We all knew that Factory Floor weren't ones to do things by halves, but on their long-awaited debut album, the trio - Gabriel Gurnsey, Dominic Butler and Nik Colk - have surpassed themselves to deliver a sensational listening experience. It's been a while in the making, but it's easy to hear why.

Lead track 'Turn It Up' opens the album, and it does so in such a way that every aspect of the London trio's gargantuan sound is immediately made clear. It's the sort of song that lacks a conventional melodic hook, instead allowing the relentless thump of Gurnsey's drums to drive the track. It's as bold a choice for the album's lead single as you could ever hope for, and it's a typically harsh-sounding entry into the band's world. For the uninitiated, Factory Floor may take some getting used to. They've been riding a wave of ecstatic responses to their 'post-industrial' sound and their brutal live shows, and after releasing two EPs and a number of singles, they've taken that sound to the next level.

Their focus isn't on melody so much as it is on rhythm and texture; on the likes of 'Here Again', the most important aspects are all what's going on around its synth ostinato that forms the track's foundations. Their sound is frantic, multi-layered and busier than it's ever been. Repetition and expansion is key, and the smallest change can make the biggest difference.

The entry of Colk's manipulated vocals around two minutes in adds a whole new dimension to the track, and its gradual build to a jubilant-sounding finale is the first real indicator of how far Factory Floor have come since we last heard from them. The album's opening pair of tracks last for 14-and-a-half minutes in total, and none of the 'proper' tracks are shorter than six minutes. It's every bit as full-on as you would expect; the reworked version of 'Fall Back' is as punishing as it is euphoric. There's a real sense of catharsis to be found in music like this, but the ebb and flow of the album as a whole is equally as important.

The sole moments of respite lie in the interlude tracks, helpfully titled 'One', 'Two' and 'Three'; they serve as necessary breaks in the aural assault that the rest of the album perpetrates, and find the trio pushing their sound in a more experimental direction. They may first be seen as mere excursions, but soon reveal themselves as part of the whole. The straightforward synths of 'Three' (the closest the album comes to anything approaching 'pop') are particularly important, because the blindingly intense version of 'Two Different Ways' that forms the centrepiece of the album is exhausting, taking everything they've learned over their eight years as a band and pouring it into something extraordinary. It's the trio's magnum opus, but there's more than enough brilliance on offer to suggest that when they start with a clean slate for album number two, there will be even better things on the way.

This is an album you have to give yourself to: it's not something you can just put on in the background, as it has too much of a presence for that. It demands to be studied, analysed, dissected - there's enough going on in tracks like closer 'Breathe In' and the majestic 'How You Say' to ensure that new elements of Factory Floor's fascinating tapestry of sound will reveal themselves after 9 or 10 listens. It's forceful enough that you'll probably need a cold shower after each of those listens. It's the soundtrack to a disco at the end of the world. It's Factory Floor: unparalleled, uncompromising and pretty much unstoppable.