Zachary Cole Smith: Alt.Pop Paragon. DIIV, Oshin.

When Zachary Cole Smith exchanged an 'e' for an 'I' and capitalised his spangly, newfangled moniker the internet imploded a little. It was a consummate exemplar of how the world (for anyone whose world revolves around this here thing known as independent music) had changed: long since deceased were the days of skiving off school to go snaffle an alt.pop hit or slink off to some instore or other. No, when Doused dropped we bathed at length in its urgency; its discombobulating, jittering immediacy; its unabashed majesty and did so exclusively online. We waxed lyrical like literate stuff lunar; proverbially, collectively, we lost our shit. And by God was the whole thing joyous. Now that the full-length is out as a rather more tangible entity, excuse us while we go DIIV into Oshin once again.

With mere weeks rather than the anticipated months transpiring between initial drizzle (Doused) and deluge of 12" diameter (Oshin), Cole Smith proffers another case in point of a contemporary shift in the way in which we digest our music. Our attentions fleeting; our tastes momentary, progressively fewer records must be being experienced – and consequently fully appreciated – in their entirety and here Oshin becomes anomaly for once 'Play' may be smacked, you'll helplessly follow all the way through Home only then to instantaneously; compulsively return to the remarkably pristine wafts of six string and effervescent dronage of (Druun).

If stylistically Oshin isn't exactly altogether conclusive (for better or worse and indeed for once Рthis incongruous m̩lange of genres musical merely engenders further excitement via its apparent erraticism) then its quality has been controlled quite meticulously. There's no deadwood to cling to as the LP remains thoroughly gripping throughout: Human recalls Real Estate's sublimely understated eponymous, all ambiguous sea foam vocals and guitars that jangle like loose change falling through holey pockets onto beachy shingle underfoot, whilst the segueing Air Conditioning is a delicate lo-fi thrum more attuned to the finely spiralled curls of a Zappa wig. Past Lives comes across as Kurt Vile fronting New Order, had the Salford heavyweights not lost Hook and with it their ability to write one; How Long Have You Known like Bradford Cox taking on Tears For Fears and never The Knack; Wait like flecks of disco ball glimmer dancing across the chiselled features of Ariel Rosenberg.

A cosmic gallivant then ensues as Cole Smith worms his way through the shimmer and slink of Earthboy, the penetrative instrumental incisions of (Druun Pt. II), the pseudo-anthemic kaleidoscopic swirls of Follow and beyond, eventually ascending to that vertiginous acme of stellar contemporary composition: Doused. As infectious and acutely so as it was last month, the unearthed and estranged Beach Fossil demonstrates that a great originality remains achievable. Allow us to introduce a paragon of alt.pop songsmithery in Zachary Cole Smith.

Jamie Holloway.