Lê Almeida
's improvisational indie rock troupe
Oruã
had been making fine records for years before their debut for
K
, 2025's
Slacker
. In fact, their earlier work impressed
Built to Spill
's
Doug Martsch
so much that he asked most of
to join his group, and together they made one of the best
BTS
albums, 2022's
When the Wind Forgets Your Name
.
gives the uninitiated plenty of clues why
Martsch
was so enamored; the album is made up of long songs that unspool at languid paces and are just barely moored by swirling guitar lines, hazy melodies, and a crack rhythm section that pushes and pulls on the underpinnings like it was so much taffy.
Almeida
sings in a similar drawl too, delivering the words in a plaintive fashion that gives the proceedings some added emotional punch even when the songs drift and billow. This is a slightly more experimental and free-form record than the band's past couple, with new touches like jagged saxophone interjections and ghostly synths filling in around the edges. The former helps to rachet up the drama and unease, especially on songs like "Mexican Suite," where the paint-peeling register of the horn is matched by the gnarly, barely musical howling of the lead guitar. That these blasts of noise and power happen in the middle of a song that otherwise seems content to laze along like it was floating down a river on a summer day speaks to the constantly surprising, challenging nature of the album.
were born in an age when the politics and everyday life in their native Brazil were in a downward spiral, and the urgency and passion of their early days hasn't dimmed; there's no doubt that the fragmented and churning events sweeping the world when
was made inform its sound and vision. Indeed, songs as tormented and tumultuous as "De se Envolver" or as dislocated and warped as "Slave of the Golden Teeth" feel like broadcasts from the front lines. Even the songs -- such as "Inaiê" -- that scale down the noise trade it for a foreboding, slow-moving psychedelic murk that is the audio equivalent of a spider crawling up one's neck. The pair of quieter, almost pretty songs that end the album -- the electric "Soft" and the mostly acoustic "Banguela," which features
's most yearning vocal -- feel like a mandatory cool-down period and show off a calmer side of the band. After the noise and subtle fury that came before, it's a welcome alternate view of a group that deserves to be closely examined and followed as they develop and explore the outer limits of psychedelic indie rock. ~ Tim Sendra