Alex G sounds as if he's holding back. This latest album, Headlights, is his 10th and his first with the major label RCA Records. It's a massive moment for the lovable, goofy indie rocker from Philadelphia, and a moment he seems hell-bent on avoiding. Headlights is full of self-conscious moments that stress the inevitable decline of success. Within it, Alex Giannascoli is aware of this unlimited opportunity, so he's quiet, anxious, and plays it by the book. To be clear, Headlights is a good album. He still flexes his legitimate God-given musical talents and, seemingly out of thin air, invents fresh neural synapses through the strange way his brain connects sonic dots. However, beyond the album's obvious high fidelity, something is a little off; he seems a little lethargic. Giannascoli sounds bashfully aware of his apathy. The clearest moment of "Beam Me Up" sees him singing, "Some things I do for love / Some things I do for money / It ain't like I don't want it / It ain't like I'm above it," all the while the noise of what feels like a haunted carousel of guitars spins around him." Beam Me Up" continues to explore the fragility of a career in this industry through its permanence, or lack thereof. "I'm gonna put that football way up in the sky / Life will pass you by," he flatly sings in the chorus. The 32-year-old has moved from Bandcamp icon to a new father of a two-year-old with his longtime partner and collaborator, Molly Germer. With responsibility beyond just himself or music metrics, Giannascoli's hesitancy on the album makes sense. Why rock the boat during the biggest break in your career so far? Although he may be at odds with his own success, Alex G also does what he does best. He not only follows, but hunts the emotional threads of hard honesty. On the title track, Giannascoli seems profoundly isolated from himself and those he loves. "Yeah, my heart's insane / Let the money pave my way," he confesses while mourning his tunnel-vision pursuit of acclaim. "Well, I moved so fast / That no one could see me pass / And my heart grew cold." Later, during an instrumental break, we're blinded by the light of a bright synthesizer cutting through the track. The representation of a car's headlights serves as a warning — an undeniable signal flashing the consequences of a selfish life. His cryptic vulnerability continues to sweep through the whole record. The most accessible song, "Afterlife," is a charming, mandolin-driven pop song that comes in at a perfect three-and-a-half minutes long. Through its deeply-rooted Americana sound, Giannascoli toys with the nostalgia it evokes and subverts youthful loss of innocence. "We were clean like kerosene," he ironically intones, before singing through his typical vocal rasp, "Candy and porno magazines." Following in the steps of his previous record, God Save the Animals, Giannascoli wrestles with faith throughout the song. As it comes to a close, he seems comforted by the notion of the eternal Kingdom of God in heaven, a place where youthful transgressions are forgiven and a new life can begin: "When the light came / Big and bright / I began another life." The album's overall sound matches its confessional intimacy. At its best, we get confidential earworms like "Afterlife," the rawness of "Louisiana," or the dazzling "Oranges" — a song as pure as a diamond and so timeless in its sound it feels destined to be overlooked by its innocent virtue. When the thematic hesitancy doesn't effectively translate to the sound, it feels a little insipid. Tracks like "Real Thing," "June Guitar" or "Is It Still You In There" feel like Giannascoli doing an impersonation of Alex G. The songs have all the right ingredients for the makings of a great Alex G song, but it seems like he just forgot to add the salt. What resurrects some of the lowest sonic moments is simply Giannascoli's charm. The strange way he sings "Far and Wide," makes him sound like an affable musical theatre kid, and the ramshackle, haphazard construction of "Logan Hotel (Live)" — which technically isn't live, but rather an amalgamation of a few different jam sessions — carries the definitive Alex G blend of humour and sorrow. It's that "it" factor that most likely attracted RCA in the first place. Alex G is one of the most distinctive characters working in indie rock today, and despite some of its shortcomings, the songs on Headlights still prove that. But rather than being a victory lap, Alex G's first major label record feels self-destructive. Maybe he's not quite ready for the burden of prosperity. As he says himself on "Oranges," "Every good thing with a little bad luck. "