Jeniferever - 'Choose A Bright Morning' (Drowned In Sound) Released 13/03/06

At least the four-piece from Uppsala have earned the right to avoid sudden movements and stunt-fuelled spectacles. Somehow, they've reversed the trend wherein most bands disappear up their own back passages whenever they attempt an extended ‘jam’ sequence by being more likely to be found wanting during the actual tunes than the interminable noodling bits that frequently follow. Take the 11-minute (yikes!) ‘Winter Nights’ as an example. The fragile, sung first third offers no great shakes, but as soon as the drums step in for a slow-motion cruise around an endlessly repeated three-chord circle the snail-paced proceedings blossom into a marvel of near-magical, gentle beauty - a less otherworldly Sigur Ros, say, or Slint without the gruesome metallic riffage. By the time the horns (strings also make guest appearances elsewhere) punch in for the final movement, it has accumulated the kind of glistening grace that does indeed recall the harsh beauty of Scandinavian winters or the oddly melancholy uplift of watching a sunrise as the fug from previous night’s boozing subsides. In other words, it’s nothing short of sublime.

Not everything here is as unashamedly epic. The effect-pedals bothering first single ‘From Across The Sea’ demonstrates what the Cure might sound like did they acquire an irresistible urge to stare at the tip of their sneakers, whilst 'The Sound of Beating Wings’ proves the group capable of crafting proper hook-laden muscular pop. But it’s the clock-ignoring instrumental sections that pack the extra glow, and they deservedly dominate the proceedings. The album does admittedly have its cloudy spots. The banjo-plucking ‘Marks’ is a bit of a non-starter and the spooky spoken word recitals and outbreaks of noise-mongering on ‘Magdeleno’ belong to not only another album but an entirely different, less interesting band, whilst frontman Kristofer Jönson’s whispery way with a vocal can grate and the entire slow-burning exercise is guaranteed to baffle anyone prone to impatience.

Those willing to grant Choose A Bright Morning the time and undivided attention it requires to reveal the full extent of its considerable charms, however, are likely to echo Jönson’s breathless sigh of rapture on ‘Alvik’ at the end of the platter: “Oh it was worth it.”