Welcome to the return of Saesneg and Vivers’ joint reviews. To celebrate Day 4 of Mezefest, I will be judging Saesneg’s ramblings for accuracy and fairness. Here we go.

Saesneg: Well the Silver Gospel Runners are really nice. I doubt any of them have ever sworn. They’re probably the sort of people you knew at University that quickly got coupled off and are married already with two kids on the way and a small semi-detached house in the Heath. I’m sure I could take them back to my mother – god knows what situation would arise that that could happen ­– and she would be more than happy to serve them chicken and pasta with an dessert of ice cream or maybe an apple pie. There’s nothing wrong about the Los Camp forward slash Belle and Seb style of stuff on show with SGR, but I don’t know – it’s cute and bouncy but it’s a bit, well, normal.

Vivers: How accurate is this? Pretty close. Silver Gospel Runners get more accomplished and intricate with every gig, their mini-vignettes delicate and tumbling. They could do with trying to fit less words in each line, and doubling the live brass quotient, but overall, these pure hearts are in the right place.

S: I’m mid free-burger munch when Men Diamler rumbles on. And it’s a fierce tumble, resembling a folky Beirut style-character making a concept album about cider. The show is marked, or distinguished, by over-ambition. Mr Diamler informs us he has written 34 songs in the nick of time, sitting in front of him in a song book he hastily flicks through mid-ditty. The tunes themselves are dark, comic and chaotic and reflect the disjointed delivery of the writer, who bounds through like Tigger from Winnie the Pooh, despite the fact he is rooted firmly to his stool.

V: Spot on. Men Diamler in total triumph scenario due to channeling Brian Blessed singing murder ballads. Brill.

S: Wine? At the Meze? Puzzle Muteson arrive on stage with two polite glasses of plonk, setting the tone from the outset. Compared to the last guy, this is really conservative and tight. But I’m grinning like a fool, which is either a result of the anaesthetising effects of alcohol or because I’m easily flattered by quiet folkies. Or because they’re delicate and well considered, like a painting you can hang in a country home owned by Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall. Set is missing cheese platter.

V: Dairy product fiend Saesneg is correct here. Puzzle Muteson remind me of an unplugged Au, the wild melodrama hushed and diverted via quiet acoustic guitar and minimal keyboard. So minimal in fact the keyboard player spends more time drinking wine that tinkling ivories but hey, as one and a half-somes go, Puzzle Muteson’s parched folksiness tingles nicely.

S: A possible tiebreaker for future Cardiff music quizzes could be six degrees of separation from Little My. Because every indie band in the capital has some connection to the 102674-member ensemble. And this is inexplicably the first time I’ve seen them, and they’re not their best tonight. It’s a bit shaky, songs start and stop, instruments are out of tune, members start playing at the wrong times, something is wrong with the PA (it was fine earlier), and people are shuffling around on stage as if they’re a bit knackered to be playing at verging-on-11-on-a-Sunday night. Put it down to work tomorrow.

V: Completely wrong. They have 9341 members. Their lack of match fitness is down to a plain collective hangover I think (happy birthday Charlie), but even off colour Little My bring a little sunshine. Kiddie-pop miniatures sound better when played dressed as animals, everyone knows.

S: At the back of my mind – well, in my nightmares – I was expecting an emo-punk outfit made up of school leavers still enjoying Limp Bizkit. No, 6 Day Riot are an internationally-focused power pop threesome from Glasgow who combine afrobeat rhythms with songs about miscreants like John Darwin – you remember, that maudlin tale about the guy who faked his death so his wife could claim his life insurance and bugger off to Panama, forgetting to tell his sons in the meantime. This is weighty stuff and despite the band’s eclectic approach is unpretentious and straight forward. But its all horridly cut short, thanks to First Great Western last train falling half way through. Sulk.

V: Well, pretty sure there were four people onstage (it was late etc), but our writer is bang on in his new haircut. 6 day Riot stomp a might hoedown, ruthlessly professional in their dedication to Belting It Out. Their stridency is tempered by a fine pop sensibility, or in other words, raise your glasses.