So, is Bryk just one man, with a piano and a plan? "A little grumpy, but loveable," he suggests. And Lovers Leap is a place where misanthropy learns how to waltz with pleasure over all its 12 assured tracks.

"I was raised to do great things," explains Bryk. "To be a doctor, or a lawyer, an authority in the community. Someone who would lead." Instead, he became the guy who "apologizes a lot. I sort of missed out on the future. I'm scatterbrained."

This attention deficit disorder is the audience's reward, an ardent following that includes Scratchie Records braintrust Adam Schlesinger (Fountains of Wayne), James Iha (Smashing Pumpkins) and D'Arcy, who signed Toronto-based Bryk to Scratchie back in 1997. Fellow fans include Ben Folds, Courtney Love, Ron Sexsmith, E (of the Eels) and Debbie "Deborah" Gibson, none of whom could resist the poignancy and assuredness of Bryk's confessional confections.

"I gave up playing piano at age six," recalls Bryk. "Dr. Mlotek, the teacher, wrung his hands and said 'Mrs. Bryk, your son ees not a piano player.'" Eventually, being smitten by Depeche Mode gave Dan an outlet for teenage anxiety in the form of MIDI sequencing. Fixated on the music biz, rock writing, Randy Newman and Top 40 radio, the quest to meld these passions became Bryk's ambition. And while cautiously evading the few "wannabe Deadhead jam bands and solipsistic folkies" in college, Dan perfected his penchant for self-deprecation.

Faced with a career choice between poet, fool or bum, he chose Dan Bryk, Asshole, the 1995 independent release that first featured the demi-hit "She Doesn't Mean a Thing To Me Tonight." Bryk may have not perfected his penchant for pop arrangements, yet immediately evident through his meditative melodies was a yearning for new dimensions in doubt.

The trauma continues throughout Lovers Leap. (Not to be confused with "Lover's Leap".) "Listening to this album," explains Bryk, "I think someone would get a different, mistaken view of who I am. In real life, I don't think I am such a bottled catharsis."

It's a different story on record as Bryk croaks titles like "Bound to Be Happy" ("Sort of a breakup song," he reveals); "But This Time" ("A reverse osmosis breakup song"); "Memo To Myself" ("The 'I'm sorry I didn't love you last night' breakup song"); and "...And Now Our Love Is Dead" ("It's my tribute to Big Star. No it's not. It's my tribute to Led Zeppelin. Actually, it's just a breakup song. A reluctant one.")

Despite having totaled his car on the way to the first recording session for the album, Lovers Leap isn't all about the art of falling apart. Then again, maybe not. In Bryk's estimation, "I Love You Goodbye" is the album's pop trojan horse, with a grin-inducing anthemic chorus and a "Meg Ryan film exit music kinda cue" that masks the sadness in its’ lyric. "BBW" pays tribute to "all those white mamas who hang out with hip-hop guys" with a bouncy Beatlesque perspective that Sir Mix-A-Lot sorely lacked. "The Letter Home" qualifies as "my Highway 51–or is that Highway 61?–Revisited inspiration at work. We recorded that in one or two takes, really sloppy and incredibly f***ing loud. I had hoped to write an old rock critic moment."

Bryk's navigation of the cultural landscape is a crucial part of his inspiration. "Mark Turmell v2.0", a fixture in Dan's diabolical coffee house act, is a tribute to a computer game programmer. "Recorded in full-on new wave style," he says of the 21st century version. Bryk was recently shocked to recieve an congratulatory email from the song's hero, reportedly after several of Turmell's co-workers "blasted the song through the office intercom for a couple of days."

Bryk's confessional faculties are revealed on "Fingers," a wrenching reminiscence of "what happens when a guy you look up to turns around and tries to jump your bones," he shudders. "But like most singer-songwriters are fond of noting, even the real parts in the song are made up."

Bending disbelief further is "Spadina Expressway," which mourns the never-built urban passage of 1960s Toronto. "I noticed a railway overpass bridge in the Junction area that looked abandoned," recalls Bryk. "I asked an ex-girlfriend's mother about it, and she explained to me, sorta drunkenly, that it was supposed to be part of the Spadina Expressway. It's become quite popular, I know, to explore the anthropology of public structures." Bryk snickers to make sure we're in on the joke, "but I was inspired enough to write the song. It wasn't long before I found out the bridge had nothing to do with the Spadina Expressway, that it was just another bridge. But it's already a lot of people’s favourite song from the record, so what the hell do I know?"

Also found on Lovers Leap is "Big Things Like This," a cover of a tune by David Baitz, part of a Toronto songwriter's circle with Bryk, who assumed the biting lyrics were "a full-frontal attack on the post-suburban values I represented." In turn, Dan could not resist making the song his own.

And at the "polite insistence" of his overlords at Scratchie, back for a jaunty reprise is "She Doesn't Mean a Thing To Me Tonight," a regret-ridden singalong that garnered Bryk video rotation on MuchMusic and plenty of CBC and College Radio chart action. The song has been gently remixed from its 8-track glory to match the polished vibe of the rest of the record.

With a cast of Toronto luminaries scattered throughout (songwriter Howie Beck, members of Jacksoul, Starling, and NPR politicapella darlings Moxy Fruvous, who contribute the "Wilsonic harmonies" on "But This Time"), Lovers Leap is a fiendish farewell to the decade where trudging through your 20s became discount fashion. Full of longing for a more dignified ride into middle age, Bryk pummels his past as an incantation for what the future will bring.

"I write songs that are meant to be melodic and memorable," he confesses. "I want to transcend potential cult-dom. I want to reach the heights of both Billy Joel and Daniel Johnston. As it stands, I'm stuck somewhere between Robert Forster and Aimee Mann."

That doesn't mean that Bryk is clear about what happens next. Between solo ventures, he wails behind the keys for teenage conceptualists The American Flag, who have toured the U.S. as openers for Guided By Voices. He is also an accomplished designer, although the era of being trapped behind a desk being force-fed the oldies station has only fed into more rancorous music making.

"The album was meant to sound open, in a big, cosmic way," Bryk assures, having enlisted the mixing talents of Jim Rondinelli (producer of alt-rock touchstones Matthew Sweet's Girlfriend and Sloan's Twice Removed, as well as working with the likes of Wilco, Weezer and The Odds). "It might not sound like Pearl Jam, but it's as obvious as I plan to get. What I'm doing is still about contradictions. And incongruity. And hopefully, people humming my songs," he grins, "whether or not they’re actually thinking about those things."