Does this count as a debut? Depending on what you read, either Luke Temple wised up to the fact that the current overload of tiresome singer-songwriters can impact negatively on any artist trading under their own name and changed the name of his act to Here We Go Magic, or he decided enough was enough with his solo work and formed a group instead. It doesn’t really matter as he’s come up with a blinding album which ever way you look at it.

I am a bit late with this one actually. It was released back in February and it’s been lying dormant on my hard drive for a while after being downloaded in an effort to use up some spare eMusic credits but that seems ok as it has a very summery feel and now seems like the perfect time to be delving into it.

Inhabiting the same sort of territory as Department of Eagles, Grizzly Bear and Animal Collective, the basic pattern of the album is one of simple repetition. A catchy hook is repeated and a tune is built up in layers around it. It sounds loose and spacious and it works effortlessly. Opening with ‘Only Pieces’ , a mantra set over an African rhythm, the album really kicks off with the second track ‘Fangela’. This song is so damned good it’s hard to believe that it wasn’t written sooner. It’s basically Simon and Garfunkel’s greatest hits all played at exactly the same time – glorious stuff.

‘Ahab’, which contains, dare I say it, prog influences, chugs along nicely and would sound equally at home on Stuart Maconie’s BBC 6Music ‘Freakzone’ show and nestled on a compilation on early nineties pioneering mod label Acid Jazz.

Throughout the record there is a very evident ambient element to the music and this really comes to the fore on the second half of the album. The aptly titled ‘Ghost List’ is the most gentle of these, a single chord which reverberates for four and a half minutes, growing from a whisper to , well, a slightly louder whisper. The prettiest of the ambient tracks is ‘I Just Want To See You Underwater’, which I curiously read as I Just Want To See Your Underwear on first scan of the tracklisting. (There’s a remix title for you there fellers.)

Then, just as you think the album is fading away in a series of pulsing tones in ‘Babyohbaby – Ijustcan’tstanditanymore’ and ‘Nat’s Alien’, the album finishes with the absurdly catchy waltz ‘Everything’s Big’, which sounds like it came from a sadly abandoned attempt by Ray Davies to write the soundtrack to the classic children’s tv shows ‘Camberwick Green’ and ‘Trumpton.’ Ahh, what a record that would have been…