I think that Tuco like The Flaming Lips. I think they like them a lot and, as with the Flaming Lips, this is an album which I have to be in the right mood to listen to, and at all other times it has a fingernails-down-the-blackboard (a sound which I’ve never had a problem with) effect. And bits of it always grate – I’m never, ever going to be a fan of all that chanting handclapping psychedelic cosmic healing rings-around-the-sun gubbins.

Those quibbles clearly stated and thus out of the way we’re free to expand on the good bits about this album – and there’re plenty of ’em. At their best Tuco make a beautiful sweeping wall of sound and are an utterly majestic listen. White-noise washes of static soar up and over the grinding melody of the guitars and the Grandaddy counterpoint of the keyboards, and above it all howls the vocal, slightly flattened with distance but with enough emotion left to keep the listener hooked. Or, for those who prefer their sound a little less imposing, there are the moments of quiet, contemplative melancholy: Exit Music-esque meandering loveliness. There’s even the odd moment of almost straightforward pop. Strange noises and twisted wails of electronics are a pleasingly regular feature, and while the influences are always a bit of a gimme there’re enough individual quirks in the melting pot to prevent its being a pointless purchase for anyone who already owns any Flaming Lips.

I am who I am and I listen to music for the reasons I do, I can’t imagine ever being in a mood where I’d put this on over and above every other record I own. However, if a friend were to put it on, I’d not only not object but would probably rather welcome it. As long, of course, as I was in the right frame of mind…