Brazilian psych rockers Oruã create a clanging, bottomless garage-rock noise that transcends influence and gets right at the heart of pure creativity. Adopting a lo-fi clamor that blossoms into a fractured psychedelic expanse, the band (built from the combined musical imaginations of multi-instrumentalist Lê Almeida, bassist João Luiz and drummer Phill Fernandes) builds this magnificent sound out of stray bits of various genres and a collection of obsessive inspirations. They aren't burdened by the weight of these rhythmic antecedents but are emboldened by their collected melodic histories.
They've managed to fashion a considerable rock roar from textures and tones that feel loose and lovingly ramshackle. Occasionally stepping into something a bit more experimental, the band doesn't cling to the established boundaries of their previous work -- not that they were all that concerned with keeping inside the lines on any prior track. Latticed and roughed-up pop rhythms entangle themselves with fiercer psych-rock tendencies, forming a new and uniquely persuasive perspective. They aren't bound by a given set of guidelines or musical presets; they allow these sounds to bloom and unfurl at their own pace, resulting in a series of both raucous and subtly introspective narratives.
Oruã will release their latest record, "ROMÃ," later this year, and it will find the band delving into a much more politicized and dense musical scene. And in line with those details, they've offered up the first single from that forthcoming album. "Vitin" is a swirling, labyrinthine rocker that shows off their penchant for fuzzed-up riffs and clever arrangements. It's brief, barely topping two and a half minutes, but in that time, it conjures hazy memories of early '90s fizzy indie freak-outs and Pavement-esque rock mutations. But the band isn't dabbling in this potent nostalgia without an understanding of its underlying structures. They're reverent but audacious in the way they approach its hallowed mechanics.
And while the song does bring to mind a certain pre-grunge underground atmosphere, Oruã doesn't linger on the familiar aspects of its construction. They're more interested in all the craggy fissures and canyons that mark its surface. By combining their fondness for branching psych rhythms, warped pop consistencies and '90s indie rock intrepidity, they've been able to sidestep nostalgia's usual pitfalls and deliver a track that feels indebted to the past while also feeling completely distinct from its influences. The guitars crunch and stomp, filled with waves of distortion, while the drums thud and shake in the background. This is a sound which they've been working with for some time, and "Vitin" shows them having found the perfect balance between clanging guitar theatrics and a more melody-driven disposition.