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We’re past the point where pop steeped in intentional fuzz or frayed to fashionable tatters feels transportive. After all, there’s nothing more now than the freshly forgotten past, and that other N-word (nostalgia) has become a tricky filter used to impart art where it might otherwise be lacking. (Call it the Instagram effect.) Let this preface not implicate Bibio (a.k.a. Stephen Wilkinson) as artless — if anything, the British singer-songwriter-producer has shown over seven albums that toying with texture is as instrumental to his craft as lonely noodling on his guitar.