I'll come out right before I start this review proper and say that I really like post-rock. Whether it be the thunderous guitars of Mogwai, the epic soundscapes of Sigur Rós, or the neo-classical arrangements of Rachel's, I just can't get enough of the stuff. Except for Godspeed You Black Emperor! and its child projects. Maybe it's the pomposity of their music, maybe the way that the bands like to act like they're actually saying something important, while saying nothing at all, but I just can't get into them. Although my coldness toward these groups thawed somewhat with A Silver Mt. Zion's latest album, which at least had the guts to actually take a stand on things, I still think that the bands in the "Montréal post-rock scene" tend to rely more on gimmick and tricks, than on producing truly great music.

Esmerine are a band firmly within the Montréal post-rock circle of influence, mainly because core members Becky Foon and Bruce Cawdron are in GYBE! and A Silver Mt. Zion. This means lots of cello, strings, and other assorted bizarre instruments, but no explosions of distorted guitar noise. It also, frustratingly, means no lyrics, which means that there is little to actually place this music into a context, a problem that has dogged bands in this scene. The music is expansive and emotional enough to make you think that you should be feeling something, but what that something is, lies shrouded in mystery.

The songs on this album follow the standard template that GYBE! perfected all those years ago. The songs start out with some morose, slow cello or mournful violins, before the pace picks up, the song gathers steam, and releases it in an explosion of dissonant noise towards the end. This template is adhered to on the opener, Quelques Mots Pleins D'ombre, which opens up slowly, a cello winding its way around a slow bass guitar, before things start to speed up around the five minute mark, a gentle drumbeat enters, the cellos begin an ascending pattern, and suddenly the song blows apart in a shower of fevered percussion. It's a good example of the template, because it manages to go from slow, to fast, to crescendo, and back to the ground in less than eight minutes, far less than the fifteen or so usually required.

Less interesting is Histories Repeating As One Thousand Hearts Mend, which moves along at the speed of a glacier flowing down a mountain. If drone is your thing, then you might enjoy this, but I'm a sucker for melody, and this piece doesn't seem to have one. The climax at the end of the song is also rather weak, making me question why a quarter hour of musical empty space was needed before it. Mados is a slightly more interesting piece that comes after it, with a vaguely Middle-Eastern flavour, it wisely finishes before it outstays its welcome.

The second half of the album is slightly more adventurous and progressive than the first, starting with the stately beauty of Why She Swallows Bullets and Stones, which starts with an icy piano with that has high-pitched strings wound around it. It brings to mind a perfect, clear winter's day, with some black clouds on the horizon being provided by menacing dark hums that hover around the edge of the music. It's hands down the best track on the album, because it strays away from the formula that these bands have led themselves into, while still maintaining the essential elements and tones that they're noted for producing. The hissing, vacant Ebb Tide, Spring Tide, Neap Tide, Flood, which follows it, is an unnecessarily long segue into Le Rire De L'ange, which closes the album in a flurry of grinding strings and hissing noise.

I'd be lying if I said that there weren't some good moments on this album. Indeed, some of the songs are simply lovely, containing gorgeous arrangements that would be as equally at home in a classical music concert hall, as they would be in an indie music club. However, that's all that the music really is, lovely. There are no swift punches to the gut like the announcer at the beginning of GBYE!'s The Dead Flag Blues, nothing as simultaneously frightening and comical as the gun nut in BBF3, nothing to really separate this band out from the legions of other extremely capable post-rock bands out there following in their footsteps. While this is great music to put on in the background while you're doing the housework or cooking dinner, it's nothing that's going to grab you by the scruff of your neck and drag you into its world. So long as you remember that, you might enjoy this album.