How many times have you read something along the lines of: “Beach Boys style harmonies?” I’m guessing quite a lot, because everyone seems to do it. But, honestly, does every band in the world singing harmonies sound like the Beach Boys? No. Why? Because the Beach Boys wrote diverse, lithe and limber vocal contortions that the majority of indie pop bands could not dream of recording, let alone performing. But, still we do it. We hear a chordal harmony and point a big, slightly ignorant finger straight at Brian Wilson and Co. as the almighty reference. This simply isn’t the case and it has got to stop!

The Ruby Suns, both instrumentally and vocally, are the closest modern match to the sonic-awe that was the Beach Boys.

Now, I know what I just said, but this time it’s for real. The Ruby Suns sing like the Beach Boys: smooth, complex and instantly memorable. When hearing such similarities it is natural to feel that mimicry is afoot. But don’t fret, what The Ruby Suns do is not completely a “have-I-heard-this-before?” parody. It is more an organic and flattering homage; a homage that uses veering structure and the unconventional to create a swirling and mesmerising collection of soundscapes and small pop ditties.

This homage is established immediately, as just like Smile started with the marvellous vocal acrobatics of ‘Our Prayer/Gee’, The Ruby Suns open with ‘Trees Like Kids’, a warm flush of a capella. There are many differences between the two album openers, but the most immediately noticeable is the massive production disparity between these songs. Generally, lo-fi is seen as the sound of obscurity and intimacy; the small crackles and lack of LA sheen are the qualities that endear a record to the listener. However, the do-it-yourself ethos of The Ruby Suns makes for patchy results, as their brand of spectacular pop and embellished arrangements are excellently produced, but lack the glossy finish that they deserve: vocals sometimes go missing, lyrics are ill-defined and the warmth of organ and voice are too often churned out in a semi-solid, warm mush, rather than the audio sensation that you know is hidden beneath. Unlike a singer with bad intonation or a bass player who is running out of veins, this is something that can be easily fixed. The only question is whether Ryan McPhun (singer/songwriter/keys) can create such consistently exquisite pop again? The strength and versatility of these songs will be hard to repeat.

‘Criterion’ is the most conventionally hook-laden and direct moment on the album. The rolling, golden organ and optimism of its chorus met by the shortest of lyrics: “You deserve to be with the one you love.” But, rather than coming off passé and trite, McPhun steers from up front more than at other points in the album, where his words are lost by all the background clutter – which is a shame no matter how beautiful such clutter is. While the most conventional on the album, ‘Criterion’ is still not your standard FM slop. As McPhun veers and meanders with ‘Sloop John B’ style harmonium arpeggios, grandiose doo-wop harmonies and a surprising feel change at the end; the song’s rhythm jolting from swing to straight.

The first for-international-ears single from the album is ‘Maasai Mara’. While contentiously spelt – some say Maasai, others Masai – the song’s title refers to the parklands in South-Western Kenya which inhabit a yearly migration of wildebeest. McPhun’s animal imagery depicts our striped protagonist, a lone zebra, being led into the claws of an exploitative businessman and away from his yearly pilgrimage. While the indistinct nature of the lyrics – and the lack of a lyric sheet – makes it difficult to fully flesh out this tale, it is questionable as to whether the song relates to McPhun’s travel from the glitz and glam of LA to the rurality of New Zealand. Musically, the song is stuck in a Pet Sounds time warp that has been infused with the rhythmic elements of the stellar Animal Bells from The Crayon Fields.

‘Maasai Mara’ is a fine song and a wise single choice, but by no means is it a lone standout. This record is full of honey-sweet pop and memorable, thematic craftsmanship that is well exemplified by the dual-parts of ‘Trepidation’. ‘Trepidation Part One’ is 81 seconds of instrumental orchestration that acts as an intermission – not unlike Brian Wilson’s title track on Pet Sounds. While these all-instrumental moments are prominent throughout The Ruby Suns, this is a blessing, as it welds the songs together in true album shape. The voice of McPhun is wondrously suited to the soft insularism of the second suite: ‘Trepidation Part Two’, as his slender singing sounds not unlike the track’s disturbed title. The drum-heavy instrumental freak-out that passes for the song’s conclusion is a similar quivering mess and is probably the only moment on the album that may cause the cautious listener to back-pedal and say: “What was that?”

Despite the splendour of these songs and the genius-like precision in which the album is arranged, there is still a small portion of the record that is too derivative for it to be granted ‘classic’ status. Sometimes, The Ruby Suns simply slip too far into their love of The Beach Boys – via a guitar part, a melodica arpeggio or the twisting and turning structure of these songs. While I do think this album is significant, it is these slips into emulation that ultimately stop this record from being brilliant in its own right. What we are ultimately left with is a number of sun-kissed moments of pop glamour, a handful of virtuoso arrangements and a slight, lingering cloud of imitation, that fogs an otherwise illuminated effort.