There was little indication back in 2010 that inside Julie Campbell laid a dormant pop star just waiting to make a collection of songs sleek by design, entrenched in funk and designed to make you dance. Her debut of five years ago, Nerve Up, excelled in skeletal indie, full of eye twitching paranoia and itchy guitars. This time ‘round, she’s overcome her reticence to get loose, and come up with an evocative pop record full of complexity and heavy on the groove.

Recorded on a Tascam eight track in her Manchester flat, Hinterland feels homely and economical, but in no way cheap. After a debut as esoteric as Nerve Up, Hinterland’s accessibility is a surprise. Although it's not explicit, the cold industrialism of Manchester bleeds through these tracks. Not the shiny new Manchester of posh bars and shiny architecture, more the monochrome Manchester of 1982, failed nights at the Hacienda, Factory Records album tracks from the likes of Section 25 and A Certain Ratio, and visions of dirty rain coats flapping in the wind.