Woodpigeon first came to attention just ahead of the 2008 End of the Road festival. Tucked away on the festival’s own label, the understated Songbook bridged the gap between Sufjan 'easy reference' Stevens and the likes of Peasant.

Saccharine vocals were woven between skeletal melodies creating fractured but occasionally brilliant tracks. Then, before you knew it Treasury Library Canada was stealing the hearts of the kids this side of the Atlantic.

Die Stadt Muzikanten then takes the fragility of record one and the popular appeal of record two to create a new set steeped in melodrama and the same sense of tender longing in the vocals of Mark Hamilton.

Influenced by the loss of Hamilton's maternal Austrian grandparents, Die Stadt Muzikanten opens with the bashful crackle of the title, which sets the scene well. Like much of their work, the record as a whole builds from the bottom up, the delicacy of ‘Die Stadt Muzikanten’ easing you into the record with staged longing before the orchestrated yearning of ‘Empty-Hall Sing-A-Long’ kicks in. ‘Empty-Hall…' manages to be both a bug-bear and contender for an earlier highlight at once.

It’s here Hamilton’s vocals escape the tender beauty of the first record and instead lean towards irksome. Every line seems to be underpinned by a misery almost lacking in purpose or content and it is this wilful misery which marrs the record.

Elsewhere, ‘My Denial in Argyle’ wins the prize for worst song-title of the year, beating off competition from Marina and the Diamonds (‘I Am Not a Robot’) and Scouting for Girls. Yet specifics aside the song is something of a spiritual sequel to the sublime ‘Ms Stacey Watson, Stepney Green’ from Songbook.

A balance of raw emotion and a rollicking accompaniment help to pull it back from an album that suffers for its familiarity. It’s not that Wood Pigeon lack ambition; it’s not that they lack ability… there is just something so lily-livered about them that prolonged exposure really goes against the grain.

In its 16 track glory Die Stadt Muzikanten is undoubtedly too long. As a record it’s acceptable but in its acceptability lays more weakness. For every sweeping movement there are three that would fail to rouse the bands’ most doe-eyed fans.

There is tenderness here, there is humour and at times Woodpigeon come close to compelling; had it been shorter the sentiments – and more so the delivery, would not have been lost. Mark Hamilton isn’t a poor singer but after 16 tracks his ‘sensitive’ tones could wear down even the most resilient of listeners.

Essentially the record is five tracks too long and half a front man shy of what it really needs. It’s listenable, enjoyable but ultimately it pulls up just short. If you must buy this record do so with caution, otherwise catch these kids live – at least that way you won’t miss the worthwhile aspects of a band capable of so much better.