It’s a measure of the confidence that south London trio Mary In The Junkyard possess that they can begin their debut album with Mantra III, a skeletal, minimalist jam where lead singer Clari Freeman-Taylor simply repeats “It is yours babe, you deserve it”. It’s a woozy, disorientating introduction to what will no doubt be seen as one of the best debut albums of the year.

It’s a confidence and self-assuredness that’s been honed over the last two years of constant gigging. If you’ve been anywhere near The Windmill in Brixton since 2024, you’ve probably heard their self-described “weepy chaos rock” being sharpened over a succession of gigs, while support slots with Wet Leg and Dove Ellis have also helped raise their profile.

This all means that Role Model Hermit has the same sort of addictive quality that English Teacher‘s debut possessed when it was released a couple of years ago. Like the Leeds quartet, they’re an impossible band to pigeonhole, because there’s a lot going on under the seemingly quiet surface. Although the general tone is measured and deliberate, occasionally, they explode into a cathartic cacophony – Seek And Destroy is an early example, which builds expertly to a blast of controlled chaotic noise and screamed vocals.

What makes Mary In The Junkyard stand out though is their use of tension – as if something’s lurking underneath the surface of their songs. New Muscles is one of the standouts, with David Addison’s intricate percussion and Saya Barbaglia’s eerie viola line providing a bed for Freeman-Taylor’s whispered, intense vocals. From the opening line of “I’ve been looking for somebody to fight, there’s no one on the streets at night” to the nagging chorus of “new muscles all over my back”, the whole song exudes a weird sense of menace that you can’t help but keep coming back to.

That slightly unsettling feeling pervades the whole album. Freeman-Taylor’s lyrics have the macabre quality of a Grimm fairy tale – Peter The Dog sees her feed her own flesh to the titular canine just so he won’t leave her, while Welcome Break sees unknown figures hiding in bushes near a service station. Even when the arrangements are at their most conventional – as on the breezy art-rock of Myrtle – there’s still a slightly otherworldly tinge underpinning the album.

It’s towards the end of the album though that the band really hit the emotional sweet spot. Candelabra, apparently written by Freeman-Taylor when she was just 17, is a fragile, minimal ballad in which the only instrument is a gentle, finger-picked acoustic guitar. It’s a complete about-turn from the controlled chaos on display earlier in the record, but it’s equally as powerful.

Closing track Mouse marries both sides of the band’s sound, with Freeman-Taylor’s whispered vocals being almost overwhelmed by a gorgeously swirling string section. The fact that it tails off in an endearingly unassuming manner rather than building to a big climax just adds to its charm – and, like all good albums, you’ll want to go right back to the start as soon as it ends. At the halfway point of the year, it’ll be a surprise if there’s another debut album as accomplished and confident as this one.

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