There’s no denying that on this debut record, Welly really gives it some.

Generally speaking, there are a few essential ingredients to the recipe for great pop-rock: relatable, accessible, pleasingly low-brow lyricism; referential, recognisable sonic touchstones; and a charismatic, idiosyncratic frontperson orchestrating the whole parade. For Southampton-via-Brighton upstart Welly, that’s a three out of three hit rate. Having spent the past twelve months peddling his winking sonic wares across England’s green and pleasant lands - backed by his trusty band of fellow rabble rousing scamps - the project’s eponymous vocalist has taken up said musical mantle in earnest, delivering a debut album that’s ironic, immediate, and unashamedly catchy.

Emerging as a thrilling and bohemian presence in the UK guitar music landscape, the elusive allure and free-wheeling wit of Welly is as deft as it is daring. Most easily nestled within the current indie pop renaissance, there’s a rip-roaring nuance to the enigmatic artist’s satire-driven lyricism, and a lively and progressive tint to the crowd-pleasing instrumentation.