With her third album, South Florida musician Green has fully evolved from the smart purveyor of odd pop on Junk and Stuff and The Nineteen Hundreds to a singer-songwriter of dizzying skill and imagination. Accessible and yet mysterious all at once, Wicked Witch gives the lo-fi aesthetic a symphonic bloom. Ragged guitar tones, rounded piano strokes, ethereal noise and familiar chords all converge in a confessional, orchestrated rush. The Wicked Witch package is illustrated with keepsakes from Green's childhood, and the music often feels like a document of the struggle to grow up. On the opener Give It a Chance, her voice is a curious, distant flutter against a panoramic wall of sound: "Everything was so inviting/I was 15 years old." Green takes an empty-the-hope-chest approach both to composition and arrangement, as if digging through belongings to find the most poignant objects and assembling them in some highly symbolic order. So Many Ways wraps a near obsessive love in waves of Wild Thing heavy guitar. Until the Morning walks through a gallery of changes, Beatlesque chords, echoes of ragtime and touches of psychedelia, all guided by Green's gently Vocoder-altered voice. Set alongside all these elaborate songs, Horseshoe is a curve, literally and figuratively, an unadorned piano ballad with a simple plea: "Can you keep me?" Where and where not to look for love is a recurring question here. The wry, shape-shifting Flashcube Palace warns against being too seduced by pop-star fairy tales and closes the album with an adage: "Even Walt Disney has never been to Disney World." It's an apt conclusion, illustrated with a totem of childhood and balanced, like a lot of adults disabused of their illusions, between cynical humor and healthy reckoning Wicked Witch comes with a companion disc, The "Ghost Album," consisting entirely of Green's pensive solo piano compositions. It's an unnecessary but welcome flourish that takes the listener from Witch's Byzantine lair to a more contemplative space where Green sounds equally at home. Sean Piccoli - FT LAUDERDAL SUN SENTINEL