Django Django defy description. Trying to pin down their sound is akin to the old fairground game of whacking plastic moles with a hammer. The minute you think you’ve got it another one of the fuckers pops up. Within the first 20 minutes of this joyous, surreal album the band have shoehorned cosmic disco, dubstep bass wubs, Beatles harmonies, Spaghetti Western guitars and stomping glam rock rhythms into some riotous sense of order. It shouldn’t make sense. Styles explode into each other- the looping tropical disco of Zumm Zumm giving way to the delicate fireside folk of Hand of Man, would, in less capable hands, just leave a hideous mess. Somehow Django Django pull it off.

It helps that the vocals are consistent throughout- the folk tinged harmonising sits snug against whatever backdrop the band paint. Then there is the sense of enthusiasm that dances through the album. The songs are embraced and delivered with such easy conviction you get the feeling that Django Django love their sound, and want to share it with the world- probably all the more as they are the only people making anything like it. A case in point is early single WOR – a soaring firework of surf guitar, tribal chants and sizzling synths, WOR gallops crazily onto the dancefloor and demands everyone pay attention NOW.

As a debut this self titled album is a whooping, psychedelic revelation, and places the band in a continuum of gloriously eccentric British art pop, that stretches from Pink Floyd and The Beatles to the Beta Band and Hot Chip. Unexpected and brilliant.