Pitchfork

With a name like Alone with Everybody, it's a pretty sure bet that Dakota Suite's latest album isn't a happy one. It's not something that'll get the girls shaking ass at a frat-boy kegger, nor will it be used to perk up the poor souls who call suicide hotlines, helping them to "snap out of it." No, Dakota Suite, a British band nigh unknown here in the states, creates the kind of music a depressed artist might paint to.

Now, I realize you just let out a painful groan. And with good reason-- the downhearted are grabbing guitars in record numbers these days, each trying to out-mope the last in some "most pathetic songwriter" contest. No one knows better than me how irritating this can be. But don't hate Dakota Suite because they're pensive. Hear them out. They're just another mopey bunch of guys trying to bring the sorrowful wonders of "depression rock" to the masses.

Although you probably didn't know it, Dakota Suite has released a lot of music in their native land. So much music, in fact, that they felt it necessary to release this compilation of their EPs as their stateside debut, an introduction for American music fans. The record plays by different rules than a standard LP, though. For starters, it begins, bravely enough, with a home demo of a track titled "The Things We Carry." Compilations can do that kind of thing. And as per the rule of demos, the track emphasizes both the strengths and the weaknesses of the band to billboard-like proportions, giving the listener a pretty good idea what to expect for the next fourteen songs. Luckily, there are more strengths than weaknesses on the track, and what listeners can expect are intelligent, well-mannered songs about love and its destruction.

Beautiful pop melodies, skillful songwriting using varied instrumentation, and genuine emotion that avoids clichéd fluff make the record a delightful listen. The end result is music that sounds like the men from American Music Club having a heart-to-heart with the Red House Painters' Mark Kozelek about his girl problems. The overall style of the music is nothing new-- basic pop cribbing a few elements from folk, blues and country to make melodic, low-key guitar rock-- but it's relatively solid. On the depression rock spectrum, Dakota Suite falls closer to more cerebral mopesters like the Cure than, say, Johnny Cash. These boys fuse that visceral, down-home vibe with their subdued, British style, with some degree of success, but the album conveys more of a sadness of the head than the heart, and that's where the problems start.

All of the music on Alone with Everyone, aside from the two demo tracks included, is textbook "perfect." The notes fall in all the right places, frontman Chris Hooson adds just the right touch of pathos to his vocals and lyrics, and, in general, everything does what it's supposed to do, when it's supposed to do it. Admittedly, that's a sign of professionalism, and overall, it's a good thing, but it also gives the album an air of mass-production and detachment at times.

Given this, it's not surprising that best songs on the record are the oddball tracks that vary from the "sad song" formula, however slightly. "Colder" adds a bit of sunshine to the otherwise bleak Dakota Suite sound in the form of swinging rhythm and a few goofy la-la-la's. Such touches of stupid levity are nice at times, and here they're executed with a decent amount of subtlety.

The three best songs on the album play consecutively: tracks 4-6, titled "Autobiography," "Divided" and "Somewhere," respectively. Unfortunately, they also serve as great examples of bad record production. The vocals are pushed way up front while the instruments remain mere ghosts in the background, strumming away without a care in the world. Yet, the sound is strange enough in the context of the album that it actually works in favor of the songs, and they, along with the two raw demos, "What We Carry" and "Radiosong," save Alone with Everybody from complete staleness.

Still, a few more practical problems plague the land of Dakota. Chris Hooson's voice carries the band's downtrodden message cleanly, but to a fault. Although his singing is good more often than not, Hooson occasionally sounds too apathetic or emotionally damaged to turn in a passable performance at the mic. During these episodes, he either emotes so earnestly that he doesn't even try to hit the proper note, or his voice dissolves into such thinness that it sounds like someone pouring cold water over the microphone. Both are equally distressing to the ear-- the latter virtually ruining the album's opening track-- but happen rarely enough to be forgivable.

Otherwise, the overall quality of the album is respectable-- that's the good news. The bad news is that they still have a long way to go until they do something great. But, who knows? With a bit more creativity and risk-taking, Dakota Suite could have the potential to become genuinely exciting, rather than being simply there.