The last time we deliberated on the topic of Sean Tillman and his spotlight project, Sean Na Na, the verdict was still out. At least for this writer. Now, after a year off the road (literally, the highway) to which Tillman was faithfully married, Sean Na Na resurfaces with a new record label, a new publicist, and a new lease on life with My Majesty, an eleven-track music box packed with an assortment of sparkling, enticing pop gems that take Tillman's bitterness and clever wit to a whole new level of dark, genius banter.

Whereas an album like Dance 'Till Your Baby's a Man suffers from an excess inclusion of what I would call filler, My Majesty sticks to the high spots, coming across like an award-winning mix tape for the jaded lovers at a Bret Easton Ellis writer's workshop. Simply put, My Majesty is pound-for-pound the best disillusioned indie audio diary of this young year, and will certainly prove to be an early benchmark for the compilation of my year-end list.

Take the soft, marching hymn-like "F You A-Bomb", which opens with the line "The foreman has sent me 'cause the gallows are empty and someone needs to be hung." Or the following anthemic pop-rocker, "Big Trouble," which begins with the revelation that "Everybody's held a knife to their own wrist" and eventually winds its way up to climax with a hypnotic guitar whirl and Tillman's decree "If I don't talk to you don't talk about me/ My hate is an easy thing to cultivate." The societal commentary continues on frighteningly graphic tracks like "The Human Raft" and patently backhanded indie rock relationship tracks like "Surrender Foreign Lizzy" and the closer, "I Need a Girl," in which Tillman is at his most poignant. "I need a sugar mommy to pay for me," he explains, going on to elaborate that his feminine partner would be a nurse, a sexy shrink, a new wave girl, a family girl, an older women or "a girl who's all of these things to some degree."

As the song fades and the soft piano twinkles out on Tillman's final confessional, he admits that he may never be truly happy if his every desire is not satisfied. And, even if it were, there would still be those shit-talkers and scenester boys and girls jockeying for position. As long as Sean Tillman's pissed and working, I'm happy and listening.