Fay Wrays – Strange Confessor

Every now and then I come across an album that I jokingly refer to as an “experience.”  But in the case of post-rock outfit Fay Wrays and their cryptic full length Strange Confessor, I’m only half joking.  While the auditory aspect of the album presents an interesting and original linear series of songs, the physical delivery makes an unforgettable impact.

Arriving in an orange, legal sized envelope entitled “dossier,” the unpacking process was as mystifying as it was initially confusing.  Reaching my hand in revealed a sprawling array of heavily stylized, artifacts ranging from artistic to outright cultish.  Surrounding by a host of laminated pictures evidencing a murder scene, a picture of actress and namesake Fay Wrays, and a card bearing the image of The Virgin Mary (which also plays hosts to the album’s credits on the reverse side), lies a full sized, coffee stained transcript entitled “a treatise on the human interaction with THE SOUND.”  The two-paragraph essay reads like a missionary’s conversion speech, demanding an almost spiritual connection and experiential embrace of this omnipresent entity referred to only as “THE SOUND.”  Even the track listing is presented like verse titles in a biblical text.  It’s quite a mindful to say the least, but taken as the somewhat disorienting experience it is, it gets a lot of things right.

Part Manchester Orchestra, part Brand New, part Joy Division, and clearly influenced by the likes of La Dispute and company, Fay Wrays is an unpredictable escape from the confines of structure.  A steady buzz of electronics is made clear right from the warping guitar distortion on opener “When We Storm The Gate We Sing This Song.”  Strange Confessor projects a strong sense of pacing evident in the targeted introduction and gradual cresting of chirping melodic pulses of “Paper Tiger Meets The Straw Man.”  Vocalist Whitney Freeman (or is it “Ben McEntee” as stated on the website?) sounds like he’s laying it all on the line with his pseudo spoken word style.  His instability matches the dissonant nature of the whole affair – feeling oddly at home, like a psych patient in this ward.  On the guitar cruncher “THE SOUND is a Little Different in My Head” in particular, Freeman’s paranoid, single phrased insistence that “it’s a little different in my head” gets under your skin, making me want to know more.  That the mood caries over for the eight minute instrumental “San Francisco (in) General” and continues mining the depth of your brain like one of Pink Floid’s brain bending trips only further speaks to the creative follow through inherent in each of Strange Confessor’s nine tracks.

Dare I say that Fay Wrays has recreated and clarified the confusing nature of their dossier without ever offering clear resolve?  Like an art house indie film heavy on inquiry and light on answers, all this intrigue unfolds in their favour.  It’s the type of production that an audience can internalize beyond formal conclusion.  Strange Confessor is radically experimental and the payoff is clear.  While not a perfect release (songs like “she gave me a compass” tend to get lost in the sea of continuity), Fay Wrays overcomes their new band shortcomings by offering something barely comparable and altogether unique.