If you've ever spent a long, dark night of the soul and found yourself staring at heartbreak and daybreak with slightly dilated pupils, you should know all about Swell.
The San Francisco outfit - essentially singer David Freel and various chums - have been battling insomnia ever since they practically invented lo-fi with their classic 1994 album, '41'. Every two years or so they release yet another album of quiet genius and no-one pays much attention, which is tragic but fits in with their lovelorn and lonely muse perfectly.
Don't get the impression that Freel is an ineffectual dreamer, though. He has a streak of cynicism as wide as the San Fran Bay and his world weary drawl is tempered with sly barbs and bittersweet romanticism. 'Like Poverty', for example, bemoans his pennilessness but still manages to cast a tender eye over a failing relationship. 'Call Me' is a whisper for help delivered through gritted teeth, while '...A Velvet Sun' is spooky, poignant and utterly compelling.
Swell don't look set to make any grand leaps forward either in terms of success or creativity, but that doesn't devalue their potency a single jot. Buck the trend and buy this album. The next time you're surrounded by the endless silence of a tortured sleepless night, you'll reach for it and find that these songs make perfect, beautiful sense.
