My friend Dan recently told me that, when he was a kid, he was caught stealing baseball cards at a Wisconsin convenience store. The shop owner offered to not tell his parents or call the police if he would agree to "work off" his attempted theft by raking up leaves in front of the place. "That's some serious midwestern shit," I said. The scenario is so Norman Rockwell-- like some kind of "Beaver"-esque alternate reality. Or maybe I'm just bitter that I was fined in excess of $400, then forced to sell half my CD's and get a job bagging groceries to pay it off the time I was caught stealing. Anyway, the Winter Blanket is also some seriously midwestern shit. And no, I don't mean to imply that all things midwestern are corny and hokey; I just want to invoke a vibe by way of the stereotype.

Within the first five seconds of the first song, you should be reminded of another, much better midwestern band, and you might even suspect their involvement. And you'd be right-- that lovably sedative Mormon husband-wife-pal trio Low are mixed up in this album in countless ways. Alan Sparhawk produced and recorded the album "in beautiful Duluth, MN," while wife Mimi Parker lent her delicate voice to a track called "The Tired Horse."

Low's influence isn't limited to technical assistance or guest appearances. Much to the detriment of any possible novelty, Low's presence is all-pervasive on these eight songs. As slow-core's finest practitioners, Low are the target to aim for, the hoop to jump through, and the elders to emulate for anyone prone to writing this sort of music. But while Low do their best work at 10bpm, the same cannot be said for the Winter Blanket.

The album has some nice moments. The opener, "Two Questions," owes less to the Minnesotan couple than it does to the brothers Kadane. It begins with a lone acoustic guitar plucking two notes with nothing but Doug Miller's froggy Bedhead impression over it. Kim Murray (yes, a guy singer and a girl singer) makes her appearance on verse two, sounding somewhere between a little girl and a creaky door hinge, though in a pleasant enough way. The nice melody and understated music is abandoned, however, and the song ends in a wash of fuzzy, uncompelling chord changes.

"There is Nothing to Worry About" follows directly and comprises one of the album's better moments, in part because it avoids straight "prettiness" and flirts with a discomforting, underlying dissonance in its verses. In parts, it sounds like a mix between Rainer Maria's tone-deaf vocals and early REM with a stark piano/bass/drum arrangement. "Lies" is one of the more Low-heavy tracks, and also one of the better. The understated brush-drumming, and hushed vocals come closer than any other song to Low's contemplative quietude. The song falters badly when the drum volume is hiked and strange little piano-driven syncopated sections are dropped in near the song's end.

There's really nothing terrible to say about this album. What is terrible is that that's the best thing I can say for it. I hope you weren't expecting a Zen Koan in this review. There's nothing new here, no melodies to stick in your head, and no tunes that would survive a tempo or format change the way most of Low's could. Even the album's best track, "Glass Windows," sounds sterile and borrowed. Perhaps they'll put out a fine album someday, and make this album the requisite imitate-your-idols stumble on the way to that great place. Hey, optimists live longer.

-Camilo Arturo Leslie