After growing weary of the major-label ratrace, Ashby-de-la-Zouch trio Young Knives entered a different kind of gauntlet; they’ve gone it alone, looking to crowd-sourced funding (and wildly succeeding) in order to release album number four. Speaking on the Kickstarter plea, the threesome emphatically stated: “we…wanted to be free of record labels and producers making decisions about our music.” After ably raising the moolah from eager fans, they promised in Sick Octave a Young Knives experience that’s “completely undiluted”.

Though evolution in style and detraction from signature sound is perhaps inevitable at this point in a band’s career – four albums would be a painstakingly arduous length of time to recobble the same idea – Young Knives, due in no small part to their newfound (or should that be newly-undertaken-but-always-kind-of-wanted-to?) DIY ethos, haven’t exactly U-turned, but there’s a definite off-map route. It’s a sharp right swerve away from their prior trajectory. Where once indie-pop/post-punk revival was the norm, you should now prepare yourselves to encounter a fractured noise-pop – think of a potion comprising Everything Everything after a six-day meth binge, sample-punk, and alt-J with the Radio 2 filter turned off.

On “All Tied Up”, Young Knives glue post-rock guitars to sheer mayhem. There’s Davids everywhere – both Bowie and Byrne – in the vocal delivery from Henry Dartnell, and though both acts have diverged from the Gang Of Four comparisons, Dartnell channels Bloc Party’s Kele for some lines: “On the count of three we’re going to fuck you up!” You half expect him to blurt about rudeboys amongst the fantastical, incoherent soundscape. “Green Island Red Raw” is an avante-garde slab of art-rock, indulging all of YK’s darkest sonic fantasies – again, it’s a tad confused, but there’s a potent ’80s pop strand worming its way through.

“Maureen” is less ragged or warped. New wave synth hooks and the perky chirrup of guitar blend gorgeously, allowing a much easier listen than some of the other cuts on Sick Octave. “Owl Of Athens”, whilst heavy on the electronics, also presents a poppier streak, despite the odd squawk of sax. For every hallucinogenic yin there’s a Top 40 yang. On “We Could Be Blood”, a retropunk doo-wop effort with macabre lyrics, goth-gospel organs and charming backing coos, the band delve into a more relaxed lair. There’s less spike and agitation, rather, they soar like dream-rock.

Young Knives’ return LP shouldn’t let down too many pledgers. It’s not tremendously similar to their previous endeavours, though there’s enough to let you know this is the same band. Those with a sensitivity to clusterfuckery may shy away from their erratic tendencies, and indeed, there are some alienating moments that are just ruddy wacky. It’s a flippant record. Some people will love that, and some people will appreciate Sick Octave on its more standard pop/rock/indie merits, of which there are still enough to slake your Young Knives thirst if you’re not frenetically inclined.

Speaking of “Something Awful”, Dartnell has said: “My Grandpa’s Alzheimer’s inspired the lyrics, but I used that real experience to inform something more vaguely about metamorphosis. It’s also about changing into some kind of super killer monster.” Whether this metamorphosis is autobiographical, he doesn’t elaborate, but Young Knives, whilst never unassuming, have indeed transformed into a potentially divisive monster.