Even before you crack the wrapper on Woodeye's new c.d. Such Sweet Sorrow, you get the whole story. In the cover art, painted by local figurative artist Jesse Sierra Hernandez, a bereft soul sits at a bar littered with empty shot glasses, burning a flower with his lighter while looking as though he's about to be consumed by a pall of darkness. You'll get through about half of the first song before you realize that the guy on the cover is the music -- somber, romantic, pensive.

While hardly the feel-good disc of the season, Carey Wolff's collection of anthems of grief and loss is among the most powerful and moving you'll hear anywhere. A friend said she recently stood in front of Woodeye's stage, unashamedly weeping as the story of her life was told by Wolff, and you could easily see a sentient human responding similarly to several of the tunes on this shiny silver disc.

Take "The Fray": Unfolding at a leisurely pace, framed by utility muso extraordinaire Scott Davis' four-note piano line, the song examines a marriage on the skids through the eyes of one of its principals: "When the edges start to fray / Put your fist away / Just talk to me." Or "Our Song," which follows a relationship from its bright blooming to its bitter end: "I finally got the guts to say, 'Babe, I'll see you later.' / She said, 'What took you so long? / I can't remember our song.'" The laid-back, relatively angst-free bonus track "Shakespeare's Ex" is a surprising departure.

Musically, these boys can be magnificent. Wolff's rasp and roar are undeniably expressive, Davis' Neil Young-cum-Replacements guitar guarantees that whatever Woodeye's doing is always rock, and the Graham Richardson/Kenny Smith rhythm section plays with splendid economy. "Nothing's as good as it seems," sings Wolff in "Motel Room." Well, maybe some things are.