Wray – Wray

The illusion of continuity: that’s the way Wray choose to bring up the curtain on this debut effort. Blood Moon’s nagging two-note jangle fades in slowly, introducing the punkish pace that sees us through the album’s first half, and surreptitiously suggesting the band have already been powering through its mesmerising riff over tireless hours. The watchword is energy: feet are rarely removed from the accelerator, even with sumptuous, Slowdive-refracted chords draping dreampop wooziness across their sinewy alterna-rock. Vocals, naturally, come buried in mist and reverb.

If at times it feels like they’re ticking boxes on the zeitgeist checklist (psychedelia, krautrock and shoegaze seem broadly well represented), then it’s worth acknowledging the way their influences feel organically assimilated rather than awkwardly tacked on. Seven-minute centrepiece May 15 sees Wray striving for the transcendent, but the relatively sombre Graved is where they really deliver, with an arctic splendour that’s both morose and moreish.