The Weather: an all-time favourite conversational topic of the British Population. From the local hairdressers to the towering heights of the Scottish highlands, there will always be someone bemoaning the weather; in particular, the lack of Sun. This complaint, however, is in actual fact invalid – there is Sunshine to be found in the UK, or at least the musical equivalent, and it is delivered courtesy of one foot-drum thumping, guitar-shanking, fiddle-flaunting Cornish trio of an apparently primate disposition. Yes, those 3 Daft Monkeys have returned with another dose of their genre-mashing festival folk, capturing that sunshine spirit of summertime in sonic form and offering an alternative soundtrack to the pitter-patter of rain on saturated window panes.

This particular cohort of monkeys is by no means new to lifting the British public’s suitably sodden spirits. Since their formation in 2000, 3DM have become festival favourites not only this side of the proverbial pond through performances at Glastonbury, but also in mainland Europe. 2008 effort Social Vertigo propelled this trio into the lion’s den that is the public eye two years ago and now, with a new record at the ready and even more ravenous felines to fend off, the question remains as to whether these monkeys can charm the lions all over again. On paper this may seem an impossible feat – the forces of natural selection certainly never prepared Monkeys genetically for such a brawl, after all – but, as this record proves, what is on paper is irrelevant – for with this monstrous album, the lions are tamed.

The beginning of the marathon journey that is The Antiquated and the Arcane, named after a mystic society in Cornwall, sees the listener enticed inwards by a swirling, flange-indulged 12 string guitar that dazzles and hypnotises the audience; acting as a portal into another mystical world. This serene introduction soon fizzles away however, as the listener finds their unsuspecting eardrums ambushed by Roberts’ frantic fiddling, before being forced to their feet courtesy of a primitive kick drum pattern that begs to be stomped along to in a similar fashion.

Progressing further into the record, it soon becomes apparent that reinforced floorboards are a worthwhile investment, as danceable numbers are plentiful throughout. ‘Just a ride’ showcases the band’s trademark genre-bending skills as the addictive shout-a-long chorus succeeds in getting the fists pumping in traditional punk style, whilst the jagged, spiky guitar rhythm ensures the feet sent into a foot-stamping frenzy. In an almost schizophrenic turn of style again, ‘Days of the Dance’ sees the band adopt a waltz rhythm as Ashton, in true old Irish storyteller style, narrates the tale of a woman with the ‘strangest compulsion to dance’ – a compulsion listeners will similarly feel upon hearing this number. The reggae-bounce of penultimate track ‘Love (SIC) fool’ has a similar effect, with the jig of traditional folk being traded in favour skanking.

It is not all song and dance on this record however, as later tracks reflect a more mature attitude to song writing from the Monkeys, with darker subject matter casting a cloud over their usual radiant melodies. ‘Perfect Stranger’ is saturated with pleas to be saved, with the uncharacteristically bare verses featuring a lonely bass line and single strum of the usually frantic 12-string – mimicking the sense of hopelessness and isolation seeping from the lyrics, whilst still remaining danceable. ‘She said’ opens with the cutting ‘She said – I think we’re dead’ and features a similarly blunt morbidity lyrically throughout. The increased diversity in subject matter in this particular record is refreshing compared to previous efforts and offers a soundtrack to love, loss and everything in between.

The album is ultimately a melting pot of styles, fusing folk with punk, gypsy, Balkan and Celtic music – as is hinted through a deliciously authentic Celtic twang to Roberts’ vocal melodies throughout. This eclectic range of genres is delivered on limited instrumentation however, leading to a sense of tediousness on occasion. The loyalty to the use of 12-string guitar contributes largely to this problem, with its sickly-sweet and overly harmonious sound sometimes becoming repetitive. By the end of the record, one cannot help but feel that, like any other sweet, it is something that should be indulged in infrequently and in smaller amounts.

The record closes with one final epic from the band in the form of ‘Love Life’; dominated by weeping violins and heart-wrenching vocal harmonies; it soon becomes apparent in closing that, whilst the protagonists may claim to be 3 daft monkeys, their songwriting capabilities are anything but that of daft primates – but they will certainly have you dancing like one.