Papermoons

Whether or not the association with origami is intended, Papermoons is nevertheless a fitting moniker for a band whose sound is a shapeshifting melange of fragile soundscapes and zen-like calm. On last year's New Tales LP, the former Houstonians' music flits around various elements of indie-dom's softer side, never really landing on one discrete sound — "country-ish emo" comes close, but doesn't tell the whole story. The whole affair is bathed in a sort of woozy, pseudo-psychedelia that would feel at home alongside the "Cosmic American Music" of latter-day Gram Parsons disciples like Beachwood Sparks. But Papermoons' sound is defined not by the duo's influences but by subtly brushed drums folding in on understated vocals while eloquent guitars — sometimes just brash enough to have an impact, sometimes just a jangle away from a Big Star record — keep things moving forward. It's a shuffling pace the Papermoons keep, as if they're not in a hurry to get where they're going, a feeling reinforced by the general sense of nonchalant melancholy that pervades their songs. This is emotional music without being a Hallmark card.