Samantha Crain has always rightly been praised for her voice, an earthy but spectral instrument that wraps itself around every syllable in surprising ways. What stands out amid the rumpled living-room indie of Gumshoe are the words themselves: “Melatonin tablets, mint chocolate chip ice cream/Cigarettes, a watch, a list of things I brought you in rehab” (“Melatonin”) or “The stacks of VHS tapes/And the freezers full of food/TV Guides and cartoon cake pans/Chenille bedspreads, beatitudes” (“B-Attitudes”). It’s not that the writing, beautiful as it is, stands apart from the music—it’s that the music so fully embodies the writing, which is both domestic and surreal, familiar but totally striking. Crain finds the mystery right in front of her.