Mar 26, 2004  |  By: Rachel Devitt  | COMMENTS     

IN THE PROCESS of every breakup, there’s the Meg Ryan moment. The deed’s been done, and there’s no going back. You’re not quite ready to move on, but you need to know it’s a possibility.

This is where Meg comes in. From “When Harry Met Sally” to “French Kiss” to “Addicted to Love,” we need the reassurance of that vintage moment when she predictably, yet so adorably, slouches her way out of the shambles of one relationship into spunky, ready-to-love-again, anti-heroine mode.

Amelia’s second album, “After All,” is the musical equivalent of this moment — all plucky romanticism and soft-focus guitar.

The four-member band, based in Portland, Ore., is best known in the Pacific Northwest for its sultry sound, described by the group’s handlers as “overcast, with the occasional glimpse of sunshine.”

Rich Cuellar, Jesse Emerson, Scott Weddle and Teisha Helgerson are members of Amelia, a group whose reach should extend far beyond the borders of Oregon in the not-so-distant future.

On “After All,” which drops in May, the rhythm section (Jesse Emerson on bass and Richard Cuellar on drums) sets up each track as a thoughtful stroll down a sunny street, with the occasional subdued swish and patter of rain from the snare adding a pensive moment here and there. Guitarist Scott Weddle croons and whispers his musings on the matter on everything from electric to lap steel to banjo.

And through it all, wends the husky murmur of Teisha Helgerson’s vocals, almost as if she’s coming from somewhere inside your own head.

IT’S WELL-WORN TERRAIN — a little bit jazz, a little bit folk, a whole lot of alt-country with slight pop leanings. Artists like Cowboy Junkies, Gillian Welch, even Natalie Merchant pace back and forth down this contemplative little road so frequently that there’s almost no room left for Amelia. And Amelia isn’t adding anything all that radically new to the landscape.

But “After All” does have a few assets to offer beyond basic comfort. The first is undeniable musicianship. Backed by interesting bits of banjo and organ, Weddle breaks out of restrained country swing mode into an almost virtuoso country rock on “Blackbird Pie,” one of the album’s strongest tracks.

The second contribution Amelia has to make is Helgerson, whose gentle, smoky vocals imbue each track with a muted insightfulness. On “France,” she dips and sways through lyrics like: “The way the night felt on your face/The way the right words used to taste,” sinking achingly into each “way.”

She also carries the day on “All About the Sea,” a slow, reflective piece that seems constantly on the verge of a more upbeat bridge or chorus, but is achingly anchored to its meditation by Helgerson’s elegant interpretation.

Finally, “After All” offers a pitch-perfect understanding of the genre, made pleasantly obvious in the careful way every detail of every song is realized. Listening to Helgerson tranquilly ruminate her way through the fairly straight-up alt-country (and at times almost adult-contemporary) vibe of the first couple songs, one begins to wonder whether the band might lend itself well to a bit of French cabaret.

Like the Meg Ryan moment, we’ve been here before. But with “After All,” Amelia gives us what we need in a more charming way than boy-meets-girl movies ever could.