I might as well get this one of the way early – Babe deal quite keenly in falsetto and electronics, and as a result, comparisons to Wild Beasts are a bit of an open goal for critics. It was an opportunity that few who wrote about their debut single, “Aerialist Barbette”, passed up when it emerged in late 2012; in fairness, Babe are generally so difficult to get a handle on that you can’t really blame anybody for grasping for familiar points of comparison.

Geographically speaking, they’ve roots in both Glasgow and Bordeaux, cities not known for their musical compatibility any more than they are for a shared appreciation for sophisticated wine. Volery Flighty isn’t some sonic manifestation of Buckfast meeting Château Margaux, though; it’s a far more delicate affair than its Glaswegian heritage might have you assume, even after you realise that the city’s music scene has left an indelible mark on the record.

The album’s cover – arbitrarily-arranged flecks of blue and yellow on a plain white background – provides some hint as to Volery Flighty’s experimental nature; “Trip Wire”, for instance, is all acoustic guitars, handclaps and harmonies. The sparse “Purl” is almost hymnal, and “Bordeaux Betweenwhiles” is replete with the kind of noodling guitars and scant regard for typical time signatures that propelled Everything Everything to prominence.

There’s no real attempt on the band’s part to pretend that they’re turning out some polished pop record here; perhaps it’s the fact that Michael Marshall and frontman Gerard Black split their time between Babe and other projects, but they sound very much in their infancy, still experimenting with where it is they want to go.

Opener “Dot and Carry One” embodies this attitude; it’s in no rush whatsoever, gradually introducing layer after layer – slow-building synths and floaty vocals holding the fort until an eccentric beat and wandering guitar arrive at the midpoint. “Grotto”, too, is characterised by landscape changes, with a delicate, piano-driven bridge interrupting the basic foundation of pulsating bass and near-tribal drumming.

It’s also one of a number of tracks to feature contributions from another Glaswegian, Lauren Mayberry. Her voice is probably the main reason I don’t really get on with Chvrches – kind of childlike, but without the sort of character that makes, say, Joanna Newsom so endearing. Here, though, her inclusion’s an nice touch, bringing a nervous energy to the quietly brooding “Oft” and fitting neatly onto “Aerialist Barbette”, a poppy, laid-back affair that’s tinged with jazz sensibilities.

“Falling in the Apples” is a real highlight – flickering guitar lines, not dissimilar to those that Foals did so well on their now-forgotten first LP, are a smart match for Black’s jittery vocals and a quiet, but persistent, percussive turn. “Tilt”’s not dissimilar – Black’s delivery a tad more forceful, the instrumentation – not unpleasantly – a little more summery, although the subdued “Great Coat” meanders. “Bronco”, meanwhile, brings Mayberry back into the fold for some fine harmonisation; the acapella section towards the close is a delight, and should be considered the album’s true finishing point – the outrageously self-indulgent hidden track, “Lemon”, is best left alone, taking eight minutes to go absolutely nowhere.

In an age where debut records are expected to be tightly-produced statements of intent, Volery Flighty is the sound of a band absolutely at ease with the fact that they’re still figuring themselves out. That’s something to be commended; this is an album that’s consistently interesting – if rarely thrilling – and it’s clear that whatever Babe do next, they’ll do it entirely on their own terms.