It's impossible to write an honest review of WU LYF without raving about them. They're creative, different, immediate and implausibly enigmatic. Shrouded in mystery, having refused interviews and record labels alike, Go Tell Fire To The Mountain is the first genuine opportunity to assess the band from an objective, musical perspective, and it exceeds the hype, laying down ten perfect tracks which threaten to turn the current scene on its head.

It is very, very rare in our current generation of instant knowledge and gratification to be genuinely, honestly intrigued by anything. If you search online for any new band, you'll find biographies, press releases and tabs for all their songs, and that is what has made the birth and development of WU LYF all the more incredible. I promise I'll get onto the album, and what a breath of fresh, stupendous air it is, but the truth is that WU LYF are more than a band. They are a collective, they are a cult, they are an army. The indecipherable imagery of their website, the fervour of the live performances; whilst it was too easy to dismiss them early on as a genius marketing ploy, this is a terrifying movement centred around four very talented musicians from Manchester. The guttural, raw delivery of Ellery Roberts is a call to arms, with the organ and apocalyptic drumming inspiring soaring, impossible harmonies. There is a sinister, seductive tone to the record, with each individual track a solemn hymn layered with quasi-religious agitation.

Recorded in St Peter's Church, Manchester, the acoustics are gloriously rich, with each glitch and pick accentuated to perfection. Roberts' vocal is often a mere by-product of the driving cymbals and organ; the resulting sound is a collected experience, rather than a distinctive voice and a backing group. Opening on 'L Y F', the dreamy cymbal work builds over your underlying organ, before the jangling, loose guitar joins, as the track tightens together with the aforementioned snarl of Roberts. The pertinent cry of “I love you forever” hangs as the refrain, injecting desperation and resignation to the track. It would be all too easy for the unconscious ear to assume a lack of direction on early listens to the album, as each instrument seamlessly wanders through individual tracks, before improbably drawing together to the crescendo of each chorus. There is no better example of this than 'Cave Song', which comes as close to accessible and derivative as the record gets, in terms of the immediacy of the vocal and the tight snare work, combined with the urgency of the keyboard.

For me the stand out track is the first I was introduced to, 'Spitting Blood', but in an album that works best as a collected education rather than a record to shuffle through, it'd be a discourtesy to try and sell one track as a starting point. For such a seemingly gritty, dirty sound, Go Tell Fire To the Mountain is a surprisingly tight, clean album, with the reworked majesty of 'Heavy Pop' and 'Dirt' enthusing previous awareness with depth and nuance. The shimmering math-rock of 'We Bros' gives a danceable edge to the murmured, distant vocal, whilst the delayed, halting anguish of '14 Crowns For Me and Your Fr' builds a deafening momentum into the controlled stutter of the piano of 'Heavy Pop'.

There is a poetry to the assumed disparity of the album, and it is nothing short of miraculous that the term 'epic' hasn't been used yet. It would be very easy to be cynical of Go Tell Fire To The Mountain, but the wealth of material and confidence in the album cannot fail to convert the doubters to the cult of WU LYF.

A triumph.