The opening track, “Up to the Old Tricks,” feels like the duo lighting a match in a dark room. Angular guitars slice through a hazy synth bed, and Jon’s vocals arrive with a conspiratorial calm. The groove is steady and hypnotic, and Elle’s backing vocals act like a pale glow from behind a fogged window. Lyrically and sonically, it hints at mischief, cycles, and the magnetism of bad habits returning like ghosts. There’s a post-punk swagger reminiscent of late-night alleyways, yet wrapped in West Wickhams’ soft, dream-pop mist. It sets the tone: we’re entering a world where nothing is quite straight-lined.
“Ice Block” cools the temperature instantly. This is the duo’s frostbitten meditation on paralysis, emotional or otherwise. Here, their production leans into minimalism: stoic drum machine pulses, ethereal synth drifts, and a bassline that thumps like a slowed heartbeat trapped beneath a glacier. Jon’s vocals feel distant, as though recorded from the far side of a frozen lake, while Elle’s harmonies soften the edges like melting flakes. The song taps into the beauty of stillness, the pain of inertia, and the quiet romance of things on the verge of thawing. It’s gorgeous in its restraint.
The third track, “As the Camera Shuts,” is sakura incarnate—fleeting, fragile, but deeply cinematic. The band leans fully into dream-pop textures: jangling guitars blur into synth halos, while the rhythm feels like footsteps in slow motion. Thematically, it’s about moments captured and instantly lost. Jon and Elle’s vocal interplay is at its best here: soft, ghostly, and observant. The delivery carries a warm ache, the kind that lingers like perfume on a coat long after someone has left. It’s one of the EP’s emotional peaks.
Moving on, the Wickhams sharpen their fangs here. “EQ The Viper” slithers in with a darker, more venomous synth line and an almost garage-punk energy filtered through their lo-fi aesthetic. This is the EP’s most nocturnal track. Lyrically, it suggests manipulation, illusions, and the hidden architecture of desire. The vocals are more direct, and the performance carries a bite. There’s an addictive interplay between the gritty bass and the shimmering synths. A standout for fans of their more shadow-leaning influences.
The finale, “Save Yourselves,” feels like dawn breaking over ruins. It’s hopeful, urgent, and strangely comforting. It’s the most anthemic track of the set, with a propulsive beat and a chorus that feels like a whispered warning disguised as a lullaby. The vocals hover between softness and plea, and the synth-pop elements shine brightest here. “Save Yourselves” leaves a sense of movement, escape, and renewal. It blooms, it withers, and it breathes out.
The production across Sakura is intentionally lo-fi, but in a way that makes everything feel closer, warmer, and more tactile. You can sense their hands in every layer. Their synth choices lean toward vintage dreaminess; the guitars flicker between jagged post-punk bite and shimmering haze. The rhythm programming is lean and effective, always serving the atmosphere rather than dominating it. Vocally, they strike a balance between intimacy and detachment, creating that classic gothic allure: melodic, spectral, and just out of reach. This EP is not polished marble; it’s a hand-carved charm, smooth in some places, raw in others, and beautifully imperfect.
Listening to Sakura feels like walking through a garden at twilight: blossoms falling, shadows growing, each step a discovery. It’s soothing and unsettling, romantic and eerie. The emotional core—this idea of appreciating fleeting beauty—beats strongly in every track. It’s an EP that doesn’t shout for attention; it enchants you into paying attention. West Wickhams deserves your ears, your imagination, and even a corner of your heart. They’re not just making music; they’re building a world. And with “Sakura,” that world is in bloom, even if only for a moment.
Listen to the “Sakura” EP on Spotify
Follow West Wickhams here for more information
