It is unfair, if hardly unreasonable, to subject the second generation to a little extra scrutiny. Liam Finn’s first full length, I’ll Be Lightning, was broadly well-received but inevitably met with umpteen Crowded House comparisons. His second solo effort might just be the album that allows Liam to sidestep father Neil’s not inconsiderable shadow and confirm the younger Finn’s status as a serious and separate musical entity.

FOMO is a dynamic, brash and busy exercise. In terms of sound and spirit, the album is absolutely brimful. Bravado bursts through the surges and scuds that enliven even the straight-up pop songs. The title is an acronym meaning “Fear Of Missing Out”; suggesting agitation and fragility, both reflected here but only in a no-holding-back, whatever-it-takes sort of way.

Right from the offing the album ripples, glistening and nostalgic, as Finn sings of “the modern neurotic world”, setting up a sort of swirling shroud through which to blast. The “sense of urgency” sung about in ‘Neurotic World’ is borne out immediately, as, driven by the palpitating pitter-patter of a drum machine, ‘Don’t Even Know Your Name’ injects pace and ups the churn. Bass rattles around under bustle and bluster, as Finn threatens to “make you topple like a domino”. I love the way this simile, implying mass destruction as it does, conversely conjures such an unimpressive mental image when issued in the singular as an individual threat. Even the liliest-livered dominoes seem to survive the occasional toppling, after all.

Finn takes every opportunity to thrum and throb but it’s the distorted vocals, spiralling out from ‘The Struggle’, which tip FOMO from brash to bratty, a passionate and bombastically obnoxious pop spectacle that I sneakily rather adore. Even the softer songs bow to crude guitar, effervescent in electric swell while Finn’s voice rides the surf.

There might be a tendency to mistake commotion for conviction on occasion, creating an impact that isn’t always as arresting on repeat listen. ‘Reckless’ is a weaker cut, another of the amped-up songs that commands the attention by being heartfelt and heady but not especially coherent. I’m not complaining because there’s still some cracking guitar work, however, on which you can depend just as much as the assertive, staggered drum loops that shuffle and scatter across everything.

For all its grittiness, FOMO can feel a little overblown. It is a very raw-sounding record but neither rough nor unrefined enough to encourage empathy with the pummelling angst, a shame considering fear of missing out is a ubiquitous human trait. The pounding, pulsing and polish are all fine and well but I can’t help wondering whether it could have done with the odd gauche moment, just to hammer home the fear and friction behind the gnashing. The gravitas of sparsity is missing; intimacy is confined to the first and final tracks, through the misty wist of ‘Neurotic World’ and carnal cries of ‘Jump Your Bones’. Nevertheless, as a hook-heavy one man show, FOMO is very good going.