From a business standpoint, 2006 was another rather unfortunate year for the nation’s music industry. Long since experiencing its revenue peak in 2000 with approximately 785.1 million albums sold, record labels have recently found themselves situated on a slippery slope, one that has effectively brought them a loss of roughly $2.5 billion over the past several years. As company leaders have attempted to recover from this twenty-five percent drop in business with various profit sharing tactics (taking percentages from their artists’ tour, merchandising, and publishing income) as well as licensing copyrighted material through websites like YouTube and MySpace, for some the overwhelming financial blows have already taken their toll.

Following in the footsteps of the recently defunct Tower Records—once one of the dominant music institutions in the country—Sheridan Square Entertainment’s North American branch of record label V2 has become the latest casualty. Initiating plans that have ultimately restructured the company from the inside-out, after terminating practically all of its employees—including its president Andy Gershon—V2 has halted the future production of any new material (with the exception of its gospel artists), focusing instead on maintaining its back catalogue and pursuing various digital opportunities.

While this kind of contractual abandonment may ultimately have little impact on the label’s larger acts as they look for new distribution, the future of the company’s lesser known artists certainly comes with a few unanswered questions. Among those caught within this unfortunate limbo is the Chapel Hill-based quintet, Roman Candle.

A band whose debut album, The Wee Hours Revue, was probably one of the most overlooked records of the past year, Roman Candle garner the inevitable comparisons to various other alt.country contemporaries. Yet even with such southern inflection it is the group’s ability to infuse a unique sound of ‘70s soul within the foundation of their songs that has made them something different altogether.

This distinction becomes particularly clear on Wee Hours opening track, “Something Left to Say.” Pushed by a swaggering guitar hook, as well as a percussive groove that only seems to lifts everything onto its shoulders, it’s frontman Skip Matheny’s belting intonation that gives the song its distinct musical stride, if not an ardent purpose of direction. Alongside the passionate, punctuating vocals, the band’s all-around, well-crafted melodies are given an opportunity to take up space without overbearing its audience. In a lot of ways this kind of open-room production finds an additional niche in songs such as the acoustically driven “You Don’t Belong to This World.” By the time the song reaches it’s anthem-reaching chorus, you can’t help but envision the band as though they were playing their way out from the bottom of a canyon.

With such emphatic musical bellowing aside, tracks such “Winterlight” serve as one of the album’s more subdued compositions. Even here however, backed by a circular piano arrangement, harmonica, and a drum beat honoring the clear influence of DJ Shadow, there are moments of underlying muscle pushing their way through. This makes it all the more appropriate when Matheny openly admits the approach he takes to his relationships: “and it might be a little rough to the touch / But that’s the kind of loving I want to give to you.”

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