Cindy 
Every record from Cindy feels like its lodged in a dream. From the first whisper of tape hiss to the laconic strums and Karina Gill’s gentle delivery, the band is perpetually ensconced between waking and wonder. With a lineup held over from their recent Swan Lake EP, the new record grasps onto a little consistency for the band, letting them dig into their dynamic a bit deeper than on that short form disc. The familiarity with their new foundation comes through, sloughing off a little bit of the scrub up that came along with Why Not Now? to burrow into the cold humidity of the 1:2 atmospheres. Sometimes an emergence out of the hiss is seen as necessary evolution, but Another Country feels like Cindy coming home. Like their contemporaries in April Magazine, the gauziness feels like a part of the band and its return isn’t a step backwards, but instead a reassertion of identity.
Dip into Another Country and the lights dim. The record is sweet and sequestered, built on a candlelit lilt that hides from the sun. Undercurrents of folk and soul slip over one another, swaying with a doo-wop wobble at times and a breezy sway n’ strum the next. As genres surface they’re still under the spell of the hiss, quivering between memory and material, caught in the curtains of the dream. Hope and longing are swept into the wind, buffeted into the breeze to play between the jangles and the jostle of drums. Indie pop’s shone bright this year, but Cindy have come to help huddle under the covers; an overcast treasure that’s more inviting each time through.