Recorded at John Vanderslice’s Tiny Telephone studio in SF, the second album from this Massachusetts trio is an icy treasure. The whole affair feels like a slowcore neoclassical lullaby; pianos, silky strings, and plaintive vocals abound in an endless sonic mist. All songs are slow. The whole album is so pretty it’s painful, but it really picks up about a third of the way in. Standouts: 5, 6, 8, 9, 11. No FCCs.

1. (2:11)—Instrumental. Soft, chilly sci-fi keyboards.
2. (6:28)—Major-key piano. Builds in the second half, vocals drop out near the end.
3. (2:24)—Of a piece with the previous track, but a bit more desperate and chiming.
4. (4:14)—Tenser, slightly poppier, more immediately poised to reach epic heights.
5. *(5:13)—Starts big and Enya-like in all the best ways. The atmosphere is more anxious and yearning here, toward a beatless James Blake. Wow. Wow.
6. *(5:43)—Nocturnal, deep, shifting, melancholy. Droning middle section, slowcore finale.
7. (3:18)—Instrumental. Disjointed vocals, then a sudden shift to epic tragedy film music.
8. *(3:54)—Dire, dark. Minimal beginning, pulsing final third.
9. *(5:22)—Continues down a darkening tonal path. Brushed drums, beautiful harmonies. Vaguely anthemic.
10. (4:45)—Lighter feel. Slow broken chords on the piano. Builds in intensity at the very end—all of a sudden I imagined this being performed in a bright, white church.
11. *(7:26)—Synth arpeggios. Takes a repetitive structure, and with every iteration the music expands outward and upward. As slowly and gracefully as it builds, it lands and reaches silence.