From a name like Fey Ray, you'd expect a bunch of neo-glam poseurs. Fortunately, this Seattle quartet pulls off a remarkable trick. Although their more-classic-rock-than-indie-rock compositions hint that they could be the next coming of Mott The Hoople if they really wanted to, their subdued cool, melodic smarts and proficiency at sparkling, gorgeous instrumental passages suggest something less derivative or obvious.

That's not to say that this solid, well sequenced first album has absolutely no ties with the past. Vocalist/songwriter Matt Duss and his cohorts clearly fancy the collected works of Bowie, Bolan and their ilk. However, like those psychedelia-loving Swedes in Soundtrack of Our Lives, these guys apply classic themes to their own fresh ideas without ever sounding like a tribute act. For instance, take the strutting, sartorially vivid title cut, the closest thing here to a candidate for the Velvet Goldmine soundtrack. You've heard the pounding pianos and mewling guitars before, but as part of a mini-epic that surges and sighs in unexpected places, they sound sympathetic and vital, particularly by the time Duss closes with the defiant, sweetly vulnerable line, "I wanna be misunderstood like a renegade smile."

Similarly, "I've Been Fighting My Own War" exudes the jazzy insouciance of early Steely Dan -- all juicy chord changes and heavenly stoner harmonies in a compact frame that's clever without seeming too clever, of course. But the words, which reference complacency and resistance, address decidedly contemporary concerns. Like many other selections here, the track showcases a band that's not afraid to sound quiet; they cast a blissful, elegiac sheen over the apocalyptic ruminations of "Draw The Curtain" and add charm to the slow, resolute, Grant Lee Phillips-flavored closer, "No Suicide".

If the name didn't already tip you off, these guys also possess a welcome (if occasionally oblique) sense of humor. The sugary, rollicking, mostly instrumental "Reflections on Radicalism in America" actually takes the time to make room for a random few towards its conclusion ("It's a game that you play / It's a tattoo of Che / It's a bumper sticker"). That's pretty conventional compared to the positively strange "Ralph Nader As A Child With A Hangover (Parts I, II, and III)", which plays out like a miniature rock opera, eventually reaching euphoric Who-like heights with this bratty, priceless repeated couplet: "I wanna fight for justice / but I can't get up in the morning."

When Duss throws out a wicked observation like "You know you're still the same old thing / puppet dancing on a brand new string", he's daring anyone to write him off as retro. I Wanna Be New & Perfect album proves that he and his bandmates are up to challenging such a claim.