IT starts with muted handclaps and muffled remnants of a boozy rehearsal, and ends with a heartfelt acoustic send-off.

Sandwiched between these extremes The Yards respectfully doff their classic rock caps to Neil Young, Queens Of The Stone Age, Rod Stewart and Iggy Pop.

Any fears the York five-piece's first LP would be cemented in conservative casing and lack ambition are dashed by this eclectic smash-and-grab of a debut.

Earlier, more hyped records have seen Chris Helme in a musical straitjacket, going through the motions with material mostly penned by a man wearing Stone Rose-tinted spectacles in the Seahorses.

This eponymous release - arguably York's best album since Shed Seven's A Maximum High in 1996 - shows he's not blinded by the sun, has flicked that pesky seahorse from his shoulder and emerged from a black cloud with a blistering set of songs.

Opener Forget Your Regrets throbs with the pulsating rhythm of Crazy Horse's Cinnamon Girl before dousing the chorus in a Californian glow, while Get Off My Back skewers the Beta Band with a slide guitar, then allows the melody to slowly seep out.

The wild thrash of The Devil Is Alive... takes Helme and co out of the Yard and parks them between the Stooges and MC5 in a dusty Detroit garage.

Other standouts include the glistening melancholy of Superhuman, the Stonesy swagger of Fireflies and the swirling, hallucinogenic mist that engulfs the end of Only Myself To Blame.

"Lead me on to better times," pleads Helme on Fireflies, his relaxed, contented vocals maturing with every spin of the CD, amid a flurry of joyous choruses. York should rejoice: The Yards deserve to go the distance.

Updated: 09:18 Thursday, April 21, 2005