  "Fay Wrays from Fresno, California pretty much fucking rock" "You realize in 30 seconds that Fay Wrays are the balls." "Whatever you call Fay Wrays, you can't call them shit." Formed in the incubating heat and virtually nonexistent hustle and bustle of central California as veterans in a local music scene that is more Myth of Sisyphus than The Little Engine That Could, Fay Wrays have been producing their astringent rock and roll that straddles the imaginary fence between heavy dissonant postpunk and stark atmospheric indie dirge in dive bars and clubs since somewhere in 2006. At times a potent two piece, others, a schizophrenic three, the Wrays bring "Possessed riffing" and "a cyclonic limb-storm of flailing arms and fire-squad worthy fills" (performermag.com) to their live performances that hinge on an unabashedly loud, louder, loudest mentality that screams self effacement rather than self indulgence, as in, "Where is this coming from? Where are they at? Dear God, who is making this derisive cacophony?" But you cannot see anyone. No one is there. There is only the SOUND. "Many have questioned where the SOUND has come from: a distant planet? Under the rubble of some lost civilization? Or is it something more sinister, something less tangible. In the beginning was the SOUND and it was good. The SOUND traversed the terrestrial plain until it came upon fertile soil, that of two youths. Once there, the SOUND transcribed itself on their hearts and minds. Then, it waited. Lying dormant, until 2006 when the SOUND became flesh. Like the JFK assassination or that first drag of a cigarette, those who hear the SOUND for the first time remember exactly where they were, who they were with, the temperature of the pavement under their feet, and that reverberation in their ears that flowed like wavelengths to their souls. It is not always pleasant but it is a necessity, all must at one time or another hear the SOUND. In 2009, amidst the sweltering heat and dripping sweat of a blitzkrieg summer, the SOUND sent a beacon out into the atmosphere. It came to a violent rest in the heart and soul of a young man in Redding, California, who heeded the call of the SOUND and soon began to commiserate with the two youths, who were now young men. The SOUND brought together this triumvirate for the glory of the SOUND alone. The triumvirate that is Fay Wrays simply transubstantiates the SOUND through vacuum tubes, transducers, clanging symbols, snare drums, and toms. The SOUND was encoded in 2009 with the full length release of Mata Hari, a modest effort that attempted to take a blistering live set and place it squarely into the ear canals of anyone with a pulse and a willing desire to be strapped to an ear trumpet during the later years of their lives. Released by JAXart Records in Los Angeles the digital only release garnered a spattering of praise in the blogosphere and a small host of fans who, in their own way, gave their souls to the SOUND as every second ticked on their stereo display, but that was all to be expected (The SOUND had foreseen it). The SOUND has been described as "a screaming collision of frothing guitars, moody atmospherics and throat-peeling screams, (it) is one sustained, headlong howl of catchy postpone... Not exactly easy listening, but awfully hard to ignore." (Webinfront.net), while others simply describe it by name alone. Fay Wrays continue on their path to synthesize the SOUND for the greater good. The SOUND will not, it cannot be repudiated; it is only a matter of time. |
 
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