The Portland Trailblazers, Christmas fruitcakes, and the cast ofThe Man in the Iron Mask all suffer from the same malady: each is considerably less than the sum of its parts. You might blame the Blazers' woes on weak coaching. And you could pin that insufferable failure of a movie on the presence of not one, but two Dicaprios. So why is it that, even though the individual ingredients of fruitcake are generally palatable, the final product is so repulsive? Abilene, a moody, pensive outfit from Chicago benefits from a cohesion and synergy that elevate them far above the working of their individual components. Gerard Depardieu and Rasheed Wallace take note.

For a trio, Abilene fill a great deal of space, and for the simplicity of their guitar/drums/bass arrangement, they're a remarkably dynamic group. They're busy, yet, at the same time, exemplars of the less-is-more school of songwriting. The seedy, post-rock noir of the album's opening track, "Detroit Locker," utilizes a quirky time signature and sparse, hushed vocals while relying heavily on the constant ting-ting of the ride cymbal and a sharp, foreboding guitar riff.

This 35-minute, six-song semi-album was recorded by Bill Skibbe, and Juan Carrera of the lamentably long-defunct Warmers from Washington, D.C. But lest you assume otherwise, Abilene aren't as fixated on the D.C. sound, coming off more like a less self-consciously art-oriented "Chicago band." Even at their relaxed, stoner tempo, Abilene kind of rock.

The oil that keeps this act running is, without a doubt, its mood. The music, even in its most rhythmically jagged moments, sways in slow, opioid motions. Credit the sound mixing for this effect. When not carrying on a melody of its own, the warm, well-phrased bass parts are buried deep in the mix, just loud enough to anchor the guitar parts, but never enough to infringe on Scott Adamson's bright, expressive drumming. "October" is perhaps the album's best moment from a sonic perspective. Only towards the song's end are the players allowed to come together at full volume to create a climactic din and provide a supporting fabric for a rare instance of yelling by Alex Dunham.

Abilene brings to mind June of 44, and to some degree, its off-shoot the Letter E; it recalls the quiet but tenser moments of the former, and does so well what the latter could never pull of at all. A veritable musical gelding, the Letter E has, to date, sounded sterile, bloodless and totally devoid of passion; Abilene resides at the opposite end of the quality spectrum, playing a similarly "jammy" brand of music, but one that conveys feeling and a unified stance. And there are very few vocals here, so it goes without saying that I'm not talking about a lyrical or philosophical stance. The instruments do seem to be "speaking" from the same place, functioning organically, and displaying a unity of purpose. The songs all have a strong sense of drama, nice interesting shapes, and a sort of narrative quality to them, too.

All that said, this is just a taste of, hopefully, more impressive things to come. So far, the trio has only shown that they work very well together. Though Dunham's vocals are pleasant and judiciously spaced, you sometimes get the feeling that the low sound levels are meant to mask his shortcomings rather than create a dramatic effect. The music has enough going for it to pique my interest and is strong enough in its execution to warrant respect. I hope they keep following whatever it is that brought them to this point to a more confidently delineated musical identity.

-Camilo Arturo Leslie