Deep Dark Woods' sophomore record is no It Still Moves, but it comes mighty close. Like My Morning Jacket's potentially final defining record, Winter Hours is a slow-burner -- a record that continues to haunt your every notion as you wade through it time and time again. Something about how the band's entire impression of heartache mixed with an overall sense of extraordinary loss brings their sound down the aisle of broken dreams filled with jars of split-passion and disappointing morning afters.
It's tragic, really -- beautifully tragic. Or maybe this is irony? It's definitely not romantic. Ironically tragic. The money is gone. Nancy is gone. Polly is no longer a subject about some mysterious figure wanting a cracker. And for Pete's-Freaking-Sake, the SUN NEVER SHINES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
But, what else are you going to expect from a band from the middle of Nowhere-Canada called the Deep Dark Woods with an album titled Winter Hours? It doesn't get much colder than this. And for some, it doesn't get much better than this.
Stylistically, think My Morning Jacket or think Neil Young or think some fertile blend of roots music combined with folk mowing over rock band that came straight out of the '70s that refuses to turn back. Get your walking cane ready.