For those not familiar with pop singer/songwriter Jens Lekman, he is somewhat of an enigma. Ineptitude with women is a recurring theme in his lyrics, yet he tours with an all-female ensemble. He is Swedish, yet sings almost all of his songs in English. His records sound as though they are backed by a full band and orchestra, yet Lekman records most of the parts on his records by himself in his apartment.

And his newest album, Night Falls Over Kortedala, further adds to the conundrum that is Jens Lekman. Night Falls Over Kortedala could possibly be one of the most beautiful pop records released this year. It is named after Lekman's native neighborhood in Gothenburg, Sweden, which he describes on his record label's website as a "depressing suburban hell" where "you can walk for hours without meeting a single person."

How such a place could foster the romanticism and allure of Night Falls Over Kortedala is a mystery. But if Kortedaladid indeed inspire the stunning collection, then every musician should be living there.

The album, which topped the Swedish charts last month and has finally made its way to the United States, begins with the ethereal ballad "And I Remember Every Kiss." Lekman's resonant baritone voice is reminiscent of an early Scott Walker as he muses on his favorite subject — lost love. "And I remember every kiss/ Like my first kiss," declares Lekman on the album's astonishing opener over pounding timpani and swirling strings.

This first track then bleeds into "Sipping On the Sweet Nectar," a song rich with lush orchestration, a four-on-the-floor drum beat and a thumping bass reminiscent of Lekman's early single "Maple Leaves." Here the lovelorn Lekman dwells on trying to enjoy ephemeral love, knowing it will someday become a memory, singing, "That's when the feeling hit/ So just lick your lips/ These are the good times you'll miss/ When you are sipping on the sweet nectar of your memories."

But Lekman's obsession with unrequited and lost love does not have the dire strain one might imagine it having. Instead, Lekman's quirky lyrics refrain from taking his sadness or himself too seriously, as his melancholy is often coupled with humor. On the bouncy single, "The Opposite of Hallelujah," Lekman ironically sings of how an attempt for sympathy is ruined: "I picked up a seashell to illustrate my homelessness/ But a crab crawled out of it making it useless."

In "Postcard to Nina," Jens Lekman wittily recounts the awkwardness of meeting his girlfriend's father: "I get a little nervous and change the subject/ I put my hand in some metal object/ He jokes and tells me it's a lie detector." His playful lyrics and wry song titles (the best being "If I Could Cry (It Would Feel Like This)") convey the personality of Lekman — that of a zany and maladroit romantic that everyone cannot help but feel attracted to.

But one of the main fortes of Night Falls Over Kortedala lies in its coherence and accessibility; the album is as accessible and appealing the first time as it is the hundredth time.

But that's not the album's only forte. "It's a beautiful record," writes Lekman of Night Falls Over Kortedala on his blog. While that might be a little presumptuous of Lekman, it is almost impossible to disagree. If I were to review this album in four words, those would be exactly the words I would choose.

From the doo-wop a cappella of "Kanske Ar Jag Kar I Dig" to the snap-along bounce of "Friday Night at the Drive-In Bingo," each of the songs on Night Falls Over Kortedala finds Lekman in a different lyrical and musical disposition. Lekman's lyrical jocularity and his proficiency in pop music give each of these dispositions its own undeniable magnetism. Night Falls Over Kortedala is a testament to the fact that Jens Lekman is an artist nonpareil when it comes to blending romance, humor and pop music.