Jens Lekman has it figured out. He's young, commands his own all-female touring band to color-coordinate as he wishes, tops the charts in his homeland, and currently summits a minor miracle: setting indieland's and netcrits' hearts ablaze with an actual, irreducible sense of humor. And he's a gifted melodist and arranger, which in this century means he samples the right Beat Happening tunelet to update his swanky 60s-lite orch-pop. He culturalizes his lyrics the same way, dropping Warren G into a summer memory for concreteness fans who lived through 1993 to appreciate.

2005's Oh You're So Silent Jens was an EP compilation doubling as an accidental premature Best-of; how weird is it that Oh You're So Silent has got more beginning, middle and end than either of his actual albums? But a collection befits a collector like Lekman, who collages in-jokes, Jonathan Richman-esque hopeless romanticism and fun-cheesy symphonic swells more like a scrapbooker than a traditional songwriter. His wit and tunecraft aren't quite up to, say, Stephin Merritt's peak, but these days I'd take him over not just Merritt but also the weathered tunes of Belle & Sebastian.

If nothing on Night Falls on Kortedala is as memorable as "A Sweet Summer's Night on Hammer Hill," "Pocketful of Money," or the longing "Black Cab" - all available on Oh You're So Silent - the songs aren't much of a progression downward either. Instead, Lekman stagnates, centering his best highbrow laughs (the calamity play "A Postcard to Nina," in which he tries to fool a lesbian friend's parents into thinking he's her fiancée) and saddest of ballads ("I'm Leaving You Because I Don't Love You," in which the dumpee in question puffs an asthma inhaler in solace) while his well still wets.

Kortedala is a touch shy of a great album because Lekman's ornate tendencies towards full-on kitsch get the best of the still A-level songwriting. You have to unwrap the cheese a bit before "The Opposite of Hallelujah" or "If I Could Cry (It Would Feel Like This)" sink in as enjoyable songs. This is both a good and a bad sign: this album either portends worse forays into easy listening bloat or proves Lekman's tunes can withstand anything. I'm fixed to believe the former, because the gorgeous "Shirin" or the swinging "Friday Night at the Drive-In Bingo" may not always be around the corner to reward one for stretching their schmaltz tolerance. But I hold out for the latter because of that A-level songwriting.