You’d think that the departure of a lead singer would spell catastrophe for a band. However, when Yuck lost frontman Daniel Blumberg, bandmate and former co-Cajun Dance Party member Max Bloom stepped up to plate to helm mic duties for their second record. The London college-rock/slackergaze outfit, now reduced to a trio, managed to struggle through the departure intact, and while Blumberg is cavorting with myriad side projects, Yuck march stoically (read: shamble stonededly) onwards.

Initial response to the news of their survival post-Blumberg was mixed, but fears were soon assuaged with the dawning of ‘Rebirth’. On first glance, it’s perhaps not the subtlest song ever written – obviously the band have indeed undergone a ‘rebirth’ of sorts – but when you listen closer, you notice it’s more like serendipity than a statement. With lyrics like: “Sour sound echoes around me and breaks me down inside/ I don’t want your pain/ I want you hard, hard,” it’s pretty obvious that unless Bloom, Rogoff (Johnny, drums) and Doi (Mariko, bass) have a raging semi for Blumberg, that the song is unrelated to the situation. The music itself is calling-card Yuck: fuzzy axes and pedalboard-leering FX drown melodies, the vocals yearn and stretch amidst fog – it’s still big lo-fi rock noise. When it’s also tinged with reverby ’90s hooks and the pump of percussion, you’ve got yourself a classic Yuck cut.

Other efforts on the record are similarly accomplished. Instrumental opener ‘Sunrise In Maple Shade’ evokes memories of, surprisingly, Jimmy Eat World and their minimalist 16-minute opus ‘Goodbye Sky Harbor’. The guitars are cotton-soft amongst the dreamlike melange; it’s lucid and a life-affirming opening that makes you realise Yuck are going to be A-okay pared down. Frankly, after hearing them go vocal-less, you’d believe they’d be impeccable sans any singers whatsoever. Sister effort ‘Twilight In Maple Shade (Chinese Cymbals)’ is equally stunning. They capture the dusk in sonic form with entangled fretwork, some dark, some airy. It’s more akin to the post-grunge tones of yester-Yuck, but there’s a sanded-down quality too. Though their were fuzzy before, they were still jagged in their approach to music, whereas now they channel a more languid spirit.

‘Somewhere’ is a wayward ’80s ballad – almost power-pop – stripped away from most of the wooze. There’s jingling chimes, and Bloom’s vox are naked (well, there’s still a bit of haze, but in comparison, they’re emaciated) – it’s a fresh frontier for Yuck. ‘How Does It Feel’, with brass stings, a manic solo and Elton John keys is a ’70s rock anthem draped in chorus. ‘Nothing New’ bursts with acoustic guitars, handclaps, church bells and a Mikal Cronin-meets-Pogues-ness; it’s actually fairly new sounding. In fact, much of the record is – nothing drastic, but there’s little timbre shifts and embellishments that drag the overall style onwards from the predecessor.

Yuck’s premiere foray away from co-founder Blumberg’s mind is a substantial addition to their canon. They’ve evolved in shocking ways, but still remain loyal to their m.o., and thickly smother everything in a shoegaze glaze; culminating in a record that’s smoother, smilier and more adventurous than their eponymous debut.