Everyone's favourite Geordie post-punk revivalists (that's Maxïmo Park by the way) have returned after over a year out in the cold. Almost a decade on from their Mercury-nommed debut A Certain Trigger, the Newcastle fivesome are back with Too Much Information, of which vocalist and headwear enthusiast Paul Smith has said: "Our lyrics and our music will never be too-cool-for-school - we are an emotional band even if it might be too much information for some." Were you expecting a vitriolic assault on e-culture, government observation and the Snowden scandal? This album isn't burdened by politically charged furore, like its predecessor The National Health - it's Too Much Information as in 'oh-em-friggin'-gee, TMI!'

If you were expecting explosive, lad-flavoured indie-rock, á la 'Apply Some Pressure' or 'Girls With Guitars', then again, that would be a wrong assumption. There's more similarities to The Cure than with The Enemy or The Rapture. There's an abundance of '80s digital tinsel, and reverb-laced new wave guitar licks; it's flecked with post-punk too, showing they've not strayed too far from their roots, but rather than trundling towards wherever Futureheads have ended up, they've flung themselves into a different corner of the musical world. It's a very current sound they peddle actually, and crucially, an addictive one.

Opener 'Give, Get, Take', though punctuated with a bevy of sci-fi blippity-bloopity noises, rattles like an archaic relic-y B-side to early singles. The second track, 'Brain Cells', is where Maxïmo Park set their latest ball in motion. It's a brooding, morose post-punk cut, aping Depeche Mode's goth-pop synths and villainous baritone; Wild Beasts' recent efforts, swimming in echoing guitars and sparse drum beats, are more contemporary references. It's a bold leap for the band that pays off spectacularly. 'Drinking Martinis', is another supreme segment: it's tender, bittersweet balldary with impressive fretwork, not too dissimilar to Idlewild's 'El Capitan' or 'American English'. It's a rousing, end-of-the-night maudlin singalong, the kind you croon with pals, utterly hammered and weeping in unison.

Smith also showcases his knack for waxing lyrical about bohemian topics like dead poets and romantic (as in the era) romance (as in love). Take 'Her Name Was Audre' for example, alluding to the late Audre Lorde, renowned feminist activist and poet. It shares blood with the group's earlier material - pacey six-stringers, rapid vox and bombastic choruses: "Her name was Audre and she had a lot to say/ she didn't bore me with her consummate display!" It's got a punk twang, and is definitely a big single, and despite the reliance on older sounds, it's mighty impressive.

It's not the best music of its kind available, no. But for Maxïmo Park fans, this will succeed in becoming a vital notch in their canon, and for non-fans, it at least worth a spin or two - in fact, if you're not a fan, it's imperative you at least give it a cursory whirl. There's experiments and sonic shifts here you'll be surprised at. While they're not always pulled off to the highest degree, Maxïmo Park deserve (in the least patronising way possible) a hearty pat on the back for endeavouring to do something fresh, and with a larger success than failure rate.. They prove on this record that they're a band still very much in touch with modern trends, and that their repertoire isn't dulled by age. They're as sharp, relevant and impressive as ever.

On top of everything, that artwork is killer.