Hello, this is my brother. “Hello.” He’s called Rob. “Hello.” After a long day dodging skin cancer and sweat smell, helping me shift boxes of shit CDs into my new place, Rob is increasing my puny brain, via a train to Bristol, and introducing me to one of his favourite bands, Silversun Pickups. Is this wise? “Yes, they’re great.” What about the first band, An Horse? “They’re a lesbian and a drummer.” Thanks Rob! The Brisbane band’s male/female, guitar/drum workouts may err on the side of tepid, but occasional moments shimmer: their songs are best when they blankly hit a repetitive phrase, accidental, almost country pop that conjures widescreen landscapes, and not the usual garage vistas.

Slightly more infuriating are Animal Kingdom, who clearly know their way around songs that build from gentle warbling to lighters-out finales, but somehow remain sterile and unsatisfying. Practically giving out the URL to buy their new single, even before the sustain on the last notes have finished doesn’t help, but it’s more than that. Animal Kingdom have an almost palpable meekness and lack of charisma that renders their woozy balladry pointlessly insubstantial. They are skimmed milk for the soul, and completely freak me out by having two songs that sound like Hope Of The States, who are comprehensively great, and who I really don’t wnat to revise my opinion of, thank you. “They sound like Tom McRae. I like Tom McRae.” Oh shut up.

Anyway, look busy, Jesus is coming. Yer man Brian Aubert, Silversun Pickups‘ slightly chumpy singer and guitarist, is clearly getting into the adulation thrown at him by tonight’s sell out crowd, if the triumphalist banter and trips into the molestation-hungry throng are anything to go by. And why not? Let’s not instantly dismiss a band for being popular and having roadies who light their paths with torches. “I agree.” Thanks. “You prick.” SP’s rock is a professional mix of focussed chugging, a little of post rock’s meandering effects abuse, and nicely placed, sparingly used eruptions of noise. Not to get too Nick Griffin, but they recall Scandinavian bands like Motorpsycho and Jenniferever in their mid-tempo high sheen. Whether all this quite good-ness merits them playing one and a half bleeding hours is another matter, but hey, people here lap it up like so much spilt beer, and a chant of ‘Silversun! Silversun!’ goes up, which is quite funny if you know your late 90s indie. Rob is a happy brother. “I think we’re spending too much time together.”