Dreams. Personhood. Quiet summer nights. Sun Records. The Velvet Underground & Nico. Nico solo. Lonely bus stations. Dark train yards. Trying to find my way back to you. Brian Wilson. Public Strain. Death to devices. Death to memes. Death to the vacant wave. Nancy Sinatra. The Castiles. T Rex. Lost songs by The Shangri-Las beamed from a distant planet. The past is gone. The past is now. True expression. Fuck what they think. The underground. The guitar. The road, the rail, the sun, the (silver) moon. The early 1960s. Love and longing. The magical properties of recorded noise.

These are just some of the thoughts that have entered my mind while listening to Diamond Jubilee, the hypnotizing, boundaryless 32-track collection of music released by Cindy Lee (Patrick Flegel) earlier this year, first in digital-only format and more recently as a 3xLP vinyl edition by Superior Viaduct.

Across the album's 32 tracks, Flegel cross-pollinates haunting melodies, intricate arrangements, and distinctive pop sensibilities to create a wonderfully sprawling work—errant but never uneven—blending nostalgia and here-and-now existence. There are so many hooks. So many turns. The ideas are as limitless as Flegel’s capacity to express them. The eerie splendor of Glitz. The odd exuberance of Olive Drab. The dissonant, screeching guitar trance of I Have My Doubts. The shimmering instrumental elegance of Realistik Heaven. The Khruangbin-esque funk of Dracula.

Diamond Jubilee is such a deep well, and it captures the strange miscellany of human existence with such sweet idiosyncrasy that when it ends, the only thing to do is play it again.