Stop press! There are too many festivals to choose from, too many bands to keep up with, and the rain’s just ruined my coiffed hair-do. This is an emergency. Just a year after The Pigeon Detectives gate-crashed the fickle new rave scene, they return (or rather, persist) re-armed, panic-stricken and ready to declare the state of things to come. Matt Bowman’s yelping commands could be mistaken for prototypical Gallagher frontman bravado warning other equally swaggering prima donnas of his intended success. Who cares? Silly unpretentious indie pop is redeeming, especially when it’s crammed into a radio-friendly three minutes. The ominous bass, growing cymbals and suspenseful drum-roll tempo of the intro approach nearer and nearer and crescendo into a climatic chorus of siren-mimicking guitars finally arriving with a repetitive northern vocal. When the cider runs dry down the local or the skies open up in the festive fields, the crowds will be chanting accordingly.
