Northwest pop rock with a romantic side.

It’s called "Blanket Hog," and it’s in the middle of the record. The singer is singing to whomever’s in his bed, and he’s referring to her as "my little blanket hog." Apparently, she hogs the blankets when she sleeps, but it doesn’t sound like he’s pissed. More like he’s amazed. The singer is John Roderick, and the record is When I Pretend to Fall (Barsuk), the second one from the Long Winters.

"Do you believe it’s day?" is the first line of the song. He sings it real slow, and by "amazed," I mean he can’t believe they made it through the night. He’s amazed that he didn’t leave when she’d tugged all the blankets off of him onto her side of the bed, making it easy for him to slip out the door and go find a drink without having to do that "explaining why he’s leaving" bullshit he’s gotten so bored with. And not long ago he might’ve ended everything based on an offense like "blanket hogging," but now he finds the flaw endearing.

A verse later, the song explodes into a big, bombastic orchestral arrangement that very plaintively signals a new day dawning. It’s overblown and rather inappropriate in the middle of a mostly straight-ahead, kick-ass pop-rock record. The song is far from the record’s highpoint, but it’s indicative of a lot.

John Roderick is good with words. His poetic lyrics form pictures that hum with the feeling to be found in a single, specific moment. On the Long Winters’ first one, The Worst You Can Do Is Harm, Roderick was a big fan of that moment right after a back door slams, when someone’s just walked out of someone else’s life. There was no one waking up to a beautiful morning together. Just a lot of splitting and a lot of bitterness. Something as little as hogging blankets would’ve sent your ass to the curb on that record. Which is why there’s some shock in Roderick’s voice that he appears to want to stick around.

"I’m a little bit less satisfied with just feeling like people just brush up against each other and go their separate ways," says Roderick. We spoke over the phone while he was on a tour stop in Canada.

"On the first record," he says, "There were a couple of songs that I tried to write as hopeful, romantic songs. And I think I failed miserably. They were all so tainted." Tainted with the point of view of a man who believes he is doomed to fail. A man who can think of no better way to conduct himself than to warn everyone who gets close to him that they are about to get fucked over.

"And the second record, even when the songs were recalling or retelling sort of sad episodes, there was a lot more hope in them."

It’s not surprising that he might be writing from a more hopeful place. The Long Winters is something of a second chance for Roderick. In the late 90s, he fronted the Western State Hurricanes, a Seattle band that got a lot of hype and label attention but imploded before they could release anything. The handful of songs that Roderick wrote for that band looked to be lost until some years later, when he was shoved into the studio to record 2002’s The Worst You Can Do Is Harm.

"When I made that first record," says Roderick. "I was doing it somewhat as an act of resigned desperation." The record was full of beautiful monologues from angry young men. It was well-received, especially in his native Northwest, and Roderick was the frontman for a rock band again.

When I Pretend to Fall was written in the subsequent year. It follows that his writing might have a brighter shine to it–and not just because he got a second chance at something. The first record had a lot of Western State Hurricanes songs, songs that were written by a guy in his twenties. And your twenties are a time when you’re willing to throw everything away at the first sign that things might not turn out perfect. Not a kid anymore, Roderick knows perfection is not possible, but if you don’t chuck it all you might manage to come up with something pretty fucking great.

"I’m supporting the band on credit," he says. "Because, again, the hopefulness that’s in the romantic songs, I don’t think that can be parsed out from the hopefulness about the Long Winters."

Roderick’s lyrics demand focus because he pours so much of himself into them. His skill as a pop songwriter shines, and the songs rock throughout. Especially the ones that could be about nothing at all, like the whirlwind party rocker "Prom Night at Hater High." Or "Blue Diamonds," the lead track that’s pretty much locked inside your head for a week after just a few bars. A perfect start to the album, it floats Roderick’s sandy voice overtop a sparse keyboard, and it makes the vocal just bounce off the walls. There’s also "New Girl," the screamer near the end of the record. I heard it played at a show over a year ago, and I’d hoped they wouldn’t be so stupid as to not put it on a record. They weren’t stupid. It’s about a girl who’s new to something (school? who cares?), and it suggests that you be kind to her. It’s a song that’s fun to scream along to.

Moreover, there’s "Bride and Bridle," a song from the mouth of a man who fucked up and whose sentence everyone thinks was "too light." The narrative of the song frames Roderick’s howl: "I did my tiiiiime." It’s about a man who knows that everyone’d be happy if he ran off, just like he probably did a few times over, but who’s determined to stick around.