"Are you sure we should be leaving?" asks girlfriend.
"Yes. It was too crowded down there. I'm sweating, and it's November."
"But all these people are waiting. The next band on must be good."
"All these people are suckers. The next band is just a tired retread of music that's been dragged to the wrecker’s yard ten times over the last twenty years already. I'm going home."

That's in no way intended as a DiS (heh) to tonight's headliners, the much, much-hyped Maximo Park, but I've enough Franz Of Four records to keep me company of an evening without having to endure the claustrophobia-provoking surroundings of a packed Buffalo Bar. Being pressed against the bar whilst airhead blonde bimbos, decked out in whatever thrift garb is chic this week, push past like I'm not there is not my idea of fun. Also, guys who wear scarves indoors - please, don't. You look like twunts and then complain when your trailing neck attire gets trapped between some other guy and me when you're squeezing past on your way to the bogs. Anyway...

The Chalets are what I'm here for - five Dubliners possessing a wicked sense of pop-trumps humour and tunes by the absolute skip load. Next to me stands a girl who knows all the words. Sure, she just might be their PR (I don't know and I don't ask), but she's ahead of the identikit pack of wolves that populate this space - this time next year, you'll know all the words, too. When pop music's as catchy, addictive and as downright brilliant as that purveyed by The Chalets, how can it fail? The vocal interaction between boys and girls on stage may smack of Bucks Fizz (as do the girls' matching outfits), and the high-pitched vocals and angry turns of phrase might pack a punch a la Bis, but if it's pop-rockin' X Factor that you want, without having to resort to an evening in with a parasitical rock-star wife and her wannabes, then this is it.

Whilst the band members smile throughout their set, no wonder considering the number of faces staring back at them, The Chalets' songs aren't totally loved up. 'Sexy Mistake' tells a does-what-it-says-in-the-title tale of misplaced affections - girl leaving through a back door after claiming that her beau-to-be (almost) looked better in the dark, and set closer 'Love Punch' possesses an even nastier side (sample lyric: "I'm coming home to a punch or a kiss, you say that it's your heart but I know it's your first"). There's even a bizarrely upbeat rape reference in there, disguised by a deceptively simple synth-pop backing and a catchall repeated chorus of “I know you love me but you’re fucking crazy”.

All talk of the bittersweet aside, here's the lowdown: The Chalets are good. Very good. And they're going to get better. An album's out in the New Year. You'll buy it and love it. They'll be on the cover of your magazine. No one will remember who headlined tonight.

Chances are they’ll still be queuing to find out, though.