James Blake’s ““The Wilhelm Scream” diggs into an obscure tune from his father’s all-but-forgotten band, Blake confesses uncertainty (“I don’t know about my dreams”), then resignation (“might as well fall”), as the track— just a couple of synth gurgles, a few weird creaks and bangs— transforms itself slowly. It’s the sound of Blake’s uneasy mind eventually emptied onto tape. His voice is lovely running up and down the side of the track, but without the flourishes that billow into the room in its second half, “Wilhelm” is barely a husk of a song. As it runs, “Wilhelm” gradually reveals a much darker, more conflicted song than its first bars would suggest: a pop song from a bygone era, deconstructed, wiped clean, then reconfigured into something strange and new. Perched between the experimentation Blake made a reputation on and his more recent explorations of odd-angled pop, “Wilhelm” deftly balances both. —Paul Thompson