From the outset there is something immediately familiar and yet vitally inventive about Slow Club; the riotous rallying calls of Because We’re Dead and Dance ‘Til The Morning Light, the unlikely anti-folk ‘epics’ Giving Up On Love and Our Most Brilliant Friends; songs built on skiffling ‘Crickets’ rhythms and the lost art of a good middle eight. Throughout the album the twin voices of Charles Watson and Rebecca Taylor conspire with an unmistakably youthful vigour, bookended by the deft ballads When I Go and Boys On Their Birthdays, dexterous soliloquies of admission and humour.

A string of single releases on their label home Moshi Moshi, and crucial development time on the live circuit has made Slow Club an irresistible prospect. Live as on record, Charles and Rebecca enrapture audiences with the same involuntary joy and simplistic rush that they themselves imbue. Their highly developed partnership delivering sweet harmonious hooks, rockabilly beats and exuberant yelps and yips, that spill out across the album.

As with Slow Clubs early singles, Yeah So was recorded almost entirely within the bosom of their hometown Sheffield, with Richard Hawley’s long term live and studio engineer Mike Timm at controls. His involvement according to Charles, was vital “Being a duo its often difficult to ‘let go’ on certain decisions… Mike has been really important providing a ‘buffer state’ between us.”

There is occasional instrumental and vocal assistance from David Glover, and a closing track appearance by Brian O'Murchu (drums) and Jamie Morrison (glass bottle!), but Slow Club are defined by a their own distinct and powerful partnership. Charles with bruised vocal, rasping guitar and disarming lightness of touch; Rebecca with her dash of Northern Soul and sharp wit, playing stand up drums amid a wild array of percussive apparatus - wooden chairs, glass bottles, and spoons.

These two are more than charming anti-folk troubadours or the lo-fi acoustic end of the Sheffield scene; they are the real thing. That spontaneous intangible ‘thing’ that comes jumping off records and crackling off the stage, hanging crystalline for fleeting moments to confound and intrigue.