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The nearest beach to my house is the litter-strewn stamp of pebbles that clutter Southend seafront, but, despite their somewhat idyllic name, White Sands have little interest in whisking me away to warmer climates. That's okay though, because the brutal aural assault that they do generously provide, stuffed with giddy waves of distortion and ferocious cranks of guitar, are thrilling enough to numb a grim existence spent gazing towards the horizon from the end of a drizzly English pier.

That's not to say, however, that their debut EP, The Wait is built on optimism, nor positivity. Much of the lyrics seem fixated on crippling isolation and low expectations, tales of bleakness at odds with layers of reverb that are, on the surface, particularly vicious, yet, upon repeated listens, are softened and blunted to reveal subtle pop sensibilities.

Perhaps the greatest beneficiary of this approach is the record's breathless self-titled number; stitched around a sugary hook and let loose with it, 'The Wait' gains more instrumental muscle as it sweeps past for one more lap, and although it blossoms into a fierce introduction, 'Expect Nothing' is anchored by a far more playful melody.

While its running time feels criminally slight, these tracks reward those willing to revisit and, despite their initial immediacy, offer more in three solitary songs than much of their flimsy contemporaries can muster. Although White Sands may not radiate a typically sunny disposition, their debut EP is at least more bruising than a jaunt on the dodgems, more warming than a soggy bag of chips, more exhilarating than a 2p machine spree. The fun that the three piece are having is immeasurable, and damn, it's infectious.

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