The level of exposure to (and information about) new artists at the moment makes it rare to listen to a band's debut album and not already be significantly clued up on what you're letting yourself in for. Think about it; Azealia Banks, HAIM and CHVRCHES are all yet to release a debut album, and they almost seem like old-timers. Drenge, too, have played every festival you can think of this summer, released multiple singles, and had an encounter with an MP that we've all heard about.

This album is far from a stab in the dark on the listener's part, then. Both 'Bloodsports' and 'Backwaters', which have been in our ears for months now, appear on the Derbyshire duo's self-titled debut, and often this leads to debut records falling into the trap of becoming a conflicting mismatch of everything a band created since their conception, with no continuity or consistency of ideas.

Drenge, though, manages to avoid this potential pitfall, presenting 12 tracks that fluctuate between straight up rock, and blues-y tones similar to those of The White Stripes, but keep enough of a common style to have a nice ebb and flow without becoming messy and uncoordinated.

Vocalist Eoin Loveless gives some striking and pretty grim descriptions with his lyrics throughout the album. "Cut off my tongue and turn it to dogmeat" from 'Dogmeat'. "I've never seen blood and milk mixed so divine" from 'Backwaters'. Vivid, eh.

But that's what Drenge are all about, and what they exhibit so clearly and greatly with this record. No messing about. 'People In Love Make Me Feel Yuck'. 'I Don't Wanna Make Love To You'. To. The. Point. It's exciting, and leaves no questions to be answered. This immediacy, that remains for the duration of Drenge, is completely infectious.

The band's sound drifts towards blues rock more than once, yet 'Gun Crazy' is almost akin to Pulled Apart By Horses in the way it thrashes about and triumphs in pure badassery. 'Let's Pretend' proves the band can pull of a swaying, droning 8-minute epic with the same conviction they rattle out all their visceral sub-2-minute tracks, and closer 'Fuckabout' shows their potential to also slow things down to almost ballad level with equal success.

Drenge doesn't ask any questions; it simply answers every single one that's been anticipating, doubting or even just commenting on this upcoming album in the most emphatic way. Good job.