Mojave 3: Even-Keel Sadness

A broken heart is usually an excuse for lots of sturm und drang in rock. The need topurge all that bitterness and resentment leads to a roiling tempest of tangled angst. Mojave 3, however, prefers to internalize its pain and keep everything on the same temperate emotional plain. Its songs are whispered imprecations or sweet farewells. Frontman Neil Halstead is a guy who can make a woman melt even as he’s walking out the door.

At the Troubadour on Tuesday, Mojave 3 (which is actually a sextet) channeled its bruised heart into songs of gentle grace and subtlety, hauntingly conjuring the ghosts of lost relationships. The British group draws from rock’s quieter flank. Its loping melodies and glacial tempos recalled the Minnesota trio Low, while the band’s acoustic arrangements, frequently laced with pedal steel and pealing electric guitar, echoed Neil Young’s early ‘70s country-rock.

Lead singer Halstead carried most of the material’s emotional baggage on his shoulders, but when he harmonized with bassist Rachel Goswell, who has a honeyed high register, the pair elevated sadness into something strangely, soothingly comforting. Mojave 3 occasionally ventured beyond its quiet ruminations to try its hand at frisky rock, leavening its exquisite melancholy with a much-needed dose of joyful noise.