The Vryll Society is the type of band you could mention to a second year liberal arts student to prove that you are part of the in-crowd.
Their musical identity is as kaleidoscopic as their song videos: the singer an androgynous Ian Brown, the guitar riffs at times channel early Oasis, while the rhythm section might have borrowed a beat or four from NEU!
Yet in a sense The Vryll Society works. The aftertaste of the gig is as quick to dissipate as the wah-wah pedal effects they love to use.
But the inoffensive soundscapes take you to a simpler and fuzzier reality, one where owning lava lamps was still socially acceptable and manscaping wasn’t even a word.
This atmospheric quality is the bands strongest suit, as you’d expect from a band named after a 1871 semi-Biblical science fiction novel. It becomes much less engaging when you start paying attention to all the separate elements, however; the vocals consisting mainly of simple three-note melodies, while the tremolo picked style of the guitars becomes slightly repetitive even towards the end of their hour-or-so long gig.
Yet if escapism via the brickwork laid by Stone Roses and Verve is your thing then The Vryll Society should more than help scratch that post-rock itch, as long as you arm yourself with an open-subconsciousness and tuned down critical thinking.
