This is how Devil Music begins; not with a whimper but with a bang. We crash land in medias res, amongst The Men’s maelstrom of galloping guitar, cannibalistic cymbals and low-dubbed vocals. Opener ‘Dreamer’ invokes Thee Oh Sees’ John Dwyer – concomitant to sharing the title of one of Thee’s most celebrated bangers – in its winsome garageness, and emulates that self-fulfilling desire for Neolithic lo-fi production that defined much of garage’s revival in the noughties, particularly in Dwyer’s early oeuvre. Indeed, The Men and Dwyer convey inverse career trajectories, at least stylistically. Originally a purveyor of Kingsmen-and-Sonics sublimating 60s rock tempered by traces of Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane psychadelica, recently Dwyer has repurposed Thees as an assuredly organic and trippy post-punk compound. Like Dwyer, The Men’s Mark Perro and Nick Chiericozzi are evidently both disciples and scholars of lavish and debauch Americana soundscapes, and while the band initiated in glaring art-punk brashness, 2013’s New Moon and 2014’s Tomorrow’s Hits (their last record) signified a cordial romance with the folksome melodies and brogues that populate every nebulous junction of American country music; and now Devil Music is crude oil, monster truck garage vigour indubitably redolent of not only early Thees but Ty Segall as well.

Imagine their quixotically brash breakthrough, Leave Home, was remastered by The Stooges and 13th Floor Elevators with Jack White nodding approvingly in a corner. Despite its sentimental deference for innumerable predecessors, the record is sonically unsentimental – borderline remorseless – but this is alleviated by just how profusely retrograde the production and structuring is; and this is palpably deliberate. Lyrically it’s almost a sentient non-sequitur, warbled yelps penetrated by blasé offerings to “take you down” facilitated by professions of self-destruction, which makes sense considering the words are largely improvised, and moreover the gnarled debasement of the sound owes itself to recording on a single ½ inch tape. If cavemen could make punk rock.

Essentially flipping off precepts such as melody and hooks, instead Devil Music is inclining towards noise punk and classical hardcore as uncut as the ket they’re snorting off their Harley Davidsons. It’s lurid, veracious and occasionally banging, most vociferously so on ‘Dreamer’, the sax-toting ‘Hit the Ground,’ and the stand-out ‘Patterns’, where the noise is systematised without losing its buster, but dontgiveafuckery and unrepentant archaism can be grating. Its collective impertinence conjures that guy who smokes a pipe at parties, where what’s initially intriguing inevitably morphs into affectation. At its best it’s an underground garage compilation, at its worst it’s pastiche.

Devil Music is unabashed reverence, almost innocuously so, but articulated with thunderous gravity and primitivism, if not focus. It won’t feature on many end of year lists, but it’s a helluva road trip, albeit one you’ll forget a year later.