I don't know what the weather is like as you're reading this, but I'm writing on a bitterly cold day -- subzero wind chill factor, blowing snow, the whole nasty, tantamount-to-arctic deal. It's the sort of day that makes you long for simple indoor comforts. For once, the stifling heat of my office isn't so objectionable, and the watered-down cocoa tastes wonderful. And best of all, I have the Winter Blanket.
Let's get the obvious stuff out of the way first. Low's Alan Sparhawk produced Hopeless Lullaby, and he and (band)mate Mimi Parker appear on the record. While I'm not suggesting that all things touched by the hand of Low must sound exactly like them, I also don't expect Sparhawk and Parker to lend their talents to a death metal record. So yes, the Winter Blanket play sedate, gentle music that's unlikely to irritate (or even be audible to) your neighbors. But they're not a Low clone.
At first, you might think Hopeless Lullaby is Leonard Cohen in disguise, so low and throaty are Doug Miller's vocals. Stephanie Noble's childlike voice seems to dissolve that theory, while the melody -- a combination of snail-paced acoustic guitar and subtle, Beatles-derived electric detail provided by Sparhawk -- could go either way. In this case, the vocals finish early, leaving the song to grow into a modest rock piece. "There is Nothing to Worry About" continues the uptempo swing, creating a light, almost bouncy song with only a touch of wistfulness. "Chicago Girls" gets us back into gauzy Sunday morning moodiness, with Miller and Noble sharing tender and heartfelt vocals.
"Lies" is another winner, an optimistic sprawl of robust acoustic strumming and tinkling keyboards, infected by a faintly psychedelic aesthetic. "The Tired Horse", the album's longest piece, has a faintly post-rock air; repeated guitar figures are accented more here than on many of the other songs. There's a dramatic tempo shift between verse and refrain, and the band slips into "loud" mode for a gorgeous, feedback-slathered rave-up in its final minute. "Hopeless", which ends the album, isn't hopeless at all. Imbued with that intangible 3:00 a.m. vibe, it sounds a little like a slowed-down New Order song, detailed with keyboards and a whimsically wheezing harmonica.
A name like The Winter Blanket invites me to go for a stunt closure. I could invite you to wrap yourself up in it, or tell you the music will keep you warm. You probably thought of half a dozen little wordplay stunts while reading. So I'll let you do that bit yourself, and by way of closure will simply encourage you to stay inside on the next cold day, curl up on the couch and let Hopeless Lullaby do its job.
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