Of course, there's no such thing as a mass-sweeping revival anymore; they happen at the same time, all of the time. So if this year's Britpop and baggy-indebted B-Towners (Peace, Swim Deep and, more recently, Superfood) have their wardrobes cluttered with Union Jack fashion and their heads filled with the soundtrack to Euro 96, then these four Glaswegians are revelling in a similar fixation with the guitar-based, goth-lite gloom that flourished a decade previous. Of course, it's no secret that 'Faith & Violence' owes a whopping cut of its royalty cheque to The Smiths - but where others have tried and failed to bare their cross (sadly, we're looking at you, Flashguns), Father Sculptor appear to pull off their achingly sad formula with surprising sincerity and authenticity on this EP.

For proof, look no further than opener 'Basilica'; an atmospheric mid-burner that sounds like enigmatic Mancs WU LYF, only if they'd replaced Ellery Roberts' gravel 'n' fags howl with a throaty, new romantic croon. Of course, the mock-Moz ticks loom large over its sparse and jangly supporting cast, but - while the bittersweet taste is familiar - it still feels oddly refreshing. 'Sault' is perhaps a better example of them forging their own path – a perfectly executed piece of calypso-tinged miserabilism, with Thomas David's lyrical eye honed in on his humdrum "town" and - one can only presume - the despair found within it. It's the standout; a bittersweet hit of groove-laden pop with a Hayden Thorpe-ish falsetto and Marr-like jangle, which combine to exotic and rousing effect.

It's unmatched, but they also prove they can do achingly, pitch black balladry too, the languid rhythms and their disaffected front man on 'The Swim' ("Otherwise this life is no life at all" he yodels) evoking Echo & The Bunnymen at their most prolific. Then there’s 'Lowlands', which maintains the brooding intensity with just a touch of The Cult's loyalty-winning gloss, before curtain call 'Swallowed in Dreams' - as suitably Cocteau Twins-ish as its title suggests – chimes and swoons like a hazy, lost demo by Robert Smith & Co, showing their (ever so slightly) playful side.

A striding progression from their single amalgamation release 'VI' at the end of 2012, their debut EP is dark, twisted and at times sinister, ultimately revealing itself to be as tantalisingly promising as it is despondent.