Tripping on something or other, the ultimate song-poem savant situates himself in a shimmering, coolly compressed and echoey California pop mix in order better to reflect on the “truth” of the globe. Everyone says it’s round, a sphere, but that’s either too smooth or too coherent and holistic: “Perhaps the world’s a cube, or a tunnel or a tube.” Planetary mapping must begin from edges, angles, and holes.