In recent years, a small insurgence of "sad-core" bands have quietly infiltrated the indie scene: the most well-known of these bands are probably Low, Ida, and Mojave 3, along with veteran grief-rockers like Damon & Naomi. Dakota Suite are a new arrival to this sub-genre of "slow-core," with weepy, hopeless songs contemplating the cruel, infinite darkness engulfing the lives of sensitive, quiet English majors. They invite you to while away the hours with a glass of eggnog and rum, some Sylvia Plath verse, and maybe a handful of muscle relaxants. Dakota Suite's music is heavy with the sort of drugged-out despair, pathos, and general emotional disintegration you might find in a Denis Johnson short story.

A typical example of Dakota Suite's approach: On "A View of the Sea," we hear the wash of the ocean, with languid Chet Baker-like trumpet lines wafting over singer Chris Hooson's fragile, quavering vocals, with minimal accompaniment on acoustic guitar. There's also substantial, although sometimes not-so-obvious, hints of melody coursing through the album.

Every song here is founded upon the same slowly arpeggiated acoustic guitar chords. But there's much to be said for the clever arrangements percolating up top. You get soulful electric piano accompaniment, acoustic piano treated with a concert hall full of reverb (think U2's October), some heavily treated slide guitar, and trumpet. Jazzy, muted runs on the electric guitar flutter around the chord changes. But strangely, as much as this references current lo-fi, there's a little maudlin, early '70s California-rock ethos shaping it, too. Anyone remember Poco?

Actually, this is the sort of stuff slacker poster-boy Elliott Smith tried to pull off years ago, before he closeted the mournful acoustic balladeer/morose heroin-boy persona to begin worshipping at the altar of 10cc. Thing is, you're truly convinced that this poor guy in Dakota Suite actually experiences this pain he rasps on about. The mesmerizing drone of his voice is such a great vehicle for his charming and most compelling suicidal moments. Sometimes you really wonder whether he can finish a song without expiring completely.

Yes, somehow Hooson's not the kind of gushy crybaby you'd relish performing some quick dental surgery on with a crowbar. He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders so you don't have to, and in that sense, this isn't depressing music. He's already absorbed all the sadness and melancholy out there. So count your blessings while you marvel at how downtrodden this dude is. In what always seems like his last living breath, he delivers his doctrine of hopelessness in the form of lines like, "Nothing lasts/ It always fades/ Slips away," and "I can barely breathe. you won't let me drown. will you let me drown," as well as, "Fear takes all of our breaths for us." Nary a positive note is touched upon or even hinted at throughout. Yet somehow, damnit, I love it.

I mean, at times, Dakota Suite can outdo even the best of the woe-is-me sad sacks: American Music Club, Will Oldham, Red House Painters' Mark Kozelek. But I'll admit, it's probably been a while since a singer/songwriter's morbid depression has translated into such a surprisingly simple, beautiful record.

-Michael Sandlin