MUSIC

Thekla, Bristol (Tue 25 Oct)

In the end, the truth always outs. Back in April, The Guardian, albeit inevitably, unearthed the dirt on WU LYF (World Unite! Lucifer Youth Foundation): that they're marshalled by Warren Bramley, the nous behind creative agency four23, whose patrons include Reebok, Adidas and Virgin. With a retrospective eye cast over of the Mancunians' cryptic anti-PR press campaign earlier this year, everything makes sense. From the off, they wilfully obscured their identity – denying press requests, shunning photo shoots, shrouding their members and posting pseudo-religious exclamations via their website – conjuring a halo of mystique that pricked the media into a frenzy. It was an ingenious trick, no doubt. Yet amid the fervour, one question begged to be asked: were they simply a manufactured, art-rock boy band?

The dust has since settled. Now they've stepped into the limelight, releasing debut 'Go Tell Fire to the Mountain', we can more rationally assess WU LYF's authenticity. Undoubtedly, the record – most of which is aired tonight – was one of the year's finest, ragged and rambling as it was. It melded coming-down-the-mountain triumphalism, Tom Waits-spiked sermonising and great rifts that spat scree-ing guitar hooks. It's shamanic and melodic in equal measure. And, despite Ellery Roberts's incessant baying (occasionally sounding like Caleb Followill passing a particularly painful shit), the music transposes tremendously into a live arrangement.

Their quasi-religious shtick is all present and correct: the hymn books, the spiritual insignia, the cavernous organs, the indecipherable crowd-rallying rhetoric. Meanwhile, Roberts cuts a figure like a 1950s teen-rebel caricature, much like Johnny Depp in 'Cry-Baby'. Indeed, there's an air of acting-school vanity about them. Their rocking, euphoric sermons, however, duly legitimise the mirror-studied pomp. Some of the greatest rock 'n' roll, after all, is theatre.

Despite Roberts's method pulpiteering, it is guitarist Thomas McClung that deserves the highest praise. His hall-of-mirrors guitar sweeps, which periodically reflect the taut twang of the orient, are utterly captivating. His lines ricochet and splinter into showers of pretty, diamond-cut fragments. Joseph Manning's stone-cutter beats render his lines all the more climatic. 'Cave Song' is a shuddering rush of rabid indie rock, while 'Such a Sad Puppy Dog' is a funeral march for a wandering soul. Unfortunately, a low point comes when they muss up Chris Isaac's satin-smooth ''Wicked Game', a tune which shouldn't really be handled by anyone but Isaac.

Despite the brouhaha that surrounded them early on, it is clear to see that WU LYF are an important band with plenty to give. If only they dropped the act. (Jamie Skey)

Copyright Jamie Skey 2011