The sound is more polished and widescreen вЂ“ the heave and echo of the effects-laden guitars on Feeling Myself conjure an alternative universe in which Slowdive had played stadiums the punky blast of Play the Greatest Hits thunders along The Last Man on Earth swells from piano ballad into something epic вЂ“ but the songs are strong enough to support it, better written than anything on Wolf AliceвЂ™s previous albums. Listening to Blue Weekend, youвЂ™re struck by an appealing sense of everything clicking into place. But, as it turns out, boldness suits Wolf Alice better than you might expect. The move for something bigger can be the moment when artists falter, where a glaring discrepancy between ambition and ability is revealed, or a desire to perform on a bigger stage swamps the essence of what made people like you in the first place. Wolf Alice: The Last Man on Earth вЂ“ video ItвЂ™s a move compounded by circumstance: trapped in a residential recording studio by the Covid pandemic, the band opted to spend their time polishing an album they had previously thought was virtually finished. The producerвЂ™s chair is occupied by Markus Dravs, whose CV вЂ“ Coldplay, Arcade Fire, Florence + the Machine вЂ“ suggests that heвЂ™s very much the kind of guy you phone if you find your ambitions extending a little further than your present status. ItвЂ™s a recipe for a certain level of success, but Blue Weekend is fairly obviously a lunge for something bigger. ThereвЂ™s something there for the 16-year-olds and the BBC Radio 6 Music listeners who remember when the O2 Forum was called the Town and Country Club. Their influences are deftly applied, but audible enough to attract an audience who recall this stuff first time around. Equally, their most obvious musical references points вЂ“ shoegazing and grunge, a touch of Elastica about their punkier moments вЂ“ largely date from the early 90s.

The 2017 tour documentary On the Road made being in Wolf Alice look like a job, a monotonous, gruelling round of faintly underwhelming experiences that director Michael Winterbottom compared to вЂњa horrific form of campingвЂќ. Nor are they a band who have bought into time-honoured rock mythology suggesting a life more glamorous, weird, transgressive and exciting than your own. Her lyrics tend to deal in the everyday frustrations of twentysomething life whether in character or not, it comes as a mild shock to hear her singing about accepting any drugs sheвЂ™s offered in Los Angeles on Blue WeekendвЂ™s Delicious Things. For all the attention from Vogue вЂ“ вЂњ HereвЂ™s How An It Brit Does Glastonbury StyleвЂќ вЂ“ Rowsell seems noticeably more вЂњolder sisterвЂ™s famously cool mateвЂќ than вЂњrock star blessed with otherworldly charismaвЂќ. On the face of it, they seem like a very 2020s kind of band, built for a pop world in which relatability and mild aspiration is more important than glamour and the selling of dreams. Wolf Alice: Blue Weekend album cover Photograph: PR Two Top 5 albums, a Mercury prize and a Grammy nomination into their career, they have come a long way in a climate where what would once have been called вЂњindieвЂќ music is supposed to struggle. Then again, perhaps Wolf Alice have the right to swagger. This is swaggering stuff, particularly from someone whose public image, as Smile points out, is that of a sensitive artist, a wary interviewee.

ThereвЂ™s a very striking line midway through the fourth track on Wolf AliceвЂ™s third album, a pointed burst of righteous anger called Smile: вЂњI am what I am and IвЂ™m good at it,вЂќ shouts Ellie Rowsell, вЂњand you donвЂ™t like me, well that isnвЂ™t fucking relevant.вЂќ

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