Back in 2002, Greg Weeks, a recent transplant folker from New York and a dead ringer for Woody Allen in Sleeper, together with Brooke Sietinsons, Ophelia-voiced Meg Baird and a revolving cast of red-eyed weird beards, formed the Espers, a strummy collective of whispery acid-folk that evokes sugar-plum visions of woodland fairies doing the maypole dance around Stonehenge. Last month the Espers released their third album, the aptly-titled III. As ever, the band’s warm wigwam of sound evokes blood-sugar-sex-magik rituals celebrated by the hangman’s lovely daughters on misty moonlit moors. In other words, this is what flowery noontides sound like in Kensington, where the band has since established a de facto commune. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn they live in a giant shoe. — JONATHAN VALANIA