A band with some of the worst luck ever to befall a bunch of musicians, the Wrens have still gone about establishing a reputation amongst the indie community as a serious band who know what they're doing and who can blend intelligent musical ideas with a sense of catchiness and melody. The last we heard from the band was in the mid-90s, and since then, record label problems have prevented them from getting together and releasing another record.

Luckily, the band has finally managed to find a home on Absolutely Kosher, and they've gotten together and released some music that they've been working on for years. In the seven years since the harsh, energetic indie rock of "Secaucus", a lot has changed in the world of the Wrens, but some things have stayed constant. Good musicmanship, intelligent lyrics, and some really good songwriting.

The brutally melancholy sound of this album seems to weave itself around the band's frustration at their label troubles, and comes off sounding less like a single cohesive album, but rather as a series of related journal entries, as the band bare their souls in ever more intimate ways. In the hands of a lesser group, this approach could have failed dismally, but the Wrens seem to make it all come together properly without even breaking a sweat.

The first song, which opens with the sound of traffic hurtling along the highway somewhere in the distance, perhaps symbolising life passing itself by just a little too quickly for comfort. A pair of guitars and a bass spring out of nowhere, moving together in a jumbled fashion, and the first beautiful song begins. The House That Guilt Built combines rippling, nervous guitars and a killer climax to set the tone for the entire album, to create an atmosphere that persists beyond the end of the song.

While there isn't a bad song at all here, there are a couple that can only be described as genius. Hopeless starts off with a clean, untainted melody, before perfectly placed shards of jagged guitar noise slice through it. Boys, You Won't moves between guitar mayhem and piano beauty with astonishing precision, creating something that's moody but not entirely depressing. This Boy Is Exhausted might sound like a breezy pop-song, but if you listen to the lyrics underneath the bright guitar, the band explains how jaded they are with the whole record label system which kept them quiet for so many years.

When bands go on an extended break for as long as the Wrens did, the return album usually isn't too great. It takes time, after all, for the band to get back into the rhythm and start making good music again. Not in this case, though. This album shows that the band haven't been sitting around wasting time while they were out of action, and that someone still knows how to make brilliant, emotional music which can really speak to people.

A band with some of the worst luck ever to befall a bunch of musicians, the Wrens have still gone about establishing a reputation amongst the indie community as a serious band who know what they're doing and who can blend intelligent musical ideas with a sense of catchiness and melody. The last we heard from the band was in the mid-90s, and since then, record label problems have prevented them from getting together and releasing another record.

Luckily, the band has finally managed to find a home on Absolutely Kosher, and they've gotten together and released some music that they've been working on for years. In the seven years since the harsh, energetic indie rock of "Secaucus", a lot has changed in the world of the Wrens, but some things have stayed constant. Good musicmanship, intelligent lyrics, and some really good songwriting.

The brutally melancholy sound of this album seems to weave itself around the band's frustration at their label troubles, and comes off sounding less like a single cohesive album, but rather as a series of related journal entries, as the band bare their souls in ever more intimate ways. In the hands of a lesser group, this approach could have failed dismally, but the Wrens seem to make it all come together properly without even breaking a sweat.

The first song, which opens with the sound of traffic hurtling along the highway somewhere in the distance, perhaps symbolising life passing itself by just a little too quickly for comfort. A pair of guitars and a bass spring out of nowhere, moving together in a jumbled fashion, and the first beautiful song begins. The House That Guilt Built combines rippling, nervous guitars and a killer climax to set the tone for the entire album, to create an atmosphere that persists beyond the end of the song.

While there isn't a bad song at all here, there are a couple that can only be described as genius. Hopeless starts off with a clean, untainted melody, before perfectly placed shards of jagged guitar noise slice through it. Boys, You Won't moves between guitar mayhem and piano beauty with astonishing precision, creating something that's moody but not entirely depressing. This Boy Is Exhausted might sound like a breezy pop-song, but if you listen to the lyrics underneath the bright guitar, the band explains how jaded they are with the whole record label system which kept them quiet for so many years.

When bands go on an extended break for as long as the Wrens did, the return album usually isn't too great. It takes time, after all, for the band to get back into the rhythm and start making good music again. Not in this case, though. This album shows that the band haven't been sitting around wasting time while they were out of action, and that someone still knows how to make brilliant, emotional music which can really speak to people.