Heligoland, a four-piece outfit from Victoria, Australia, are the sort of band that you'd expect to see under the 4AD banner. Slow, seductive and almost-shoegazey, they successfully avoid the pit of navel-gazing that many emulators (and some originators) of that particularly dreamy strand of music so frequently fall into. This exquisitively-packaged EP -- well, how many discs normally come in their own fabric slipcase, replete with button? -- just begs for a dark night and a warm radiator to do it justice. The music within drifts along, wavelike, but with a definite sense of direction: the tunes' basslines propel without dominating, allowing the sparse drumming and heavily echoed home-on-the-range slabs of slide to breathe, but never to the point where you feel rootless. There's a distinct purpose to these tunes, and though their initial meaning may seem unclear, they're maddeningly appealing; once in your player, this disc won't be coming out for a while.

Special mention has to be made of Karen Vogt's vocals. When she sings, it's with an etheral, soaring tone -- almost kd lang-like, especially on "Kuro" -- that's miles away from the effects-laden whisper approach so often associated with this style of music. "Thunderbug" is home to a sublime vocalization -- a wordless, erotic moan of longing that surpasses almost anything I've heard, rising above a backing that never seems to intrude. It's this measured and sure approach that pulls the Heligoland package together. It oozes from the speakers with an assurance and a professionalism that's miles away from lo-fi slack. The five songs here are, quite simply, lovely. Lovers of gentle, thoughtful music take heart: Heligoland are utterly beautiful, and with the promise shown here, they deserve to be huge.