In morphing, with a subtle switch of consonants, from Lampshades to Landshapes, these Bella Union signees signalled solemn intent. Debut album Rambutan switches scenes and casts its own shadows.

Unquestionably best remembered, in their previous incarnation, for a cup-assisted cover of an old-time bluegrass ditty, the artists formerly known as Lulu and the Lampshades now favour electrified brooding over acoustic cool. The shift of focus emulates their old associates’ Peggy Sue in its maturing tone – but Landshapes still wield the odd ukulele or two.

The album begins in something approaching slow motion, with distinctly prog-ish creaks and chords; plaintive vocals inhabiting a lonely sound that is two parts industrial wasteland and one part Pink Floyd. It’s both surprising and a little circumspect – but the band play their ace next up. ‘In Limbo’ boasts a riff that blows apart any notion of constraint, a release for the pent-up potency that sends the song soaring to fill the space. As on the toe-tapping ‘Insomniac’s Club’, soon to be a single, its quirky catchiness and confident insouciance are instantly appreciable. While this album is pondering rather than playful, Landshapes retain an indie pop sensibility in places.

‘LJ Jones’ sets out with a similar purpose, scudding and scurrying through two choruses before becoming the first of a run of tracks that start to tread rings around themselves, circling the kernel of their own construction as if taking direction from the cover art. Vocals stretch to wordlessness, momentum ebbs inwards and, while there’s often an edge to the introversion – fiddle streaks against the strum, bursts of percussive intensity, flightless flapping – the sense of contemplation isn’t overcome by restlessness. The long-gestated ‘Impasse’, grown to fit the Landshapes sound, spins wheels within wheels, never crashing or crescendoing through the cycle.

‘Demons’, the lone survivor from Lulu’s Cold Water EP, bridges the change and changes the game, simple and unswervingly stirring. Given elegant and gently rousing treatment here, it is troubled with beautiful unease from beginning to end. If the introduction conjures creaking branches and disturbed earth, thereafter the song makes and mines a subterranean landscape, a space where “these demons that you gave to me / make the best and worst of me”. ‘Detour’, following, cannot emulate the impact but is still a turbulent noise-maker, breaking out to fill the space beneath its own decorous arcs and eschewing lyrics as the expansiveness swells.

Rambutan probably achieves its upscaled objectives even before reaching its rapt conclusion – but like so much on Bella Union’s high quality roster, Landshapes’ debut is both assured and assertive in its sense of self, imbued with an individual and fully realised identity. Each song reaffirms the album’s grander essence and even if familiarity breeds a desire for the unexpected, there are no sounds out of place. All four band members contribute to a crisply bittersweet citrus wash of vocals.

Although more nuanced textures take time to emerge through the sustained stylistic soundscape, Rambutan earns instant respect for its creators’ new direction. It isn’t quite a landmark album – but it is a milestone, and deserves its plaudits with or without reference to Landshapes’ own transformation.