"Anyone is pretty when she smiles; me, I'm only pretty when I cry," sings Julie Doiron on her new album. And I'll be damned if you don't just want to hold her, and maybe spend the whole day curled up under a blanket with her, staring out the window at the grey Canadian winter. A solid dose of comforting, resolute melancholy can be good for the soul sometimes, and despite being the most upbeat album of Doiron's musical oeuvre (thanks in part to having a real backing band this time out), Julie Doiron and the Wooden Stars still delivers the 100% RDA.

Like Bettie Serveert's Carol van Dijk without the sunny smiles, Beth Orton without the reverb chamber and the Chemical Brothers connection, or Jenny Toomey on Xanax, Doiron has a natural ache in her voice that manages to sidestep both wistful whimsy and wretched despair. Her previous solo work seemed to be a bit too stark and four-tracky to distinguish itself from the rest of the already-saturated mope-rock market; here, she teams up with fellow Canadians the Wooden Stars to create a much warmer, more fully developed sound which supports her vocal timbre a bit better. There are still plenty of beautiful downbeat moments, like "The Longest Winter" ("Not even the prank calls/ Are helping pass the time anymore") or "Seven." But it's also surprisingly pleasant to hear Doiron fit herself into slightly different clothes, such as on the perky, almost Cardigans-like "Dance Music" and the stiff, insistent bounce of "The Best Thing for Me."

Although eleven songs and 42 minutes long, Julie Doiron and the Wooden Stars still seems a bit slight. Maybe it's because it's a rather easy, effortless listen, albeit something you'd only put in your stereo once in a while. But like hot chocolate on a cold night, it has its proper time and place.