Caravel's tragically short self-titled pseudo album/EP is one of those all too rare discs that is less a sample and more a tease. Despite clocking in at a Weezerly 28 minutes Caravel only holds a precious six tracks. Six tracks filled with truely heartfelt pop ballads reminiscent of Ben Folds, Rufus Wainwright and Cold War Kids.

It's not uncommon to come across bands with a similar sound, but it is indeed rare to get both the catchy, familiar feeling music and the strikingly touching songwriting. The somber and pensive "Trembling Hands" gives the listener an affecting view through the eyes of a former MIT professor who's been stripped of his tenure, wife, child and possesions as he contemplates his life, choices and possible suicide. Through the calm and measured piano chords one can't help but picture the weary man standing stone-still, gripping the rail of a cold, high bridge, staring into the Charles River as his life plays over in his mind.

It's images like this and many others that give Caravel's biographical songs the power to remove you from youself and transport you into the life of the various characters: a novelist ruminating on the power of a story and the imaginary lives it creates, a sailor coming home from a tour of duty to find that his true love has found another man in his absence, and an old man at the end of his days recalling a love affair with a younger woman.

This is definitely one of the more promising acts I've heard in the last year and I highly recommend this record. If you can find it, that is.