For a while now, people have been betting on Liz Powell's excellent indie trio, Land Of Talk, to do the big blow-up. All the elements are there—great songs; a contract with a well-respected label, Saddle Creek; a terrific lead singer in Powell (not to mention a brief stint as Broken Social Scene's female vocalist); and, perhaps most importantly, an international musical community wherein Canadian success is not only possible, but seemingly expected.
Despite all of these factors, though, Land Of Talk haven't quite made the anticipated leap. (Powell's career-pausing vocal chord surgery in late 2008—coming just as their debut, Some Are Lakes, was released—certainly didn't help matters.) But as much as this could be viewed as a disappointment, listening to the new Cloak and Cipher, Land Of Talk's current position feels just right. It's not that they couldn't reach or don't deserve a larger audience, but missing in all of the hype surrounding the group has been an understanding of just how intimate their music is. So even though a song like the peppy "Swift Coin" has the immediate appeal to sound killer blasting over a festival crowd, the record is better understood over time. From the subtle ride cymbal flourishes in the choruses of "Goaltime Exposure" to the way that the gorgeous "Quarry Hymns" spins and revolves around itself, it takes a while for some of the best moments to come into their own.
Then there's Powell's reconstructed voice—surgery or not, it was never primed to blow anyone out of the water. Rather, it's soft, supple, graceful and expressive and it's at its best in the personal sphere. It's in fine form here, making Cloak and Cipher kind of like the best rock album Sarah Harmer never made. When you can nail that, taking over the world sorta pales in comparison.