Chops have always been a touchy subject in indie rock circles, but at least it used to be fairly easy to know who had them before discussing whether or not they mattered. In 2012, it’s rarer to find a band that doesn’t incorporate button-pushing, vocal manipulation, or wholesale sampling as a primary compositional method– how do you even begin to acknowledge the impact of technical proficiency outside of, say, AraabMuzik? On their gorgeous debut of bewitching digital folk, Hundred Waters find answers in a means similar to Braids’ or Julia Holter’s: Their stage setup might be a confounding tangle of cables and surge protectors, but there’s a commitment to unapologetic, real-time virtuosity, compositional refinement, and vision that cuts through the nonchalant clutter of their peers. You can’t pull of sounding this joyfully adventurous without being a serious musician. The most obvious extension of that kind of serious musicianship is the Gainesville, Fla., quintet’s confidence, and there are tangible ways in which it manifests here: Whether the pristine clarity of the production is the result of countless studio hours or just a monetary leap of faith (I’m more inclined to believe the former considering its tiny label), you immediately appreciate the investment of belief. And Hundred Waters streams for free on the band’s website with the lyrics posted in plain sight, which might seem like a small gesture, but a heartening one if you think of how far out their way young bands go to obscure their words. If you have to shackle yourself to a computer, Hundred Waters allow and invite a more immersive listening experience in a terribly shallow format. Both make the same point: They’re not afraid to ask for your full attention. In a more abstract way, Hundred Waters plays out like a record unusually sure of itself despite having no obvious stylistic hook– colleagues of mine have grasped at Broadcast and Dirty Projectors as comparisons, two bands who sound like hardly anyone else, let alone each other. I hesitate to use “folktronica” because I think the nomenclature can trigger more ill will than the music that was actually produced under that faux-genre, but that’s really what you’re getting here: Befitting a record with both “Sonnet” and “…—…” as song titles, Hundred Waters merges the digital and the antiquated sonically and lyrically. At their core, the songs are often in a folk tradition, albeit more towards the “freak-” than the coffee-shop type, vocalist Nicole Miglis heavily informed by pastoral England in terms of harmony and language. The lyrics to opener “Sonnet” are taken directly and entirely from a Percy Shelley verse of the same name, while the acoustic figures and woodwinds that vine upwards throughout it the suggest Espers’ Ren Faire wake-and-bakes basking in sunshine rather than blacklights. Beyond the modal harmonies, there’s an archaic poetry to these songs that some might find impossibly precious (note the spelling of “splendour” in the lyrics), but I find it congruent with the band’s musical persona. “Boreal” and “Me & Anodyne” initially appear fantastical due to their purple wordplay, but they’re stories grounded in the complexities of human relationships and the urge to opt out of modern mundanity. Likewise, focus on the ripeness of the lyrics, and you’ll miss “Thistle” as an acrid sendoff written with a poisoned quill. Occasionally, the faerie dust gets a little too thick (the free-time drum circle “Wonderboom” in particular), but even then you never get a sense that they’re being overindulgent. More often, their playful side is where their virtuosity gets revealed: a nimble player piano roll that splits “Boreal” open, the expert deployment of syncopated kick drums accenting the chorus of “Me & Anodyne”. “Visitor” starts off with the kind of half-melodic, half-percussive ripple of indistinct brass that’s familiar in the wake of Animal Collective, yet it’s a loop and a living thing, morphing into intriguing melodic shapes while the rhythm sections bustle skillfully. There are brief hat tips to glitch (“Thistle”), tUnE-yArDs’ oblong rhythms (“Theia”), and the processor-spiked jazz of Four Tet (“Visitor”), but much of Hundred Waters is just love of pure sound. It’s particularly evident on near-instrumental pieces like “Caverns”, which layers a gorgeous backward loop over a heaving percussion for an effect that’s similar to crystal stalactites described therein, both extremely dense and yet translucent, and meditative closer “Gather” features an ostinato piano line and rich cello acting out its hopeful epitaph (“We can crouch in sanctuary/ Or we can gather our threads into rope and pull.”) Throughout, it’s evident how much of the hard work occurred in the planning stages, such is the simply staggering sophistication of these arrangements. Though mostly clocking in at under five minutes, no single track exposes its hooks too quickly and their tendency to explore phrases and shapes before locking into a groove evinces a foreground of both improvisation and skill that suggest Hundred Waters just might be an omnivorous jazz band. And above all, they’re the kind of discovery it’s easy to get excited about: Their debut does more than enough to stand on its own, not only ambitious in its own right, but leaving little doubt about Hundred Waters’ capability of handling wherever their ambition takes them from here.