This is KK's second album (the first being Roken) but frontman and songwriter Dan Donovan has been active in various guises for years, from the cult goth outfit Tribe of Dan through numerous solo and collaborative projects that have encompassed everything from rootsy blues to spoken word. All the while Dan has trodden entirely his own path, building a loyal following of fans for his live act and not caring a flying fig for fashion - but somehow always gravitating back to the basics of growly vocals, snarly guitar and big bad drums. And those basics are certainly in evidence here. Long-time drum collaborator Matt Middleton (from the early Tribe of Dan days) may have moved on since Roken, replaced here by mighty Joe Mason, but the spirit is very much intact. In fact, if anything, Yeah Yeah Liberté is even more sparse, even more raw than before. This is rock stripped right down to essentials - one guitarist, one drummer, two sets of lungs and the biggest noise possible. Plus a shedload of attitude.

After Shackeroony - a minute of audio messing about which makes you think your CD player's on the blink - and a slick intro that gives absolutely no warning as to what is to follow, the duo pitch you into Bring On The Godz, a hair-raisingly hollered stomp through a media-obsessed society. There are lots of influences at work here - many of them acknowledged on KK's website; you get a clear sense of the Pixies in Bring on the Godz and Whodo, while the superbly titled Ball Bag Bull is something Lemmy would feel more than comfortable with. You might also detect Souljacker period Eels in songs such as in Tattoo Too, Kingpin, and Go Yeah with their insistent riffs and distorted vocals and harmonica. But this is music that sounds mostly like itself. And behind the big-bicepped drums'n'guitar monster lurk some excellent lyrics which, as the album title suggests, have a distinct political bent (amazingly, given the album's extremes, you can also clearly hear every word). This is from Nanny Town, for my money one of the best songs on any Donovan album.

She'll comb your hair and wipe your nose
And keep you clean, yeah, keep you squeaky
She'll tie the tie she made you wear -
It's time to worry, it's getting freaky

She's just getting me down - I can't breathe in Nanny Town

What makes this so strong is that this is not sixth form Indie angst dressed up as worldly wisdom (or, God forbid, Razorlight). As a wise person once said: ‘Teenagers can't sing the blues; they ain't fixin' to die yet'*. And then there's that voice. Donovan's is a big, scary, whisky drinking, cigar smoking voice. It's been around, and it can stare you down. The kind of voice kids should make a space for at the bar, if they've any sense. It's a grown up voice, singing about a grown up world - and right now he's quite pissed off.

But while it's often harsh - as dark as the water in a Fenland ditch - it never lapses into cynicism. There's no way KK are giving up on the world, at least not while they can stick a size 9 New Rock up its arse. And for all that, this album also manages to retain what is best about youth: a playful, uncompromising, irrepressible spirit that delights in absurdities, wordplay, and noises both loud and silly. While the songs are mostly a full on, no hold's barred assault, there are intros and asides of extraordinary delicacy and wit, such as the unexpected and strangely spooky foray into gamelan at the start of Tic Toc Ghosts. The packaging, too, is minimal and unconventional; a plain brown cardboard sleeve with a simple sticker over one corner, and three photos contained within (all of which is a clue to Donovan's other life as a photographer and graphic designer). In some ways, a minor detail; in others, an inspired bit of original thinking that makes you realise how much sameness and standardisation we put up with in our daily lives. People like Donovan don't merely give eccentricity a good name - they make you feel like you're seriously missing out every time you do something straight.

All in all, a somewhat miraculous album, which manages to be rich and sparse, menacing and playful, apocalyptic and hopeful. And loud. Very loud. See them live. Buy the album. And pay attention to those lyrics.

Who's yer Nanny?

Writer: Toby Venables

*attributed to Lame Mango Washington. Allegedly.

www.kingkool.co.uk