Rex: 3

It's no secret that more and more bands are discovering the power of quiet music: From the spare, plodding beauty of Low to the lush, melodramatic earnestness of Red House Painters, it's become a loosely defined genre unto itself. Two of quietude's more elegant—and similar—practitioners are Scotland's Appendix Out and New York's Rex. Appendix Out's first full-length, The Rye Bears A Poison, owes a bit to the work of Palace's Will Oldham; frontman Ali Roberts sings his obtuse, oft-repeated lyrics with a similarly fragile, albeit more on-key, warble. But Appendix Out's instrumentation makes the album distinct, and beautiful: "Many-Legged Boatmen," a delicate, acoustic-guitar-based ballad, drifts perfectly into the softly shimmering strings of "Frozen Blight." That consistent dedication to sweet, swooning sounds—violins, acoustic and slide guitars, keyboards, subtle samples—keeps this lovely record's moody power intact. Of course, if any band knows its way around moody power, it's Rex: Last year's C was one of the most stunningly majestic albums of 1996, packed with sixtysomething minutes of drama and low-key crescendos. The new 3 isn't nearly as ambitious: It's about two-thirds as long, and much of the time, it feels like a between-albums toss-off. (The fact that no fewer than four of its nine songs are likable but uneventful instrumentals doesn't exactly alter that perception.) But there are magical moments scattered throughout, including gorgeous ballads like the string-based "Other James" and the epic, swollen "Jet." The uninitiated will definitely want to start with C, but the many fans of the genre (quiet-rock slowcore) should find something to satisfy them on both 3 and The Rye Bears A Poison.