Truth be told, most bands have a lot of songs that sound similar, but only a select few are dismissed with the cliché that “all their songs sound the same.” Even when the phrase is used to describe a beloved and long-running band, be it AC/DC, the Ramones or Superchunk, one can’t escape the derogatory connotations. Ultimately, it’s not that it’s those bands lack range, or are incapable of playing any riffs or tempos that don’t conform to a particular formula. They’ve just carved out a sonic niche so specific that the one thing they do really well comes to define them. And for better or worse, Baltimore indie institution the Oranges Band belong in the esteemed company of those bands; all their songs sound more or less the same, even when they technically don’t.

2005′s The World and Everything In It gave the first indications that the Oranges Band might bristle at the uniformity of the songs on their debut and early EPs, with a larger variety of moods and tempos. Still, the jangly, chugging tunes the band made its name on ended up standing out. On their third full length, The Oranges Band Are Invisible, singer/guitarist Roman Kuebler and drummer Dave Voyles seem more at ease with their signature sound, while expanding on it in subtler ways with the help of new guitarist Doug Gillard (formerly of Guided By Voices). The surf-ish riffs and gently gliding vocal melodies are still there, but are shaded in by more clearly communicated moods and emotions.

Gordon’s Night Club

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The tasty noodling in the second half of “Gordon’s Nightclub” is the best example of how Gillard’s addition to the band’s lineup has enhanced the Oranges Band sound. But Are Invisible is truly the band’s best album to date because of Kuebler’s songwriting, which benefits from having a running theme to wrap its hummable hooks around. Throughout the album, Kuebler looks over his shoulder at the ’90s Baltimore indie scene both fondly and with an acidic sense of humor, filling both the lyrics and the titles of songs with references to local venues both past (“Do You Remember Memory Lane?”) and present (“Ottobar Afterhours”). What exactly he’s saying about those good old days is unclear, but peeling back the layers of meaning is a less daunting challenge when the tunes are this good.