Paul the Girl is high-maintenance. Essentially a one-woman band joined by a clutch of talented musicians, she claws away at preconceptions with dirty and bitten but feminine nails. She's Alice falling down the rabbit hole to a council estate; Shirley Temple with a voyeuristic glee for vomit and sex.

To compare her jaded but defiantly poetic lyrics to Jarvis Cocker does few favours to her intensity. To liken her passion to PJ Harvey's can't capture her playful subversion. Military rhythms damage fragile melodies. Glass-shattering high notes burn through blowsy brass.

Don't You Know Yet Who I Am? sounds like a feisty come-on, until Paul reveals the protagonist to be a mother, changing the sexual undercurrent from enticing to lurid. Too Drunk whips up the paranoia and introspection of a good night turned messy.

Little about Paul's dramatic lyrical style and clashing rhythms is easy, but the simple melodies keep you hooked and challenge you to understand one girl's world.