In July, Sleeping At Last announced an ambitious project to release a three song EP each month, independently and starting in October. Their output has been dubbed Yearbook. One quarter of the way through their project’s goal, Sleeping At Last have assembled four lovingly delicate records: October, November, December, and January.

Thus far, the project has proved fascinating. Despite being download only (something I rarely condone) each EP is packaged with luscious watercolors depicting dreamy landscapes, painted by the artist Geoff Benzing who also designed their website. On my iPhone, the lyrics to each song are superimposed over the cover, adding a connection normally absent from these days of digital music, especially with such thoughtful lyrics as “death is promised to the bee/ whose sting protects the colony/ was its life worth nothing more than honey for the queen?” until singer Ryan O’Neal concludes, “the smartest thing I’ve ever learned is that I don’t have all the answers, just a little light to call my own,” on “Emphasis” from the November EP.

The music itself is full of sweeping crescendos, strings and piano. Sleeping At Last has never been afraid of great swells of emotion or romantic interludes, but the absence of a drummer is noticeable on these songs. Not to say that these tracks miss out on a sense of rhythm (tracks like “Next To Me” bristle with a banjo pop), but the EPs hold ample amounts of intimacy and experimentation. Sleeping At Last benefit from the constraints of the small format, allowing the theatrics and atmospherics soar without risking overindulgence. Individually, the EPs may not be all tracks that the band holds onto, but there seems to be stand-out tracks from every month. “January White” could thaw the coldest soul with its up-beat hand-clap rhythm section, “Bright & Early” is beautiful and paints a world of its own.

The EPs are available individually or by subscription, but the project seems to me much more fulfilling as a glimpse into how bands grow and change from season to season. Each album imparts the qualities of the months they represent; October’s songs are hopefully cautious, a bunkering before winter, while January is imbued with the sense of beginning associated with the New Year, the remnants of the holiday season still palpable. I am very curious to see the evolution of Yearbook as the months get warmer and spirits rise. Already, the band is incorporating more guest musicians into their fold, using a plethora of different instruments. And after reviewing the first four months – October, November, December, January – this reviewer is a subscriber, perhaps you should be to.