With even the cartoon goths of or pretending they've always understood black sheep anguish, it might come as a surprise that the true lineage of black-clad moroseness isn't with industrial shock rock or flashy covers. Fortified with minimal album titles, obsessively dank imagery, and gasping instrumentation, 's third album tries to convince real iconoclasts that there's a seedier side to depression than one developed by watching old videos. For the most part, such teachings are strong. The band mumbles more tales of romantically crushed adoration ( ) and torn loyalty ( ) with a building, restrained fury sounding more realized than before. Even when the band has more songs with the word "heart" in the title, they seem to manage to distill a feeling of postwar brooding that is just ominous enough to warrant a third time out. It just might take some time to start moving away from the indulgent ocean imagery ("Now you know there's no light on the waves/but before I turn there's just one last word") or the piano pastiche to unleash what an album like this promises. is possibly different enough to pull it off too. They don't fit into America's climate; if anything, they are often like the morose, depressed sibling to the obtuse rural grandeur of bands like . Is this the new goth? Who knows. But if it is, it's one thankfully devoid of histrionic make-up and strobe lights. One that hints of the seething, looming danger of unseen Americana. ~ Dean Carlson