Of course it's raining out. Or rather, drizzling. On this particular afternoon, my backyard is Yorkshire, or Lancashire, or Northumberland. A pile of soggy tree mulch rots in the corner of the lawn; the stench keeps the pheasants at bay. The Oriental and Roman stone figures are lonelier than usual, the flowers having not yet bloomed. Rainwater has soaked half the ragged grey bark of the moss-ridden tree in the middle of it all, a witch's withered old hand reaching up from the coarse yellow grass. And, naturally, a wooden swing hangs from a horizontal limb by two frayed ropes. It is not swinging. Of course.

This is all so obvious because the four members of England's Dakota Suite are playing on my stereo. As you might imagine from the sepia-toned cover art, they aren't exactly bubblegum. Climatically speaking, they're overcast; musically speaking, they're overcast; lyrically speaking, they're overcast. Morning Lake Forever refuses to play if there's even a hint of sunshine outside-- that's how serious it is about it's own mood.

So, of course the nine-minute opener is entitled "Chapel Rain." The "mood" is hinted at with distant whirs, a brushed drumkit, and a cautious guitar. Then it's firmly established with lead singer/songwriter Chris Hooson's soft voice. "What's happened to us/ How did we fall this far?" he croons, occasionally swallowing his vocals a la Richard Buckner. "Now we've both got scars that won't heal with time or age/ The murder of the hours we each have left to live/ And feelings that have already killed us." Hooson and his guitar awaken during the chorus, accompanied by assorted, barely perceptible instruments such as a floating synth, banjo, and some electronic sparkles. But it isn't enough to pull listeners out of the immediate onset of depression, to wake them up to Hooson's realization: "I must be evil."

The following instrumental, "Turk 1," does a fine job of finding the right medium. Shuffling percussion, deep keyboards, a rumbling bass and some dark guitar-picking insist upon a comparison to the For Carnation. But intermittent rhythmic strumming that recalls recent moody Brit bands such as Coldplay and Travis create an engaging dynamic best described as ominous motivation.

Unfortunately, Morning Lake Forever continues to shift its sound so that, while maintaining an overall somberness, it feels like a collection of various works packaged together. The next two piano pieces-- not unlike those found on their all-instrumental second full-length, 1999's Navigation Yard-- slow the album to a snail's pace. Both would be best described as existing somewhere between George Winston and A Silver Mt. Zion, without the skill of the former or the evocation of the latter. While "Your Vigor for Life Appalls Me (Part 1)" is a solo instrumental, the cello and vocals of "The Streets Were All I Saw" do little to remedy the listlessness. Again, Hooson sings about all things happy and profound: "Oh say, can you see/ All the rain coming down?" Looking out my window, I must pledge allegiance to Dakota Suite that, yes, I do see it.

The album is rounded out by three more inconsistent tracks. "Lesseps" offers some interesting electronic signaling reminiscent of an artistically inclined R2-D2, but it's dragged down by dated synthesizers befitting a slow 80's love song. The acoustic drone number, "Because I Could Not Wait for Death," shows an obvious Red House Painters and American Music Club influence-- in fact, Dakota Suite once appeared on a tribute album for the latter-- but they're unable to elevate the song to the level of their forefathers, especially with slightly intriguing, but ultimately inferior lines such as, "Why didn't you hold me?/ Why didn't you fuck me?/ Why didn't kiss me like you kissed her?" Pardon my terseness, but Morning Lake Forever is then rounded out with "About When We Met," a piano-and-strings piece that captures the title well, albeit repetitively.

With bandmember Richard Fromby (Spacemen 3, Spectrum) recording and producing the album, you'd think there'd be some notable sonic advances, but most of the compelling sounds are too buried beneath rather trite musicianship. On 1998's Songs for a Barbed Wire Fence and last year's Signal Hill, Dakota Suite proved capable of arranging some stunning numbers. And despite what I've provided here, they're also capable of poignant lyricism. But on Morning Lake Forever, rain is just rain and overcast is simply overcast: there's nothing particularly memorable about it. In fact, the sun just brightened my backyard, and Dakota Suite mysteriously vanished.

-Ryan Kearney