At a certain point the release of another Ray Bonneville disc starts to generate a certain degree of ... mmm ... resignation? Wariness? Skepticism? One knows what one is getting: noirish, mid-tempo brooding set to a recognizable groove. It will be spare, bluesy, not traditionally melodic, the difference split between John Lee Hooker and JJ Cale, a world-weary voice yet still capable on occasion of sounding spooked. The songs will conjure up a psychic vision of Bonneville as he sits alone with his guitar in an unlighted kitchen, his features framed in nighttime shadows. He's built an entire career from that perspective.

One knows, too, that the disc now emanating from the speakers won't be the equal of Goin' by Feel (reviewed here on 5 April 2008), the most inspired of Bonneville's recordings, written one infers after binge ingestion of Cormac McCarthy (by whom I mean the Southwestern novelist, not the Canadian folk singer-songwriter). For one thing, Feel gets Bonneville out of the house, into truly scary desert landscapes and harrowing encounters with crows and killers. That the stories are related elliptically -- in common with ancient ballads, they feel like narratives in which every other verse is missing -- gives them a particularly nightmarish power and beauty.

Nothing since, including At King Electric, has approached what Bonneville accomplished back then. Mostly, in his own still-distinctive manner, he is dealing, not always so distinctively, in troubled relationships and their emotional fallout, also the subject of approximately 93.8 percent of all songs ever. The sound that delivers the message, if no longer novel, yet resonates on some level; if you've heard it, you'll never mistake it for anyone else's, or vice versa. But here the songs, however ably shaped their lyrics, most often seem of a piece, more gloomy moods than discrete musical units. "Codeine," however, breaks the pattern, more or less, with Bonneville's tight, evocative recitation, spindly images, and solo guitar. You won't be humming it, but it does get your attention. There's also the New Orleans-style r&b of "Papachulalay," composed -- clearly with conscious intent -- in the style of Professor Longhair. It's a good one.

Not that anything on At King Electric, which is perfectly listenable and unfailingly intelligent, fails. Well into a career on the folk and blues circuit, Bonneville knows what he wants to do and how to do it. Even so, one wishes for more, not only a presence outside the writer's head but out in the world, where there are stories to be told, too.