The Weepies have the perfect backstory to validate their insistently emotional music: Steven Tannen and Deb Talan met in a bar after one of her performances, hit it off, and later that night were writing their first songs. The love-at-first-listen relationship gave birth to their debut half-album Happiness, their wildly popular Say I Am You, and finally, marriage and a baby.

While resting and recovering from the “emptiness” of their success, Tannen and Talan cranked out the fourteen songs that would become Hideaway. They say it’s darker and more varied. That’s not exactly the case, but it’s just as effortlessly enchanting as everything they have ever done. Like many popular minimalists, there has never been a truly inventive or impressive bar of music in a Weepies song. But some have the magic and some don’t, and these lovebirds somehow got blessed with both their shares and probably a few others’, too.

It’s a bit of a stretch to call the Weepies “folk,” the term that has come to describe every Paste-recommended crooner with an acoustic guitar. They do play by those rules—simplicity is priority numero uno, and natural-sounding instruments form an understated backdrop to the singing. But up top with the vow of minimalism is a passion for pretty—there has never been a Weepies track without charming lullaby of a melody, and usually some tight harmony for added emotional pull. But the strength of the shtick is that it isn’t a shtick—no sign of effort or calculation are to be found. Every heartbreaking line, every tearful melodic passage is confident and natural. I’m sure that’s how the Weepies feel about the snowball of events that catapulted them to unlikely stardom. That doesn’t mean this music is a work of genius, but it is most certainly an exhibition of genuine talent.

The main problem with Hideaway is its length, not its homogeneity. Ten hushed lullabies are just enough to satiate most listeners’ taste for them, but fourteen—even though most of the songs work well as individual units—pushes the boundaries of a respectable attention span. And one can’t help being a tiny bit disappointed that Tannen and Talan didn’t try even the smallest bit of experimentation—no percussion change-ups, no electronic embellishment, no a capella singing. These songs are generally more “constructed” and textured than their past work, with a heavier dose of electric guitar, but somehow still don’t seem to expand the soundscape much.

Thankfully, sticking to form is less of a problem for the Weepies than it would be for virtually any other band in the world, and at least eleven of the fourteen tracks are unquestionable keepers. The front of the album is the strongest—the wispy, brief opener “Can’t Go Back Now,” the sighing duet “Orbiting,” and the lilting, chromatic rocker “Wish I Could Forget.” The latter most resembles Tannen’s solo work, with his forward-moving guitar (a la “World Spins Madly On”) and some of the sharpest couplets on the record: “Standing in the sun, smoking quiet cigarettes/Just before I let you down/Funny how a heart shatters all at once/Seems like it should make a sound”). The up-tempo title track, perhaps Hideaway’s catchiest number, is solid proof that the Weepies’ pitch-perfect dueling-vocal approach is still effective at a higher volume. (The same is true of the fun, catchy closer, the oh-wait-we-need-a-happy-song “All This Beauty.”)

“How You Survived the War” mimics the form of the duo’s better soft songs, which usually employ three-part harmony (Deb singing two and Steve singing one). It’s the closest match to Say I Am You’s unforgettable moments—the wrenching emotion of “Gotta Have You” or the fragile, divine harmony of “City Wide Rodeo.” Which of the two work better as a lead vocalist is an entirely irresolvable dilemma—they each sing their share of the better songs, but the generally-unremarkable songs on which Steve sings lead (“Not Dead Yet”) always outdo Deb’s filler moments (“All Good Things”). And their vocal blend is so complete, so unique—one distinct voice composed of her gentle, childish one and his warm, reedy one—that no one will ever be able to separate them enough to decide.

The Weepies use a formula that’s tried so often and so rarely produces distinguishable, memorable music. But somehow these two are different—maybe it’s the pointed, plaintive lyrics, or the once-in-a-lifetime vocal match. And overlong and repetitive as this album may be, it’s beautiful from start to finish. Who can resist that?

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