Rocher isn’t just named as such because singer/songwriter Aaron Roche’s second name is what it is. It’s also French for ‘rock’, which is strange considering if the EP ‘Seven Hours’ was a country, it would most certainly be a little further South.

Dubliner Roche has been plucking guitar strings since the age of 12, and his experience in ensembles, orchestras and choirs in the years since, is strikingly evident on this three-track EP. ‘Seven Hours’ is a small stroll through a Mediterranean village, a sassy siesta with an overlying sophistication to the festival-like samba. If indie-flamenco is not already a genre, this is a good place to lay the foundations.

The opening riff of Seven Hours is of that you’d hear light up a Spanish restaurant as an over-zealous man with a sombrero and sleazy mustache attempts to serenade you for some change. Roche’s tone and delivery is immediately distinct, with a jolty vocal that’s as varied as it is smooth. A great pattern develops itself throughout the track, with catchy guitar, Sahara-like percussion and the clanger of a cowbell all melting together under those sizzling Mediterranean beats—the quite traditional underlay getting a bit burnt. Attempts at creating a zany harmony over overlapping vocals towards the end just proves distracting—definitely an experiment that shouldn’t have escaped the wrath of the edit.

Ye Olde England plucking opens Officer Officer with a hint of Victorian mystique, carried along by violin and accapella-like harmonies. Roche’s lingering “ooohs” are filled with charge, his voice spills with emotion, echoing quite a ‘Matt Bellamy ballad’ quality to it at times. A speech interrupts the spectacle—a jester-like musical interval—before we’re back into violin and marching drums. Roche’s soaring notes take the blocky instrumentals along beautifully. It’s of theatrical quality—lots to listen to, lots to enjoy. Roche and his band tell a story of mistaken guilt with everything at their disposal and, while it wains to sloppy at times, it never quite gets there. The sloppiness just adds to the character—think The Mambo Kings, staged in the Globe in 1600.

The Girl Next Door maintains that Spanish Sahara, but is promptly beaten down with some determined drums. Roche’s heartfelt chorus line, “I’m in love with the girl next door,” doesn’t fit. It’s like the music expects a dark, hispanic underwear model to walk into them room when it’s really just a pasty disappointment that stumbles through the door. As with the prior tracks, a thundering drum races to the end, softened with light Spanish guitar and sensual trumpet into a big clattering finish.

‘Seven Hours’ is a strong EP that should prompt the industry to take notice of Rocher. But, things that should happen usually don’t. Original and neatly executed for the most part, it’s a good start for Roche. If he steps it up on an LP, who knows what other exotic lands he could take it to.