With all due respect to the great tragedies – Hamlet, Oedipus Rex and emo-band melodrama – it’s the little moments of commonplace melancholy and isolation, with which we really connect. Sure, stories about plots to inherit Danish kingdoms, gouging out your eyes in fatalistic defeat and life-derailing breakups make for good headlines, but they’re, in the very least, unfamiliar emotional territory.

The Perishers know how compelling the commonplace can be when framed correctly, and spend the bulk of Let There Be Morning wallowing in the quiet melancholy that, if not the stuff of timeless tragedies or pop melodrama, at least deals with life’s little defeats and isolations with cagey dignity.

An ode to the soul-crushing weekday routine opens Let There Be Morning as The Perishers paint a picture of cubicle farms, worn-out nights and weekday denial in “Weekends.” With a hushed, smoky atmosphere and lush keys, the band recalls the languid hush of bedroom pop acts like The Field Mice without succumbing to choking their rainy-day feel. Although it’s still lethargic and listless, Let There Be Morning has a bit of optimism, both lyrically and musically with a touch of Californian sunshine, that keeps it from weighing listeners down too much. Closing out with the guardedly optimistic title track, a rolling piano-driven lullaby to welcome the sun into the world nocturnal doubts and misgivings.

Book-ended between the two tracks, the Swedes move through pastoral songs that dabble in rainy-day blues, casual loneliness and, at times, the faintest glimmer of hope. “My Heart” walks the line between emotion and full-on schmaltz with a jangly guitar lead and spacey keyboards in a tale of unrequited love. “Going Out” weaves a tale of reluctant rebounds amid chiming keyboards that writhe with heartbreak, while “Trouble Sleeping” reverts to clichés of breakup-induced insomnia. For every broken heart, The Perishers give us a reason to keep looking for love, however: “Nothing Like You and I” is a slowly unfurling indie pop song, reminiscent of The Frames that preaches the power of love. Rather than revel in loneliness, “Still Here” delivers a tale of optimism through breakup.

The Perishers haven’t done anything a zillion other basement pop acts whipped up about 300 rainy days ago, but Let There Be Morning is haunting enough to make it work of its own accord. Indie kids, eat your hearts out.