When a band is as simultaneously well defined and non-descript as My Latest Novel, one has to wonder exactly where to place them in relation to other music.

This is not to label them as one of those wildly un-categorised bands with as little reference points as possible, and it is not to dismiss them as a rip-off of anyone. They are somewhere between those, but in a very good way. When they first shot to a small degree of fame in Britain earlier this year, a gaggle of wet-trousered critics fell over their own idiocy in branding them 'a scintillating mix of Belle & Sebastian and The Arcade Fire' or some guff like that. They have elements of both, with some healthy Post-Rock flourishes and some beautiful violin playing.

They signed to Bella Union in the UK, the home of Explosions in the Sky and Lift To Experience. Now they are label-mates in the US with Sigur Ros. The band stayed very quiet and didn't bother with many interviews, instead preferring to tour relentlessly and release some wonderful singles. That's healthy.

My Latest Novel's Scottish-ness leaks through to every facet of their songs. Obviously, the accents have that lovable twang that makes every word sound like a confession, as well as the innate grumpiness and power of ensemble Scottish chanting. But the essential ingredient for the music itself is its clever adhesion to an almost cinematic convention.

'Ghost In The Gutter' is pure Morricone to start, with bluster aplenty and dark violin arpeggios sprinkled everywhere. But then, of course, it morphs into something rather more beautiful and propulsive, and we get that Scottish chanting over the pummel of tom-toms and the most pastoral of orchestrations before moving again to something a little more sinister – the ghost reveals itself in a micro-ballad that returns to the menace of the opening. It's as bold an opening as anyone six albums into their career.

And then My Latest Novel let the pop spew forth like [insert Scottish stereotype like haggis or something] into the mouths of Micks for miles around. 'Learning Lego' has a disturbingly passionate children's choir belting out the refrain 'Pulling out my hair' repeatedly, 'The Job Mr Kurtz Done' develops into a waltz… there's pop invention overflowing and the class of execution to back it up. But, one feels, it is all rendered meaningless when we reach centrepiece track 'Sister Sneaker Sister Soul'.

It begins unassumingly enough, some acoustic sparkle and desperate lyrics about an obsession with someone a class above, but it soon gets confused by itself and decides to become a sprawling ascent towards pop cataclysm. The violin gets agitated and can't seem to stop climbing, the drums become delirious, there is some proper beefy distortion for once, and it's all perfectly paced as we go on our melancholy way to the top. There are hidden melodies, medium-rare harmonies that you can fill in yourself when you sing along, all held together by the unshakable knowledge that it's all actually directed towards an outcome. With music as well-written as this, it is difficult not to get physically excited about My Latest Novel. The fact that this song regularly closes their live set is no surprise at all, and extremely sensible on their part.

Consequently, nothing after this song on the album lifts the spirit in quite the same way. 'When We Were Wolves' is enjoyably dramatic and full of polyphonic splendour and 'The Reputation Of Ross Francis' is fine (and their first single released in the UK), but none of it stands up to the cornerstone of the record. It comes close, but alas it doesn't quite make it. Still, criticising such an aspect of an album is comparable to saying Hitler was skimping when he didn't hate his Grandmother for being Jewish.

My Latest Novel have created an album that affirms their status as stalwarts in the making. They will be very much in demand over the next few months, so get in early and impress your friends with this music – it has class and staying power to spare.

Original Review