Rosenberg’s dad must love the title track to House Arrest, a flicking pop glow-stick yoked to a voicemail where he lambasts the singer for an utter lack of responsibility, then urges him to “call me when you have a chance.” There’s something deeply oxymoronic about this, so it’s fitting that “House Arrest” surfaces on the album that best demonstrates that for all his failing, Rosenberg gives a fuck about something. The toughest aspect of this feature turned out to be deciding which album would top it. For a long time — from the moment of pitching to a couple days ago — The Doldrums seemed to the one to beat, because (rockism alert!) it hung together best as a collection songs. For a day or two the mania of Scared Famous seemed like a shoo-in. Throughout, House Arrest lingered in the second spot. Fact is, though, this record is what I reach for whenever I’m fiending for an Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti fix.

Recorded between October 2001 and July 2002, House Arrest doubles down on everything that’s ecstatic about Rosenberg’s songwriting. For acid-dipped majesty, “Gettin’ High in The Morning” can’t be beat; the sheer irresistibility of chicken-fried “West Coast Calamities” is almost enough to overcome the fact that you’ll never think about Girl Scouts the same after hearing it. “Almost Waiting” suggests some weird garage-country doo-wop hybrid. The eminently perennial “Interesting Results” is a killer song about how it’s impossible to know whether any song you write will ultimately kill. “Alisa” and “Helen,” two of Rosenberg’s earliest stabs at balladry, are genuinely affecting if lyrically over the top; it should come as no surprise to anyone that the latter sounds like a Motown-produced Herman’s Hermits. Wooly, wacky, and damned with terrible fidelity, House Arrest is undeniably, almost obscenely accessible.