Say you wanted to plot the musical intersection between Suzanne Vega, Joni Mitchell, Prince, Belle & Sebastian, Tori Amos, and the Chi-Lites. You'd sit down with your tuning fork, protractor, and compass, and you'd realize that no such point exists in three-dimensional space. If you tried to create that combination of music it would be a wretched, awful mess. If YOU tried it. But you are not Andy Units' mastermind Mark Blair. He thinks music in some kind of non-Euclidian curved genre in which peppy, catchy melodies are caressed by fat synthesizers and finger snaps and major seventh chords and unholy chord progressions. It shouldn't work. Only a fool would try to create this synthesis, or a genius. And that's what, at the end of the day, Blair is: a genius. The problem with genius of course, is that you may not get it at first. You may give it a first listen and think, "What's going on here?" (although you've been left a foothold in the immediately catchy and joyous "In the Night") and then you will listen again and you will think, "Hmm, there's something to this." And then you'll listen a third time and suddenly you will achieve a kind of musical nirvana.This isn't music that was haphazardly put together. The loving care with which each note is assembled on top of the last is apparent; you can imagine Blair lying in bed at night, wondering, "Should I keep the E-flat? Should I change it to a B-flat? Which? Which? Which?" Everything matters. Every sound, every word of every lyric. The music of Andy Units doesn't have to hide behind sonic trickery or obscure, irony-laden lyrics. Why should it? It has nothing to hide. Everything comes at face value here.Is Night Light the Special Relativity of pop music? That might be a bit over the top. Maybe it's more like a brilliant mathematical proof. The kind that other people look at and say, "I should have thought of that!" But they didn't. Andy Units did. And we should be thankful.