Words can be such cumbersome things; at times, it’s better to leave everything unsaid. Instrumental music suits people for whom music elicits an emotional response, but dislike being told how to feel. The absence of lyrical input leaves things open to interpretation, and it is from this realisation that an entire sub-genre of music has risen – one known as post-rock, generally used as a catch-all term for band-driven music without vocals.

It’s a much more complex style of music than can be conveyed through the use of a single term, though. Take Cardiff-based trio Wicket (Raurie Allen, Danny Jaques and Michael Nash), who don’t exactly put the rock into post-rock, if their debut album is anything to go by. Having released only a handful of material before now, ‘A Way to Leave Their World Behind’ is the first real opportunity for prospective listeners to get a taste of what the band can do on record, having spent the guts of the previous four years honing their craft at live shows. Thankfully, this cautious approach to making their debut LP means that it has been created with a singular listening experience in mind, rather than as something one can dip into and out of at will.

The seven tracks on offer present themselves as something more akin to a sprawling 40-minute piece, albeit one that’s broken up into movements. The first of these, We Were Sinking, is the black sheep of the record. It displays most prominently the harsher sound that’s only hinted at elsewhere, its sweeping dynamics and lush, forceful sound setting the stage for something that never materialises. Instead, what we get is a much more laid-back affair, zoning in on the group’s more ambient tendencies and bringing them to bear. Derwentwater is largely reminiscent of TTNG on Valium doing plenty to intrigue and entice without delivering the expected payoff. Nash’s steady drumming and the constantly shape-shifting melodies (created by interplay between Jaques and Allen) benefit from subtlety – it’s more about the journey than the destination.

The band dynamic is key all across the record, but particularly so on the expansive Light Up Berlin, while the record’s centrepiece is the 10-minute-plus Chant In Lonely Peace, which investigates various facets of the band over its running time: one moment an entrancing mood piece, the next delighting in its joyous refrains and the sound of a band in full flight. Perhaps most impressively, it doesn’t outstay its welcome, bleeding into The Scientific Method with the aural equivalent of a disinterested shrug.

The closer, meanwhile, throws up fascinating ideas about melody and structure, all wrapped around a jubilant coda that allows the trio to finally let their hair down – and they do so with aplomb. Overall, their debut isn’t the flashiest post-rock you’re likely to hear this year, but that matters little – it’s a confident and frequently captivating release from a band who value substance over style.