The retro-’80s feints that plague our era fall short in the face of this quasi-genuine article, a Steely Dan-caliber work of smuggling in devastated lyrical observations under the guise of unremitting, beautiful smoothness. This is triple-glazed glossy sophisti-pop with a sandy under-layer of claustrophobic sorrow that Dan Bejar is dismayed to see in other people — though he’s at least perceptive enough to pick up on just how that sorrow’s grinding them down and empathetic enough to try and help them stop it.