Forget what you've been told about judging books by their covers; you can learn all you need to know about Everyday Balloons-- the second aching collection by Portland quartet A Weather-- from its album art. Its diffuse, bruise-colored skies illustrate not only the band's meteorological obsessions-- it's not just the band name; almost every song here references rain or clouds or ice-- but also the gauzy sound of its music. And just as a brilliant beam of sunlight penetrates the cover's cloudy horizon, the vocals of drummer Sarah Winchester and guitarist/songwriter Aaron Gerber poke through the band's musical haze. Together or separately, her silvery coo and his drowsy whisper cut through the songs' airy, dreamy ambiance with pointed delicacy.
Much of what distinguishes A Weather, however, from other gentle, spare singer/songwriters and indie folkies is their albums' thoughtful, high-quality production. Everyday Balloons, like 2008's Cove, is restrained without being sparse and manages to feel cozy without resorting to lo-fi bedroom acoustics. Produced by Adam Selzer (who has worked with the Decemberists and M. Ward), the album has a hard-won sheen. In lesser hands, these sleepy/stoned breakup songs could be mawkish or, worse, forgettable. But grounded in a strong slowcore aesthetic, A Weather smartly strike a balance between lush, evocative instrumentation and concise, essential arrangements.
For a band that leaves so much open space in their songs (and therefore creates room for listeners to pay attention to and place emphasis on their lyrics), A Weather have carved out an unusual lyrical landscape. Yes, there is an overarching sadness to their work, but their painstakingly constructed songs never seem personal or confessional. As a result-- rather than feel like hangdog character studies-- they manage to capture both minutely imagined details and suggestive, opaque poetry.
Despite the strong melodies and arrangements of LP highlights "Ducks in a Row" and "No Big Hope", Everyday Balloons falls short of the high watermark set by Cove. Perhaps that's because it is a plugged-in collection, and the band's anesthetized grief is a better match for its acoustic predecessor, or perhaps it's because these more ambitious compositions require swells and segues that the band hasn't quite mastered yet. But despite these faults, the album is still laudably subtle and sadly pretty. And patient listeners will be rewarded.
