Nashville singer/songwriter Jake McMullen's music always had a somewhat atmospheric quality, even when the instrumentation was standard twangy indie Americana. At some point while releasing songs under his own name, McMullen started to feel a shift within, moved to take his music in a new direction. There were hints of this new approach on his 2016 cover of Robyn's "Dancing on My Own," where his falsetto vocals coasted over a minimal synth pad and laid-back organic rhythms. With the Louis Prince moniker, McMullen pushes this symbiosis of electronic and organic sounds while completely abandoning the country leanings of his earlier solo work. McMullen has cited a heavy influence on the project from both Ethiopian jazz and the flowing, piano-led American jazz of Bill Evans and Keith Jarrett. Instead of manifesting as traditional jazz arrangements, however, McMullen folds those airy, flowing styles into the overall atmosphere that runs through debut album Thirteen. Fluttering piano clusters hover around dry drum beats on tracks like "Half Acres" or the jumpy "The Number Thirteen," but everything comes together around bright pop structures. On "Ode," an odd-metered guitar figure melts into moments of springy saxophone and organ, all punctuated by dynamic pockets of rhythm. More than the jazz coloring of McMullen's chilled indie songs, Louis Prince is defined more by his falsetto vocals and the tight harmonies they take on. In many moments, McMullen sounds like a combination of Arthur Russell's romantic mumble and the gentle, blurry vocalizations of Caribou's Dan Snaith. More often, however, the detailed production and vocal presence of Thirteen evokes 22, A Million-era Bon Iver. This is most glaring on tunes like "Rive" and "Parasailing," where vocodered vocals sit on top of blithe instrumentals, or in "Afternoon," a pleasantly washed-out pastiche of layered vocals, ambient loops, and the occasional electronic blip. While the influence is hard to ignore, the album's production and attention to flow take it to places all its own. At nearly an hour, Thirteen is a relaxed journey through slowly rising and falling waves of texture and song. Its more fully formed moments work nicely with its stretches of lengthy formlessness, guiding us on a carefully routed walk through McMullen's imagination.