Shoegaze, post punk and all genres of the macabre have a specific colour palette. Icy blue, shimmering silver, sunset colours and lots of black. That's why you often hear this kind of music prescribed for rainy days and night time drives. It is the hazy blue of twilight fading into the deep indigo evening and meeting its jet black destiny. The palette is so specific that writing this kind of music can become easy, almost lazy, mostly because there is very little needed to meet the sound qualifications. A chorus pedal, reverb-ed out vocal, some mega distortion and every My Bloody Valentine or Cure record ever made on your shelf. What is essential to every one of these macabre-type bands is something that separates them from the rest. Their own, unique frame in which to hang their hazy gothic masterpiece. About as important as attempting to avoid too many comparisons as the reviewer, which can often be difficult.

Brooklyn via San Francisco trio Weekend's debut Sports offered the melodic, dusty fuzzed-out brilliance this band is capable of. The kind of record you could imagine listening to at midnight driving home from a shit night out and consoling it like a friend. It stood out on its own with a confidence that so many bands lacked who also subscribe to a similar charcoal influence. A sound so predominate in indie music culture that it was truly impressive how they made their mark. In the same kind of way a band like Metz has remained separated from the rest of the grunge revival, they don't suggest you listen to their music, they demand it.

Jinx brings forth echoes from the goths of yore; The Chameleons, The Cure, Joy Division and Ride all show their true colours here. The album's opening track 'Mirror' is beautiful, starting with an ambient synth and the line "he only comes out at night." He is singing from that dark and beautiful place that so many people love about their influences. Melodic bass lines and jangly guitar bring forth the light to lead us through the dark.

'Oubliette' bears a similar goth-father sentiment; "where did you go" followed by "we love all the day and space and time." It's bittersweet. The kind of thing you could hear Robert Smith singing as Simon Gallup drove the bass into the bleak abyss of sad guy loneliness.

Weekend have the palette right. And after making such a jarring and cut throat debut, I think it is interesting and wonderful they've decided to explore a different side of the many shades of melancholy. It's more Disintegration than Pornography, and the way they combine the softness with the heaviness is what makes this record so beautiful. In a way I haven't heard since A Place To Bury Strangers self titled debut in 2007. The only thing missing is the frame. Something to make it truly stand out as the black pearl. And it's close, its very close, but maybe they need just a bit of black magic to make this album the perfect painting.