Slime City are both sharply observant and gleefully ridiculous. National Record of Achievement opens with retro computer bleeps before the whole thing detonates into a sweat-soaked punk pogo built around a uniquely British experience you’d completely forgotten about. The memory of a sad little plastic wallet we were told would follow us into adulthood, but absolutely nobody has ever asked to see since is turned into a hilarious opener that establishes the album’s core theme of a future sold us to us that doesn’t really exist. Confusion and exhilaration run right through the record, with a nervy, high-pitched vocal delivery that recalls Johnny Rotten, but more giddy than angry. Less burn it down, more should we dance?

The album constantly flirts with classic new wave ideas while keeping one foot planted firmly on a sticky club floor. You Do The Math(s) is an early standout, driven by a rubbery, retro synth line with jittery, off-kilter rhythms that are playful and unpredictable, but deeply catchy. Trigger The Dads is a blisteringly funny punk rager that flips the usual moral panic on its head, skewering pensioners glued to their phones getting radicalised one algorithm at a time with an absurdly blunt and endlessly repeatable chorus designed to be screamed back by a crowd. For all the bounce and humour there’s a persistent thread of anxiety running underneath the party, with Two Types of People wrestling with whether the world is run by incompetence or malice. The centrepiece This Song Costs £2000 (Approx) is a masterstroke of self-awareness, starting as a groove-heavy punk disco-stomp that turns into a meticulous breakdown of the actual costs involved in making the record before collapsing into a brilliantly absurd refrain thanking listeners for the fraction of a penny earned through streaming. Funny, frantic, and full of ideas, National Record of Achievement is a surprisingly sharp document of modern British anxiety.