Towards the end of the twilit “San Francisco, 2005,” in the middle of Renny Conti ’s new album, Split Second , the steady drums and slide guitars stutter to a halt and Conti situates himself precisely: “Prospect Park/I’m sitting up straight/With the knowing posture of a monk/It’s May of 2024, and I am writing to get myself out of a death-induced funk.” It’s a strikingly direct line dead in the middle of an album stuck in a dreamstate, one that unfolds like a series of hazy recollections. There in the park, Conti’s edges are briefly clearer, the image sharper.

Split Second can sound, on first listen, as though it is drifting. These songs were written in the months following the death of Conti’s older brother, Andrew. The two grew up sharing a love of music and playing in bands together, but, as addiction tightened its grip on Andrew, the brothers diverged. Renny started bands with other kids, and by the time he was in college, he was making music on his own.…