So how’s that for timing? Just as we’re preparing for the long, drawn out evenings, the clocks going forward an hour and a huge of wave of seasonal adjustment disorder, along come Floridians-via-New York The Drums with a burst of sunshine that’s completely at odds with what’s going on outside. And if that wasn’t perverse enough, they paint a picture of what Joy Division might have sounded like if they’d spent more time on the donkey rides on Blackpool beach rather than struggling with existential angst and decay.

In some respects that’s a fairly awful image to conjure up in the mind’s eye and one that recalls the abject horror and repulsion prompted by the horrendous stage-school pop of The Wombats. Yet be that as it may, The Drums make a resounding strike courtesy of melodies and tunes so infectious that a vaccine’s yet to be found to counter their effects.

As with all the best indie-pop, a melancholic feeling of heartache and heartbreak tempers any dips into saccharine troughs and so it is that the bounce and girl-group harmonies of “Don’t Be A Jerk, Johnny” are evened out by the lyrical concerns of a control freak that disturb yet delight. A fine balancing act, to be sure, and one that gives The Drums an added dimension of depth to their joyous oeuvre.

Of course, if the notion of twee is enough to get you revving up your chainsaw as you crank up the volume to Reign In Blood, then there will be little here of value to you. For everyone else, The Drums’ innate ability to dig up gems from such disparate influences as rolling surf and the gloom of the North West of the 70s will be enough to reel you under their spell and one that proves that the sheer joy of opener 'Let’s Go Surfing' is no fluke.