The title of the first track on Wild Flag‘s debut album sums up their allure in one word, which makes writing about it seem like a pointless endeavour: ‘Romance’. They’re not talking boy-meets-girl/boy-meets-boy/girl-meets-girl/whatever-meets-whatever or anything; Wild Flag’s romance is that strange, intoxicating lust that inspires, and is inspired by, all good rock and roll ever written, recorded and performed. “The sound is what found us,” they swoon, “sound is the love between me and you.” Wild Flag may be an album of elemental, no-nonsense guitar music, but there’s definitely something magical at play here.

Maybe it’s the ghosts of each individual member’s past lives floating through the record. ‘Boom’ and ‘Future Crimes’ are dead ringers for prime Sleater-Kinney, with Elephant 6 alumni Rebecca Cole filling out the sound with some alluring Attractions-style organ chords, while ‘Endless Talk”s sixties shuffle is a dead ringer from some long lost Quasi track. Or maybe it’s the subliminal flourishes that don’t register until the tenth or eleventh listen – a hidden burst of radio noise, some phantom reverb that colours a single word or the way a guitar line spirals from one speaker to the other.

And sure, Janet Weiss’s crackling fills and thundering tom toms only confirm the theory that she’s the best drummer alive, and Carrie Brownstein – though hardly in the shadow of her now-domesticated former foil Corin Tucker – has completely come into her own as a frontwoman, be it in her occasional lapse into a weird Cockney accent, or through contorting the title of six-minute gallop ‘Racehorse’ through all manner of syllabic permutations without missing a beat. And yeah, it’s great to hear Mary Timony in a full-band context again; her first contribution to the album, ‘Something Came Over Me’, is an instant classic – a rare moment of conscience, in which she’s “gonna let the good times toll.”

But the important thing about Wild Flag is that it’s so much greater than the sum of its parts – recorded entirely live (vocals aside), it’s the sound of a gang, though not a closed circle. Hell, its lyrics are littered with invitations – “We choose you!” they shout in one track, while another makes it yet more plain: “Come join our electric band” – and even when they don’t come right out and say it, the siren-like harmonies of ‘Glass Tambourine’ are even more enchanting.

Anyway, screw the poetry. Whether or not you’ve got an eye and an ear for what’s romance, Wild Flag is the best rock album of 2011. It’s that simple.