On first listen, it’s easy to mistake Ryley Walker’s sophomore album as the forgotten effort of a heralded ’60s British folk-jazz quartet. Opening with its earthy title track, Primrose Green whisks listeners back several decades. The Chicago songwriter wields his guitar with masterful ease. It’s more than an extension of his body — it’s an extension of his imagination. His fingerpicking style takes off on its own, ambling down a path, kicking pebbles and scuffing its heels, too busy looking up at the sky and wondering how large it really is to be concerned with where exactly it’s headed. It moves comfortably at its own pace, all the while blissfully unaware of its own complexity.