Where his previous incarnation Soft Black spilled gloom-fuelled psych over tracks entitled ‘Ashtray Christ’ and ‘The Earth is Black’, in Caged Animals he’s metamorphosed into crooning bedroom-pop producer. Now label mates with fellow Brooklynite Darwin Deez, Cacchione’s enlisted his partner Magali Charron, sister Talya, and childhood friend Patrick Curray to beef out the home recordings, adding a wave of surf-washed guitar with the help of Beach Fossils guitarist Cole Smith.

While it’s a shame debut single ‘Girls on Medication’, a twisted paean to Caccione’s “girl of my dreams”, didn’t make it onto Eat Their Own, there’s still plenty left to enchant right from the saccharine adolescent coo of opener ‘Teenagers in Heat’, it’s skitting beats and swooping falsetto reminiscent of Ben Gibbard in The Postal Service. Another fuzzed-out pop confessional follows as ‘This Summer I’ll Make it up to You’ weaves gloriously through winding dream-gaze guitars and clap happy drum interludes.

Which leads roundly into the insatiable ‘Teflon Heart’ – it’s metaphoric plea: “you’ve got a Teflon heart, and nothing sticks to you / I think I want one too” embodies the jocular, bittersweet charm of Cacchione’s songcraft, with a hook as delirious as the after hours bedroom jam it was spawned in. And then there’s ‘Piles of $$$’ – “no one calls us by name, with our piles of money”, Cacchione croons like R Kelly over a sultry groove. Is it a sardonic swipe at R&B excessiveness or a higher accolade to his genre-mashing palette of influences? We’d suggest a bit of both.

Elsewhere ‘NJ Turnpike’, with it’s inverted “shoo-do-wah”s, feels like the end of a dystopian prom night, matched with the gushing purr of ‘Instant <3breaker’, “you are my dream-maker”. The circling crescendo of ’Hazy Girl’ is as fluid as the off-and-on relationships it describes, although disappointingly, like with ‘All the Beautiful Things in the World’ saunters along before fizzling out into the ether. But it’s no matter, as the stinging self-depreciation of “Somebody to Use”, countered by the wistfulness of John Maus-invoking “Lips That Turn the Lights to Fire”, encapsulate the bitter versus smooth, irony versus cutting introspectiveness that makes Eat their Own such a whirlwind listen. Whatever Caged Animals come out with next, or alternatively whatever guise Vincent Cacchione pulls on next, one thing remains a constant - we’re on tenterhooks to hear it.