I am inclined to compare John Vanderslice’s White Wilderness to Peter Gabriel’s Scratch My Back from this time last year. Truthfully, the two are similar only on a certain, basically cosmetic level — dig deep into these musics and you’ll find them to be very different animals — but nevertheless, what similarities do exist unite the two records in a rather exclusive, or at the very least not-particularly-fashionable-in-2011, club, as both are albums made with, and built around, an orchestra.

To that end: Gabriel’s album was an orchestral pop album proper. Vanderslice’s isn’t. Though he recorded it, and even shares billing, with the Magik*Magik Orchestra, it’s essentially an indie pop album, with traditional rock instrumentation that includes guitars and drums, formal concessions that Gabriel didn’t allow onto his own record. So Vanderslice’s album is less pure, less singular, and, honestly, less successful. It isn’t executed as beautifully as Scratch My Back was, and, despite the fact that it’s all originals where Gabriel’s album was all covers, it also feels less visionary, even less personal.

But. I give credit to Vanderslice’s orchestral excursion on several other levels, and on one in particular. If there is one great virtue shared by the two albums, it is that both of them really make use of the orchestra. It isn’t adornment, it isn’t a gimmick, it isn’t window-dressing. The albums are both really made by the orchestra. On Gabriel’s album — which I’ll drop, at this juncture, as a reference point, for this is where the similarities come to an end — the colors of the orchestra were highlighted in exciting ways. On Vanderslice’s album, those colors show in different ways. Though less central to the sound of things, they make their presence known through the sheer variety of ways in which they serve to enhance the dramatic nature of these songs.

That the strings and brass assembled here are anchored by, and conformed to, Vanderslice’s songs defines the kind of album that this is. He tends to write sort of rambling, folksy indie pop songs, so the use of the orchestra is almost cinematic in it shading, as opposed to the sort of grandioise pomp or emotional swell that you might hear were the songs more traditional in structure. And simply on that level, this works as a really lovely orchestral endeavor. The opening trio serves up a nice palette from which the rest of the album samples: “Sea Salt” is a weird, creepy opener with off-kilter piano and a string section that lends ominous shadows to everything else. “Convict Lake,” meanwhile, is a sort of jauntier number, wheezy brass making it sound like a carnival cast-off. And in the title song, the orchestra provides oddly sensual accompaniment to the building list of details in the verses before cresting in a lilting swoon for the lovely chorus.

Vanderslice is right to split the bill with the Magik*Magik crew, by the way, because they really make this album something special. Vanderslice’s songs are fine, but not particularly remarkable — which is less a dig at the writing here than an admission that Vanderslice does consistently good, workman-like records pretty regularly, and it’s difficult for one to stand out above the rest. This one does stand out, though, because of the variety of colors and textures provided by the 19-piece backdrop; there is a tropical feel to “Alemany Gap” that transforms what might have been a fairly bittersweet song into a nicely tranquil, contented one. Meanwhile, “English Vines” is simply a very beautiful ballad, strings providing emotional crescendo here in much the same way they do on a good many pop albums but here feeling like part of a bigger, broader picture.

There are cracks in that picture, most notably the ones in Vanderslice’s voice — he is not a technically adroit singer, his voice is not built to be at the center of an orchestra, but it works in its own idiosyncratic way, probably because these are not traditionally orchestral songs but rather creaky, lived-in numbers that are less about technical precision than a quality of spontaneous creativity. And to that end: Vanderslice — chronic tinkerer and perfectionist that he is — cut the whole thing, with the full ensemble, in just three days, surely a personal record. There’s something about having a whole cadre of professional musicians backing you, I think, that allows the freedom for pop musicians to make some of their loosest, most carefree work. So there’s another reason why the orchestra makes this thing sing — and why it’s a particularly pleasant entry in the Vanderslice catalog.