Otherkin are a community of people that believe they are not human—at least in spirit—even if their physical appearance is putting up a convincing argument. Otherkin may appear to just be four homo sapiens from Dublin, but who knows what form their spirits take? Hopefully those of an intelligent disposition, if the fact that two of them are currently medical students is cause for concern. While they sound like they could tear up suburban American garages; coyotes they are certainly not.

Their debut EP, ‘Broken English’, is an exercise in hampering eras together until we’re unable to distinguish one from the another. A ball of twine so cohesive, that to pick it apart would completely dissolve it. Typical—kids who barely lived through these musical eras, messing them up. Well damn, it works out well for them. They’ve picked around the raisins of punk, 90s alt-rock and a hint of indie britpop to mix with a production executed by the steady precision of a surgeon—we’d hope.

’89 is the stand-out track of the EP, a stumbling, crashing track that’s as wild west as it is retro. A heavier, alt-rock Smiths; the composition is as effecting as it is throwaway. Luke Reilly’s vocal is disinterested, but intriguing. Think Pete Doherty stumbling his way through the motions, polished with Julian Casablanca’s unhinged suave. A metallic percussion builds with razor-sharp strumming and the subtle nod to prod rock composition. It’s made to be hammered out in some dingy club with hedonistic abandon.

The continuity is smooth throughout the five-track EP, as Anotherkin maintains the nostalgic tinge of disaffected 90s youth throughout. Guitar-heavy and a purposefully warm production quality contribute to the offering we’d fondly associate with the comforting labour of a cassette tape.

But while Lockjay and Waypoints are pleasant tracks, they don’t really go anywhere. The main thing Otherkin lack is the masterful jolt of a slapping chorus, lyrics to shout out, the peak to the mountain they gracefully build. The stretchy, affecting bass of Dinosaur Jr. is teamed with the cheer of a depressive on inadequate meds. But they linger, never quite reaching a climax to knock you off your feet. The hooks give good game, but are never a winner. Waypoints alarmingly misses the intrigue of ’89, blurring to nothing bar a classy percussive outro.

Better Undone makes it up to us; it’s completely skitzo. Just when they’re loosing you, a killer bass line will jump out of the noise barrier to reassure you that there’s still a pulse here.

Though a lot indicates that the live set would certainly triumph the recorded effort, ‘Broken English’ is still a stellar effort from this young Irish band—if that’s what they really are.