The Coldest Hour Is Just Before The Dawn

On its second full-length, Akai knows its indie-pop formula so well that even “Not In My Mind,” a song about hard-core paranoia, comes across as more endearing than tinfoil-hat crazy. The eight-piece makes good use of the genre’s most enchanting tricks, warming up hummable melodies with synths, horns, and the occasional pop-up choir, then liberally sprinkling the whole thing with glockenspiel, the aural equivalent of pixie dust. The recipe for some utterly charming tunes is complete only after adding twee lyrics involving various kinds of light— bonfires, moonlight, the glow from the city—and the way a certain someone looks in them. Even the slightly off-key singing lends a wooziness that fits perfectly into the band’s dreamy landscape that it seems intentional.

And yet, that perfectly honed dreaminess also holds the band back: If there’s one thing the album needs, it’s some bite. Montreal band Stars, an apparent influence on the group in terms of lushness and longing, plays up its own turbulent boy-girl back-and-forth. For better or worse, there’s no tension between Akai’s two main vocalists. Addressing a crumbling relationship, “Drifted” poses potential for some drama but, in the grand tradition of Midwestern passive-aggressiveness, the track’s most cutting remark is “I wish you’d stop telling lies.” Wishing doesn’t accomplish much, but it’s certainly appropriate on an album that holds stock in the magic of falling stars.

Akai celebrates its CD release Saturday at the 400 Bar.