Just as shy people are afraid to make eye contact, Woodpigeon's diffident debut album is wary of making ear contact. You'd never guess that eight permanent band members, plus a supporting cast of 11, were involved in its making; even at its most upbeat, the music is hushed and subtle, and frontman Mark Hamilton's voice barely seems to rise above a whisper. Concentrate hard and you notice that every song has some lovely quality to recommend it: an earthy bit of banjo-picking and echoes of ancient military songs in A Sad Country Ballad for a Tired Superhero; beaming trumpet in Ms Stacey Watson, Stepney Green; a tinkling glockenspiel in Death by Ninja (A Love Song), whose gentleness contrasts sharply with the violence of Hamilton's surreal narrative. For all its fragile beauty, however, the album is also weirdly unmemorable: evanescent in quite the wrong way.