It’s nothing less than a joy to discover that the spirit of bands like Pavement, Dinosaur Jr. and Sonic Youth is alive and well, in Northern Ireland of all places. Fermanagh band Corrigan have unashamedly rejected today’s dot and loop gimmick technology, are now partying like it’s 1993, and the country is a much nicer place for it too. Alongside the likes of Ten Speed Racer and Future Kings Of Spain, it seem that, round these parts, loud is very much back in vogue. It’s out with the melancholy, in with the noise- if you weren’t around for it the first time round, get ready to embrace the scuzz.

‘We’re The Wire’ is a promising start to the album – frantic, impolite and wonderfully cheap-sounding, equal parts Shellac and Jon Spencer Blues Explosion. At times; Martin Corrigan’s vocal is reminiscent of At The Drive In’s Cedric Bixler with a Northern Irish accent; he seems a little unhinged, and damn proud of it. Smack bang in the middle of the album is a slightly unwelcome quiet intermission, perhaps so that the listener can catch their breath. ‘Song For Life’ and ‘Crumble’ are arrestingly kitten-soft and sweet, yet apart from that it’s a good old-fashioned abrasive assault just like Uncle Thurston used to do.

It appears that, while many other ‘garage’ bands right now are gazing into their jars of hair pomade while their record companies concoct the right blend of rebellion and angst for them, Corrigan are the real deal. They’d sooner eat the hair pomade, methinks. In saying that, it’s early days for the band, and although right now, it seems unlikely that they’re going to topple any Premier League outfits, the world is still very much their oyster and I’d venture that they’ll swallow it whole at some point.

Or wash it down with snakebite, maybe.