Records like this pose a fair few questions. For instance; where is the line drawn between novelty and serious intent? Or, if a band like to mess around with this kind of thing during rehearsals that's fine but do they need to unleash it on their fans? And, is this just going to be a bunch of arse along the lines of Spinal Tap's Jazz Odyssey? There are several more questions that spring to mind, but let us deal with these for the time being.

On the surface Mariachi El Bronx seems to be little more than a novelty direction for The Bronx to let off a little steam. But this is hardly the quick trotting out of a fun album while the band is on downtime, a good example of which would be Anthrax messing about with SOD whilst finishing off their second studio album.

In fact within the first two minutes it's clear that, while it is a fun album, it's one that The Bronx have taken extremely seriously. Recent single Cell Mates is a statement of intent. Choppy rhythms, trumpets and some glorious vocals from Matt Caughthran introduce the album in some style. A tale of prison life which conjures up images of wire fences, dust blowing across exercise yards and tear stained love letters sent from the outside world is an incredibly evocative way to start an album.

Most startling is the band's commitment to authenticity, for this project is a testament to how seriously they take Mariachi music. Everything is played impeccably, and not once does it ever descend into parody. Having the assistance of Vincent Hidalgo (son of Los Lobos man David Hidalgo) playing accordion and guitarrôn, and Alfredo Ortiz from the Beastie Boys camp providing percussion certainly helps. But they simply add flavour to the sound of a band who have clearly embraced this wonderfully suggestive music.

Dismissing it as a novelty album is perhaps more telling of the listener than it is of The Bronx. With the obvious exception of Calexico aside, all too often Mariachi bands are used as a comedic device in films and sketches to the point where it could be quite difficult to accept the idea of a punk band playing Mariachi at face value. But this sounds like respectful homage.

Clearly this album is going to provide something of a shock to some of The Bronx's hardcore punk fans. After all, this is hardly a slight shift in style, it's like an entirely new band has stepped up, thrown a sombrero into the ring and said "how do you like these apples?" The sheer musicianship of the beautiful Sleepwalking or the slightly dodgy Paedotones Of Despretador provide plenty of thrills, while the slightly political slant of Slave Labor mixes a few punk chops with searing horns to remind us that this is at heart a punk band playing these songs.

Ennio Morricone is evoked for Holy. It's the kind of song that bangs bones together as percussion, makes you dig your own grave, then prays for forgiveness as it blows smoke from its pistol and kicks dirt on your lifeless body before riding off on a mule into a burning sunset. My Brother The Gun changes things pace somewhat with some string parts drenched in Latin attitude and a vocal that finds Caughthran on top of his game. Hit the tequila, pop this on and try to resist the urge to wear your table cloth as a poncho. It can't be done. And fans of The Bronx should embrace it.

Likewise this is no Jazz Odyssey-like self-indulgence. Anyone who caught both their sets at ATP will tell you that their Mariachi set was every bit as intense and focused as the "straight" set. From an unusual source this may well be, but this is a great album nonetheless. Even if you don't take it as seriously as the band, it will at least brighten up any barbeques you decide to have in what remains of the summer.

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Mercury Prize 2009 nominees