If I were to give an award to the most consistent performer in my music collection, I’m pretty sure it would go to Ron Sexsmith. He’s released seven or eight solo albums now and there isn’t a bad song on any of them.

He’s so consistent, in fact, that if you were to play me one of those songs I would have a hard time naming which album it’s on. It’s as if he sat down and recorded 100 expertly crafted gems and then listed them in random order and assigned twelve at a time to different albums.

That’s both good and bad. On the plus side, it’s nice to know what you’re going to get when what you’re going to get is this good. On the negative side, it’s nice to see an artist stretch his wings a little bit and offer up a concept album or an album played entirely on the recorder or something that shakes him out of his comfort zone.

But, at the risk of repeating myself, when the comfort zone is this comfortably good, it’s hard to complain too loudly.

Here’s a sultry little ballad from… I don’t know, one of his albums.