You're ever so slightly drunk, and swinging on a hammock. It's seventy-five degrees out, the sunlight is waning, and the person you're most attracted to just revealed that the feeling is mutual. You don't have shit to do for the rest of the day but enjoy the unending perfect moment. That's the sort of corny, but great feel-good vibe of the first track off At Rush Hour the Cars. Damn, is this nice. By the third track, you'll be humming "O Canada" and planning a move to Toronto.

At Rush Hour the Cars is a thirteen-track, delicately crafted and sedative dream that you won't want to wake up from. You'll hear Low, Palace, and Smog bandied about as musical reference points in its reviews. Ah, but crass approximations, my friend. There are points of intersection, to be sure. Still, Royal City are considerably less sparse and hymn-like than Low, less cabin-fevered and tortured than the many masks of Will Oldham, and miles away from the tone of any bare-stripped Smog record.

You should have already inferred that this sweet quintet is a product of that great frigid expanse to the north. Their sound is, nevertheless, anything but icy. Every guitar chord and bass pluck exudes a hearth-like warmth, and the regained familiarity that comes with meeting old friends after a period of extended separation. The songs never drag past their prime, staying just long enough for you to miss them when they end, and never long enough to sate you.

Not unlike Oldham's work, At Rush Hour the Cars is heavy on the Americana vibe. Or, rather, North Americana. Many songs have strong country inflections, but not in the hokey, twangy sense; the feel here is much more earthy, and far less stylized. Aaron Riche's wavering, sleepy vocals keep the band afloat, with piano, organ, lap-steel guitar, and additional voices rounding things out. Evan Gordon, Jim Guthrie, Nathan Lawr, and Simon Osborne provide the musical textures over which Riche's pretty, faltering voice meanders, relating melancholy vignettes. It's formulaic but powerful. And that's Royal City's principal charm; rather than lazily reposing on the time-tested, they wield it gracefully and exhaust its possibilities. Particularly effective, as well as subtle, is the prudence and restraint shown by the rhythm section. The bass never vies for a piece of the melody, and the drums are often imperceptible, acting more as accents on guitar strums, and bringing to mind the sound of a distant wind-blown screen door slamming shut.

The honey-drenched opener, "O You with Flowers," the dark, waltzy "You Strutted and You Fretted," and the '60s folk of "I Can See" are the record's standouts, though there no songs that could rightfully qualify as "weak" here. "You Strutted and Fretted," in particular, is an example of the musical coquetry prevalent on this album. You'd be happy to hear the song linger for another five minutes, but after the first glimpse of skin and a wry smile, it disappears. The effect is frustrating, but the method intelligent.

Nevertheless, I hope the next recording Royal City releases offers larger morsels and fleshier arrangements. While the teasing leaves you thirsting, the sequencing is notable, too, for its subtle and effective pacing. As a respite from your regular regimen of feedback and screaming, or as a structural reinforcement to the quiet music section of your collection, Royal City comes as a welcome surprise this year. You can never have too many good songs.

-Camilo Arturo Leslie