Dave Knudsen's debt to Neil Young is so inescapably apparent that even I, whose acquaintance with Young's music is at best casual, hear it. There are also, here and there, hints of Chris Isaak and flavors of yet another veteran (if less famous) singer-songwriter, Steve Forbert. Knudsen even sings like Forbert on "That Ring."

No matter. If superficially derivative, The Weeping City nonetheless manages to be so unpretentiously charming -- or so charmingly unpretentious -- that it renders all objection just about instantly futile. First of all, there's Knudsen's whispery yet warmly conversational voice, full of romantic longing and regret, sailing gracefully above spare folk-rock settings through the nourish cityscape of Knudsen's native Los Angeles. Then there are those gorgeous melodies, simple but perfect, carrying evocative, emotionally rich lyrics. It has been a while since I have heard a recording that so expertly creates and sustains a particular mood (or moodiness), drawing the listener into a vividly imagined realm of shadowy streets and starlit beaches, stark emotions and ghostly memories.

All of this is rendered in a deceptively casual way that seldom feels as if it has to reach for effect. Once in a while a lyric may strike the listener as a tad awkward, as for example, "In your hair is where these ribbons belong," in the chorus to "Angel of the River" -- except that the song is so damn lovely and poignant that you easily forgive this small lapse. In fact, "Angel" was the first song I fell in love with on my first listening to the disc.

Second and third listenings bring other songs to the fore, including "Something Good That Lasts." In other hands, a title like that would amount to a warning that a saccharine bath awaits. Not here; Knudsen, for all his romanticism, isn't that kind of writer. Reminiscent of a sturdy folk-pop song from the mid-1960s, it gives voice to emotions at once complex, conflicting and recognizable, evoking love, fear, emptiness, sorrow, freedom and landscape, all in three verses and two choruses and nary a throwaway lyric or image.

Finally, there is something attractive about Knudsen's moral sensibility -- serious, even earnest, but never mawkish. The narrator of Weeping -- presumably Knudsen himself, or close enough -- is keenly conscious of his basest instincts and struggles to overcome them. That's the theme of the opening cut, "Ready in My Time," not the tough-guy's chest-thumping the first verse might suggest but a guilt-haunted man's quest for redemption some day. It is not easy to write this kind of song without sounding foolish or preacherish. Here as nearly everywhere else, Knudsen does not stumble. "Ready" sets the tone and prepares us for a journey into the heart of beautiful darkness.