Whenever I start a review for some band that has a geographic location in their name, I usually make some smart remark about how I've never been to that place, but how it's nowhere as good as where I live. I then attempt to make a witty and insightful remark about how the band's name in some way is indicative in some way of the type of music that the band plays. However, I'm not going to start this review that way, because, while Winter In Alaska do indeed have the name of a US state in their name, I cannot for the life of me think of a way to relate that cold, frigid, arctic wasteland with the surprisingly warm music that this band has created. This album is less like being stuck in a blizzard, than it's like sitting indoors, next to a fire, with a cold beverage, while a snowstorm rages outside.

"Innocence We've Lost", apart from not being cold and windy, is one of those frustrating records that you can't really pin down into any particular genre. Opening song Kaleidoscope, for instance, with its female vocals and vibraphone sounds a lot like Danish band Amber, while the next track, The Pursuit of Happiness, opens instead with some broken-up electronic percussion that is the polar opposite of the song that precedes it. This kind of variety on a single album from a single band often comes off as a form of musical schizophrenia, but in Winter In Alaska's case, they have the talent and the songs to be able to make it all fit together.

This record truly has a bit of everything. For instance, the third track, the eight-minute Hold On initially sounds like the typical midwestern radio-rock that chokes the airwaves of commercial rock radio, the sort of music that we've all grown to despise in the past couple of years. However, as it slowly unfolds, it reveals itself to be a lot deeper and more profound than that sort of music, culminating in a guitar-driven climax, and then letting you down gently over the space of a couple of minutes with an extended coda.

Much of the rest of the album is meditative and slightly downcast, but without crossing that line and becoming depressing or whiny. Water On My Skin, for instance, again uses a mixture of male and female vocals over a bed of chugging guitars to paint a richly detailed picture. Even though the instruments here are very well done, often executing very complicated patterns and subtle ideas, it's the vocals that really stand out, being the principal tools with which the band paint their vivid musical pictures.

The themes that the record covers aren't all discouragement and dejection, although most of the songs do have a dark undertone. Most songs here also have a generally optimistic outlook though, that things will get better, and that pain and sadness are but temporary obstacles that will to be overcome. There are also some lighter notes too, like the answering machine messages of My Birthday Song: 2003, which create some much needed space in the otherwise emotionally heavy music.

As I said before, it's difficult to classify exactly what sort of music this is. It's heart-on-sleeve stuff, but without the cliché of emo posturing, and it's musically adventurous and inventive enough that it can't be dismissed as mere copycat rock. If Winter In Alaska play their cards right, they might just have a very promising future ahead of them. The best description that I can attach to this band is that they're indie rock, and they're damn good indie rock, which should be all the recommendation that you need.