Upon first, second, and fourth listen to Sean Na Na's My Majesty, you're struck by the fullness of sound. Finally, a backup band worthy of Sean Tillman's writing, a fleet but heavy collective of local stalwarts to replace his skeletal, semi-acoustic shuffle. But on that crucial third listen, you stop humming and you wonder, "What's this dude talking about, anyway?" And, for once, you can figure it out: In this era of impressionistic lyrics, Tillman's songs are about stuff. You know, like grubby drug parties and backstabbers smiling in your face and plenty of girls girls girls. Maybe some of those girls are even women, though the boy singing about them has apparently had enough problems that he questions the ladies' maturity. He wedges full narratives into a tiny spot with the apt concision of a top MC. And we haven't even mentioned Har Mar Superstar.