I didn't really appreciate this album until I put it on this morning, sleepy and shivering next to the electric heater in a freezing cold record label office (read: shed) with the rain pouring down outside and the beautifully understated, contemplative opening track So Much Water in my headphones.

Records like this one need to be listened to in the right place at the right time ­ there are no catchy pop songs here, just expansive, guitar-driven soundscapes of the kind you might expect from Mogwai in their quieter moments (indeed, the album was recorded by Andy Miller, who also recorded Mogwai's debut). This is music for late night car journeys or walks home in the rain. But while most such post-rock has a tendency to drift off into monotony at times, Tacoma Radar can rely on Jennifer Cosgrove's intimate vocal delivery to keep the engine on the rails and travelling forward. It's refreshing to hear a female vocalist offer such an honest, unaffected performance in a way that often only male singers are allowed to get away with. The lyrics have that rare quality of coming across as simple whilst avoiding ever sounding boring - instead they are poetic and touching, reflecting upon the passing of time, friends coming and going, poignant conversations and memories.

Most of the songs are slow to mid-tempo, but No One Waved Goodbye ebbs and flows comfortably and the pace does pick up at times, notably for single Pilot House, which is almost anthemic in its refrain, "Everybody's getting far too near / I hate the way I'm feeling / it's been a long time passing over / the path-finding light begins to fade out..." The album has on overall feeling of resigned melancholy, however it's not a wrist-slitting kind of sadness but a familiar, comforting one, it sings about the night but knows it will see it through and still be singing by the morning.

-Hannah Wright