Echo Lake is indeed a real place, and though it isn't exactly Springfield when it comes to American ubiquity, odds are there's one near you if you live in the states. It's popular for good reason: The phrase "Echo Lake" just sounds like a nice place to live (or make a record in Woods' case). Such assumed pleasantries also work towards the favor of this British group, since each individual word inhabits a lot of characteristics some people want out of indie rock as well: reverberant, liquid, tranquil, immersive. So you can't accuse Echo Lake of false advertising-- their debut, Wild Peace, is pure, dreamy indie rock laced with the more narcotic strains of shoegaze and untouched by modernity, with vocals and guitars awash in natural echo and keyboards that you wouldn't dare call "synths."
Echo Lake's laconic demeanor would have you initially believe Wild Peace isn't a bold record, but it does exude confidence in its own way. You don't have to be extroverted to be sure of yourself and Echo Lake is a band that trusts their influences and considers Slumberland a home rather than a stepping stone. Their language is sonically and lyrically commonplace, and the titles of "Monday 5AM", "In Dreams", and "Swimmers" are tellingly similar to those of songs previously written by the Clientele, Wild Nothing, and Real Estate. That's really the realm in which Wild Peace operates-- there's a distinct delicacy to this reclusive music that forgoes superficial thrill for subtle absorption, almost unerringly making for a passive listening experience. Tempos roll leisurely, percussion is used as much for texture as timekeeping, shakers and floor toms share equal billing with snares and hi-hats. Chords change by the bar, not by the beat and the melodies are only slightly more agile; vocalist Linda Jarvis is often lost in a thicket of her own overdubbed harmonies.
That's not to say Wild Peace is formless: "Another Day" finds a perfectly chipper vocal within a four-note range that perfectly pairs with Thom Hill's tart guitar riff and rides it out for the song's entirety. There's enough internal activity during "Even the Blind" to create a full-band dynamism over a melody that's basically one note moving as if suspended in a light gelatin. You could argue for its having the most dynamic buildup or the most striking harmonies because it does, but it's more likely the immediate standout simply because it hammers home its chorus the most times.
With that in mind, you might think Wild Peace would benefit more from the visceral than the ethereal, yet it starts to distinguish itself from its long-established template when the band gets less edgy. The rockers are too rigid, too indebted to the aspects of Spacemen 3 that are out of reach: The fuzzed-out roar of "Young Silence" and "In Dreams"' krautrock pulse feel like a band completing prerequisites rather than discovering themselves. More intriguing is the aching, almost oriental harmonizer applied to the guitars of instrumental "Monday 5AM", a mid-album dip into the heavy waters of Grouper. The nearly beatless "Further Down" and the title track achieve a similarly naturalistic, sun-staring psychedelia, ashen distortion and organ drone flittering about like visual floaters. But that's the thing about a record on which so many of the arresting sounds are borne of decay: Once you leave Wild Peace, it's pretty much gone.
If you don't get what you want out of Echo Lake, perhaps they didn't have what you were looking for in the first place. And it's tough to discern how much of it is actually the fault of the band itself-- even if Galaxie 500 or Slowdive would've been wholly out of step with what's going on right now, the strength of "Fourth of July" or "Machine Gun" would inevitably come to the fore. Or, does Wild Peace fail to achieve greatness because it doesn't aspire to that? Whatever the case, it certainly calls into question what really matters on a debut. While Echo Lake's relative lack of ambition doesn't make Wild Peace a failure, achieving such modest goals doesn't necessary make it a success either.
