In the later Harry Potter books, the wizard schoolboy was able to invade other people's memories with the aid of an anonymous-looking stone bowl called a pensieve. This debut solo album by Bradford Cox, who sings with performance-art-punk group Deerhunter, is the pensieve transformed into an anonymous-looking CD. Its 14 stream-of-consciousness songs delve into Cox's childhood: Recent Bedroom recalls the death of his aunt, Winter Vacation the day he met his best friend, Quarantined the months he spent in hospital as a 16-year-old. But you don't need to know the biography to appreciate the music. Woozy and glittering, it has an anaesthetic quality; its buried, slurred vocals and droning loops of doctored sound strangely hypnotic. And then comes the surgeon's knife, as Cox slices through the vagueness with a gleaming pop riff, the garage scrawl of Ativan, or melodies that surge and explode like firework stars.