Their name should be the first indicator that TFT don’t take themselves entirely seriously. Another should be that the opening track here is 12 seconds of nothing more than Britpop no-hopers Reef’s ‘Place Your Hands’, which has been renamed ‘It’s Your Letters’, here in a reference to the Chris Evans-hosted late 90s pop show TFI Friday and its Reef-soundtracked viewer’s correspondence segment. A further indicator should be that the majority of the tracks on this entirely instrumental LP of post-rock and math-rock have been allocated piss-take names like ‘Dave Grolsh’, ‘Stephen Hawkwind’ and ‘John Faheyshanu’ entirely, it would seem, on a whim. Indeed, the only title that makes any sense is ‘Bruce Springstonehenge’, which turns out to be TFT’s nuts interpretation of The Boss’ ‘Dancing In The Dark’.

But the anarchic, manic and slightly panic-stricken sense of humour is not just written on the sleeve, it’s audible across virtually all of ‘Tanknology’ in its madcap, handbrake-turn time signature changes and wide-eyed, blistering pace. Even when the quintessentially British wit takes a back seat, as on the album’s final two tracks, an impressively dark alter ego arrives that remains just as infectious.

It’s also a tribute to That Fucking Tank’s musicality that this debut is the kind of album that Battles would’ve created had they been 15 years younger, not been complete masters of their equipment, and grown up surrounded by the absurdist humour of the north of England. Across its relatively short running time ‘Tanknology’ is big, funny and clever — and also very, very daft.

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