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When he keens about going "Where the Wild Things Are," Patrick Watson need only look close by -- he's already three feet off the ground in his own strange, beautiful world. The Canadian singer-songwriter's third album of baroque pop is a meandering path of Puckish enthusiasm and Jeff Buckley warmth, moonlit and effusive with churning pianos, tense strings, and crisp xylophone. More ambitious than on past efforts, Watson slips through quiet night spaces, and like Sendak's Max, puts on his wolf suit, making mischief of one kind, then another, until Wooden Arms flares with his vibrant energy.

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