Events

[INDIE] Wych Elm, Orations’ long awaited debut and the cause for celebration behind their gig at the Tralf Music Hall on Saturday, April 1 (with Alpha Hopper and honeyCOMA)  is an addictive affair that shines plenty of light amid the dark, gothic undercurrent  propelling its 11 tracks along. The one-two punch of the driving jangle-pop in openers “Black Lung” and “Iron” is spiked with a hyper, new wave bounce supplied by bassist Jason Draper and drummer Matt Chavanne –  a rhythmic scheme that recurs throughout the album and keeps you on your toes. Guitarist Paul Morin channels Johnny Marr and Peter Buck, adding just a touch of slack-strung lilt for good measure. It’s a formula that works, referencing artists galore but doing so in a way that feels miraculously fresh… could it be we need more of this?

Front gal and principal lyricist Jess Collins swoops and swoons her way through these songs with the sort of indelible vocal personality that modern pop eschews, blending tricks learned from greats like Cocteau Twin Elizabeth Fraser and The Sundays’ Harriet Wheeler with her own brand of transfixing bird-like flutter — you couldn’t shut her out if you wanted to (but you won’t). She demands your attention, then rewards you with chewy bits of ear candy, even when she’s at the top of her lungs.

Tending toward imagery that’s far from plainspoken, she creates an air of mystery that keeps her vignettes in the abstract – Collins is definitely down her own rabbit hole. She drops a breadcrumb every so often, but the lack of specificity keeps you guessing.

That said, Wych Elm isn’t completely undecipherable. It seems to loosely follow a cycle of death and rebirth, stemming from an initial realization of love grown stale through the ensuing throes of anger, confusion, resentment and pity. The creepy, slow-to-reveal single from last year, “Oh, the Horror,” stands at the intersection of shame and jealousy, but the focus appears to shift during the disc’s second half. Light and dark continue intermingling, however, through the highly tuneful “Caterwaul,” and “Speaking Sparks,” the latter of which creates a blissful, otherworldly ethos from plucked, pitchy guitar strings as Collins croons, “Aphrodite, send me a clue/Send me up/I could go any minute now/I could sleep forever.”

The disc culminates with “The Tell,” a harrowing track of murder and haunting — death and rebirth of another sort. Collins hisses and growls herself hoarse, leaving you wanting to know more just as the album ends.

Wych Elm makes clear that Orations aren’t afraid of pop. Unlike other bands of this ilk, they’re not so busy brooding and toying with pretense that melody is kept at bay, which is a big win for all concerned since a sizeable chunk of the album is quite stunning. It’d be terribly unfair to dismiss them as purveyors of mere nostalgic indulgence. True, the quartet’s  influences are worn on its frayed, unbuttoned shirt sleeves, but the sum of its musical parts is considerable, begging the question: At what point does quality transcend the notion of being derivative? Don’t cheat yourself.