Not in the Deep End: Great Lake Swimmers, 'Lost Channels'

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TO THE DISCERNING EAR, no folk-pop music sounds alike. It's pretty easy to pick Iron & Wine, Neil Young and Nick Drake out of a lineup.

But when it comes to the lesser-knowns, a band really has to do something to stand out, and that's a lesson Great Lake Swimmers might have to learn. Take away Tony Dekker's typically gorgeous vocals, and you're left with the bare bones of a some good songs but very few great ones.

The Canadian group is know for melodies that gush fluidly into each other, marked by soft drum taps and such a symbiotic relationship with nature that it seems suitable as a soundtrack to "Walden." At their best, the band's songs alternately rise and fall, prickle and soften, offering a comforting yet stirring refuge from the daily grind (see "Your Rocky Spine" as an example).

Great Lake Swimmers' fourth album, "Lost Channels" (Nettwerk), offers a range of flavors, but in the end they're too mild.

Every once in a while there's a burst of fiddle, a shade of the Orient, but the whole collection seems unable to take risks, or to delve deeper than the expedient, half-hearted tunes that are immaculately crafted without inspiring much in the listener. Even the flow for which most Great Lake Swimmers albums strive is broken here by the jarring "Singer Castle Bells" (a good story, according to the album commentary, but not a great inclusion between album tracks).

But while the album is not outstanding, neither is it a flop.

"Pulling on a Line" is a standout track, featuring an uncharacteristic turn and downshifting into a surprising key change. You end up wanting to hear more from the chorus band, the one that's pulling the strings, rather than the verse band, the one that's having the strings pull on it. And "The Chorus in the Underground" makes excellent use of strings and winds up being a fun little back-porch jam. The instrumentals could have dug a little deeper into the conceit, since the song lapses back into lullaby mode just a little, but it's a solid effort nonetheless.

"Still" is a respectable nod to R.E.M., though Dekker is less-than-believable as a breathy Michael Stipe, and the sure-of-itself guitar, while vaguely satisfying for the first minute and a half, really should have either switched to a third chord or broken from its five-note progression just once before the end.

The love/anti-love songs, including "Concrete Heart" and "Stealing Tomorrow," exemplify the band's usual tone, and what they lack in rhythm they make up for in diligence. They're not drawn in the raw blood of a recently broken man dashing off passionate lyrics, but rather in the years-long frustration of a guy who's willing to sit patiently and construct an immaculate monument out of heartache. Other slow tracks are bogged down in repetition, overhighlighting the few bits of cleverness to be found. "Everything Is Moving So Fast," while probably the prettiest melody overall, lazily and ironically pushes its infinite chorus, "Everything is moving so fast / I am unlimited." The album does in fact seem to be limited by some things, including a unvarying tempo and an overall fear of commitment.

There are some other hints of Fleetwood Mac and Crosby, Stills & Nash, but rather than feeling inspired, those moments comes off as a little derivative. Maybe it's a just a case of beautiful songs that are deceptively simple and too easy to overlook. Maybe it's the current unemployment rate, or maybe it's the rip-your-black-heart-out, emotional-demolition work of Bon Iver's "For Emma, Forever Ago" last year, but any sad or just plain pretty songs need to step it up now. If you're hurting, you've got something to say, or you just want people to plant more trees, you have to yell it from the rooftops, not sing it in equivocal terms as a lullaby.

» Black Cat, 1811 14th St. NW; with Kate Maki, Tue., April 14, 9 p.m.; 202-667-4490. (U-Street/Cardozo)