They assemble on Sundays for candy and beer and the occasional birthday brunch. The four-piece neatly arranges each song like peanuts in chocolate and candy shells. Without so much as overload. No pressure. Only the desire to hear something interesting. Something that amuses them. Something they haven’t exactly heard before. They’re not revolutionary or deconstructionists, by any means. Wembley remains grounded firmly in the pop idiom while attempting to gently shake that tiny snow globe with...