Eef Barzelay, whoever he may be, sings raw, twisted, slyly witty songs of love and yearning.
Just his lacerating voice and his acoustic guitar, strummed with such intensity that you can feel the callouses and blisters.
The effect is like strolling past a busker in a subway, stopping in your tracks a few paces down, turning around, and just watching him, transfixed, because he sounds like no-one you've ever heard before, and yet he reminds you of all the hungry young troubadors who have ever dared to make themselves heard.
I got this album through sheer curiosity, more on the strength of that bizarre name than anything else, and then the album got me and hasn't let go.
Whether you love or hate this music will depend on your tolerance for music that doesn't care whether you love or hate it. It's that personal and uncompromising.
Go on: if you're reading this, there's a pretty good chance that there's a space in your head that is waitng for the ballads of Barzelay.