Jungle emerged last year with a song called The Heat. It had a loose-limbed swagger, a mixture of funk and dance music, of the Rapture, Curtis Mayfield and Disclosure. It was also a little mysterious. It sounded like it was made in Manhattan but in fact it came from west London. It was euphoric, but also mannered. It was the sound of a large band, but the work of two members known only by their initials, J and T. This debut album sees those elements stretched across 12 songs. From Son of  a Gun to Julia, syncopated grooves and instrumental flourishes combine with neutered falsetto and lyrics riddled with uncertainty ("I don't know who you are/ Soon enough, you'll be all I need"). Individually, those songs still work. Over the piece though, you begin to notice a pattern. Meanwhile, the faint, faded vocals, which at first intrigued – are they those of a wounded lover, or just a jaded observer? – now sound affected. In fact, it all starts to feel like one big cover: by deliberately creating a sense of mystery around themselves, Jungle may have raised expectations that their music cannot yet deliver on.