Since he broke nationally with his self-titled 2005 debut, Philadelphia native Amos Lee has faced a steady stream of Norah Jones comparisons.

He insists he's not merely a male version of that blockbuster songstress, but until now, he hasn't moved far away from the easily palatable folk-pop with a jazz tinge that she popularized earlier this decade. And his third album strays only slightly from the usual mellow approach.

"Last Days at the Lounge," a Don Was-produced set, finds him emphasizing his soul bent in a string of twanging pleas for love and justice (really, he's more like a Tracy Chapman than a Norah Jones). At heart, Lee is still a folky. His sensitive material rests on acoustic strumming, and he tackles universal political themes ambitiously. On "Jails and Bombs," he rails on Washington war policy, though his musings aren't particularly insightful. Opening for stalwarts like Bob Dylan and Paul Simon is quite an education for a young troubadour, but Lee relies too heavily on obvious rhyme schemes ("explanation," ''preservation," ''nation") to even think about sharing a class with those giants.

Lee shines most brightly when he sticks to more intimate subjects. The divorce song "It Started to Rain" is a nice slow burn with subtle biblical references and soft organ accompaniment. When his voice wobbles through soul-rasp on the chorus, it's clear that matters of the heart are what really get Lee going.

By CRISTINA BLACK For The Associated Press

-Check out Amos Lee's Discography

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