4:17 p.m.

4:17 p.m. has the soft, smoky pulse of a jazz-funk record at the end of a long afternoon. Its supple rhythm makes room for Morizono to sing a bittersweet romance, and the playing around him is rich with small details. “Jasmin” carries a fragrance of melancholy; “Small Cigarette” makes room for a languid waltz. “Yaruse-Night No B.G.M.” sinks further into the blue, funky side of the album.

There is also a dry city-at-night mood in “Accident Love,” as if its lovers have stepped out of a party into cooler air. Even at its most relaxed, the record keeps moving toward the next scene. Morizono can make a guitar phrase feel like a line of dialogue, then let the rhythm finish the thought.