Other than his media savvy, Workman's most impressive assets are his feathery falsetto and his knack for clever wordplay, whether he's wooing his baby with an eerily apocalyptic pick-up line (I hate to break it to you/but we're the last on earth), growling menacingly about "Tarantulove" or noting, in a booming dramatic voice, that singing is about sexual confidence -- thereby assuring listeners that given this criterion, he's well qualified for crooning.
Like Beck and Bowie, Workman warps pop melodies just enough to keep them interesting. He adds some quirky touches (the album begins with yodeling, and one tune ends with a fading flourish of horns that sounds like a marching band parading toward the exit), but the songs never get overly experimental or self-consciously clever. Occasionally, Workman reveals a romantic streak -- on "Don't Be Crushed," he waves so vigorously at the departing object of his affection that he breaks his wrist -- and his gentle, understated tone makes this material seem endearing rather than sappy. Workman also plays all the instruments on For Him and the Girls, producing sharp, jangly rock numbers and twinkling piano-centered ballads. Given all these accomplishments, writers shouldn't have trouble finding an interesting angle for future stories on Workman, even if he tones down the creative writing in his next press kit.