Reverb-drenched and bittersweet, Alvvays have been making music since yesterday evening, since last night, since dusk or maybe dawn, when the stars were coming out or going away. It’s sun-splashed and twilit, precise and overgrown, a gorgeous glittering fuzz-pop from the city of Toronto. Two women and three men, a crate of C86 tapes, a love of hooks and jangle, wistful shimmer, the sort of road-trips where the whole world seems sunglass-tinted.
