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On “Open Book,” the concluding track of José González’s “Vestiges and Claws,”the Swedish-Argentine troubadour waxes poetic on humanity’s limitless potential, singing “I know there’s so much left to see / I know I have so much left to give.” But despite two stellar LPs and unwavering audience anticipation for his latest release, González is giving too much of the same to truly embody the latter of the two notions. Having spent the almost eight years since his last solo album touring with his alt-rock side project Junip and collaborating with a huge swath of indie rock’s biggest acts, González has had plenty of time to develop his musical sensibilities. And yet, though “Vestiges and Claws” is both melodically and lyrically stunning, the singer-songwriter’s third effort offers little in terms of emotional depth or any semblance of artistic innovation from his previous work.

As a whole, “Vestiges and Claws” is quintessential González—an array of hushed, pastoral indie pop, the singer-songwriter’s lilting delivery weaves through lush acoustic guitar and wood-block percussion. Similar to in his previous albums, “Veneer” (2003) and “In Our Nature” (2007), González once again imbues his tracks with a dreamy eeriness—his voice glides in and around the melody, and his sing-song tone directly contrasts with more foreboding lyrics. As with “In Our Nature,” he decided to forego collaborating with a producer and instead recorded the entirety of the album alone in his home, a choice that elevates the quality of the tracks. The most memorable songs off of “Veneer,” including “Crosses” and the haunting “Lovestain,” are inflected with a hazy reverb; each sounds distant, its emotional heft tantamount to that of a fleeting memory. On “Vestiges and Claws,” however, every song possesses a marked clarity. It feels as if González himself is playing right at the audience’s bedside, making the album more intimate and listenable.

González’s latest work marks his first album of entirely original material, and his lyricism generally delivers. The album’s breathtaking opener, “With The Ink Of A Ghost,” may be its best; it epitomizes all of González’s most beloved qualities. The austere presentation, intricate fingerpicking of a single acoustic guitar, and a soft, flowing melody work in tandem to create a quiet, poignant meditation on the beauty of discovery. Additionally, the album demonstrates González’s uncanny knack for painting lovely images: in the ruminative “Open Book,” González describes how “I feel just like an open book.../ Against my will, a drifting vessel in the storm / Pushed around, from shore to shore.” On occasion, the singer’s instrumentation seems nearly identical to that of “Veneer” and “Of Our Nature.” His gift for expressing both his own struggles and brief snapshots of the world around him, however, constantly surprises.

But González’s attempts at tackling the deeper questions of the world—ones involving existentialism, humanism, and fate—often ring half-hearted, his ideas more tenuous than his own hushed whisper of a voice. His musings begin to take a somber turn on the “The Forest,” where he wonders, “Why didn’t I see / The forest on fire behind the trees.” As usual, González presents the listener with a striking image, but his ethereal melody and resigned delivery dulls the lyric’s intrinsic menace. More egregiously, the meditative “Afterglow” is essentially the line “All of this will be gone someday” looped for three minutes straight. It is moments like these where González’s passivity hinders his otherwise gorgeous work. The absence of any urgency, coupled with his inability to sound even remotely bothered by anything, instills doubt into the listener—all of this may be gone someday, but if Gonzalez doesn’t seem to care, should we?

Maybe it makes sense, then, that González’s most acclaimed and emotionally rich songs are covers—The Knife’s electro-pop ditty “Heartbeats” and Massive Attack’s ominous “Teardrop” are especially laudable. On these tracks, his haunting delivery and sparse instrumentation distill the lessons on life and love originally drowned under beat-heavy production. It’s only when the singer pairs his acoustic arrangements with his own lyrics—image-heavy but occasionally lacking substance—that he tends to falter.

In a world where indie artists constantly churn out new material in a desperate attempt to salvage relevancy, González remains nonplussed. He adamantly refuses to conform to the perpetually shifting trends and tastes of his core audience, and for that, the man deserves some credit. But while Gonzalez’s enduring ability to craft a melody may please his most dedicated followers, his continued reliance on minimalist arrangements and lyrics that barely skim the surface of pressing moral issues can be frustrating. González may say he cares, but to produce truly great material, he needs to sound like it too.