Death Cab for Cutie are my security blanket band, my protection from the loud, the discordant, the different, the frightening. Things change so quickly, it's nice to have a constant sometimes. I chose Death Cab because they create ridiculously beautiful melodies with words that seem to float in and out of each note.

Their newest and fourth album, Transatlanticism, came at a time when the music world needed a bit of their cautious optimism. Instead we receive a haunting CD about the tribulations of a fading love. The thing about this band is that they know how to push your buttons. The opening song, "New Year", takes a very common experience "So this is the New Year, and I don't feel any different / explosions off in the distance," and makes you feel as if you are being singled out from the crowd. "I wish the world was flat like the old days, and I could travel just by folding a map."

Isn't that perfect?

This isn't their best album, but it's not bad. Only Ben Gibbard, the lead singer, can write an incredibly touching and catchy song about a glove compartment. When you find yourself singing along to lines like, "because behind its door, there's nothing to keep my fingers warm and all I find are souvenirs from better times," you know you can't turn back.

Death Cab for Cutie is one of those few bands that are able to maintain a large and loyal fan base while still achieving critical acclaim. They incorporate a grander sense of genres into this album, utilizing woodwind instruments and electronic beats that pulse against the melody line.

My only complaint stems from my perverse love of the English language. While other lyricists resort to slang or lax intonation when their words don't fit appropriately within the song, Gibbard has always, ALWAYS sung with beautiful grammar and immaculate sentence structure. He fails me on the fifth song of the album, resorting to improper tense. "You think she is beautiful, but she don't mean a thing to me." But my nitpicking is really not an apt reflection of how this album reels you in with repeated listens. How it is so improbably catchy, you find yourself mouthing lyrics during class as if deep down you knew that Gibbard had all the answers.