After two decades, it’s fair to say you know what you’re getting with a Kurt Vile album. Whether it be as guitarist with his old band The War On Drugs, or in his prolific solo career, there’s a comforting familiarity to that languid drawl and hazy, dream-like songs. His 10th solo album, Philadelphia’s Been Good To Me, is another record that’s on solid, familiar territory, but one that’s not afraid to gently push a few sonic envelopes.

As the title would suggest, the whole album acts as a love letter to the city that Vile was born and raised in, and has lived all his life. The opening track, Zoom 97, sees Vile behind the wheel of a car and driving around his hometown – it’s a lovely, relaxed introduction to the record, with Vile namechecking both a “Goldtone mandolin guitar” and the city’s Lincoln Drive parkway. It’s the sound of a content father who’s happy with his lot – “ain’t no trips though LSD, true love is the pure drug for me”.

The synth-heavy You Don’t Know Cuz It’s My Life good-naturedly pokes fun at musical legends Bruce Springsteen and Neil Young for writing songs about Philly – “a couple of my heroes wrote a song but that ain’t where they’re from” – but he’s keen to point out “I still love ya Neil and The Boss”. The title track serves as the centrepiece of the record: a beautifully atmospheric, fuzzy number that namechecks neighbouring Baltimore and the city’s Schuylkill River.

There’s also a hugely personal aspect to much of Philadelphia’s Been Good To Me. The bluesy sprawl of 99BPM looks back to the Philly music scene of early 2010s, reminiscing about a golden era of making music with friends that “was 2012, but it felt like 2014”. It’s nicely self-referential without becoming too knowing.

Although most of the album is set at Vile’s trademark slow pace, there are more than a few moments where he mixes it up a bit. Chance To Bleed is the best track on the album, the one moment where Vile really cuts loose – a driving rocker of a song, full of blistering guitar solos and a singalong chorus of “that old time, lo-fi, DIY, rock’n’roll nights”. It’s one of the catchiest, and best, numbers that Vile’s ever recorded.

There’s also some experimentation to be found on the instrumental Red Room Dub, full of spiralling guitar lines and tape echoes, while the self-explanatory Piano For Sarah is another vocal-free track – simply a minimal piano piece that, even without any lyrics, almost aches with emotion.

Occasionally it does seem to waver towards self-indulgence. 99th Song (a track named after the absolute storage limit on Vile’s loop pedal) is undoubtedly dreamy, but at ten minutes long at a rather ponderous pace, it does seem to drag a bit. It’s an accusation that could be levelled at the album as a whole, given the languid nature, but by now you know what you’re getting with a Kurt Vile record.

Vile has spoken of recording this album “as if it was his last record” and while it’s unlikely that he’s on the verge of retirement, a song like Every Time I Look At You does have a slightly valedictory feel. It’s reminiscent of Neil Young in his Harvest Moon era, an achingly pretty little ballad where Vile looks back on his career (“I flew close to the sun, I had a whole lotta fun, and then I guess I had to come down”) and concludes that love of family beats any fan worship.

You don’t need to have visited Philadelphia to appreciate this album – it is steeped in love for the artist’s roots. If there are no surprises contained within Philadelphia’s Been Good To Me, then that’s no bad thing. It’s simply another reliably reassuring chapter in Kurt Vile’s career.