For Norwegian five-piece Highasakite's UK debut LP (there was one in their native Norway in 2012, featuring the well-known 'Indian Summer'), they've gone dark. Unveiling an album that "focuses on the undercurrent that's going on behind closed doors; the silent battles at home, and the longing to get away," is a world away from the childhood naïveté and nostalgic leanings of prior endeavours, but no less astounding. Fans of enormous, blanketing, worldly Sin Fang/Of Monsters and Men type covens will be enthralled from start to finish.

There's a consistently high quality of music available on long-awaited debut Silent Treatment - the Oslo fivesome will make you indie-pop junkies with their enslaving sonics, spearheaded by chief songwriter Ingrid Helene Håvik. There's a savage survivalist streak, a carnal sound, as if the band are performing on a cliff edge between a forested expanse and an unforgiving grey sea; it's got an innate desolation, a loner-vibe that severs the fuss and riff-raff. In many ways, it's a hugely basic record, stripping the music to its carcass. The textures are still doled out in weighty chunks, and the sinewy layers of synth drone, á la London Grammar or Daughter, belie a certain isolation that, say, Torres has, but somehow, it still just feels... simple. Effortless. Genuine.

Arguably, if there was a need for one, the gaping-est pitfall on Silent Treatment is Håvik's penchant for kayaking headlong into surrealist rapids - not an inherent issue in itself, but the method used to conjure these Dali-esque landscapes is really rather twee. Take 'Leaving No Traces', which uses a repeated motif - "the Earth is the universe's eyes/ the Earth is the universe's eyes," - to sound a bit like Lissie singing to sugar cubes in a tearoom, dressed in doilies. The lyrics aren't exceptionally bad, it's just that they jar with the wonderful atmospheres and against the lyrical moments which are platinum-grade, like 'Hiroshima' or 'Iran'. It's a matter of quality control.

The notion of awkward turns of phrase is minor though, as tracks like the standout 'Since Last Wednesday' are rapturous highlights. It's as if Pintandwefall were covering Bloc Party's 'I Still Remember' - it's got that rugged Norse accent beaming through urban metro-sprawl, replete with uplifting, twinkling guitars and anthemic hooks. It's desperately traumatic - "He would never buy a weapon and bring it to our home, no/ he would never be foolish and lie about it now/ but no one has seen or heard from him since last Wednesday." Amongst the reluctant despair, the stoic denial, Håvik insinuates a dread, a dire, ghastly alarm. In her standard way, it's cryptic, but there's interpretations of suicide and/or criminal activity to be gleaned. Regardless of the meaning, it's a booming triumph of a track.

We've been waiting a long time for Highasakite's full-length. It would be easy for a record baggaged with so many expectations to falter and flail in it's own try-hardedness, but the band avoid that. There's an occasional human misstep reminding us that these aren't robots churning pristine pop, and that they can concoct foibles, but there's no reason we can't just sweep those issues under the rug. It's easy to overlook any small faults, as the rest of the record is so damn glorious - from the energising barrage of 'I, The Hand Grenade' to the gutsy emotive pill that is 'My Only Crime', Silent Treatment is an onslaught of charm and lose-yourself wilderpop. Pack some sarnies, thermal socks and a flagon of soup, and go for a hike in their illustrious world - just remember to let people know where you've gone... you might be there a while.