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A new generation: Szmierek refuels in hometown Stockport for a starry record defining an age.

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Somewhere between Mike Skinner donning a synth amongst the Indie-Electronics of Barry Can’t Swim, the Mancunian teacher turned-poet has been lauded as one of the forefront runners this year. Capturing the essence of nighttime after-thoughts with provocative spoken word and hypnotic dance beats, Service Station… is a lightning-in-a-bottle record as it soars on a joyride of success.

Finding beauty in the everyday, Szmierek’s latest is an immense display of dance decorum as we are swept into a walking parallel of calm and calamity in our country’s service stations under the cover of darkness; a point of in-between where there’s everything and nothing at all. An album theme of extraordinary

Above all else, his music is here to let others know that this is all possible. Because out here, we could be anyone.

In-between the pondering wordsmith, comes psychedelic guitar riffs, transcending synths, uplifting piano trills and pounding UK garage kick patterns in a record that inspires to kick your car into fifth and just drive, as long as it’s anywhere but here.

Amongst its make-up, there’s romance here like the funky Yoga Teacher or the yearning slow Crumb. But there’s also plenty of grit, like the heavy-hitter of Crashing Up, a wake-up-and-smell-the-coffee realisation of life’s fallacies. We can’t be forgetting the dancefloor hallmarks either. Take Me There is a heavyweight bop of dancing the night away while lead Rafters is one to catalogue for the next generation.

Amongst the face-value spectacle of dance instrumentals however, this album shows all signs of vulnerabilities and insecurities. Restless Leg Syndrome is a devastating remark of everlasting implications of overthinking on a walk back from a night out. Self-conscious spiralling, thoughts of getting old – “If I wait another ten years to have children / Then I’ll never meet my grandkids” – linger under street-lamps with noone around to tell you it’s just going to be okay. Equally harrowing, it’s all thrown behind throbbing synth warbles and blaring alarms in grandeur display.

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Uplifting, melancholic, refreshing, captivating – it’s got pretty much everything you need on an album. It’s a refreshing blight on life’s pitfalls, a source of reassurance in hard times – this is Service Station At The End Of The Universe. This is mvm’s Album of the Year.