaoke" are a god-level burst of power-pop perfection, as fetching as anything Cass has ever cut. The springy staccato guitar, the vaporized electric keys, the melody seemingly born for singing or clapping or dancing along: Cass triangulates a perch of his very own out among The Go-Betweens, The dB's, and The Cure, and vibrates there, a beacon. And then, of course, there is the song's playful if painful lyrical conceit-the lover who is making all the sacred motions of commitment but whose feelings may be no more deep or real than someone simply reading the lyrics for "Vision of Love" or "Stand by Your Man" from some crowded bar's TV screen.