London is cold. Granted, I'm a south-west country boy - we usually fight off such temperatures by felling a small forest and burning the result - but still, it's definitely cold outside. Within the confines of the Scala though, there's warmth and there are friends - hell, put in an open fire and you could probably call it downright cosy.

But this is beside the point. Tonight is an inadvertent Barsuk Records showcase - Nada Surf, tonight's main attraction share the Seattle based label with tonight's opening act, the rather superb John Vanderslice. As yet unheard of in the UK, Vanderslice's songs are thick with sonic experimentation, beautifully understated lyricism and songwriting good enough to make you weep that more people aren't aware of it. With so much going on with his songs on record, you'd expect the line-up of the man himself and drummer/keyboardist Dave Douglas to deliver a worryingly stark and stripped-down set. But the songs retain their warmth and their beauty - Douglas drums, arranges samples and operates a bass foot pedal whilst Vanderslice stands front and center. Mainly composed of the more immediate material from his ample discography, his songs shimmer and soothe. 'Trance Manual' chimes with an ethereal calm whilst the powerful 'White Plains' resonates around the room with pounding toms and Vanderslice's impassioned pleas. He leaves the stage to promisingly appreciative sounds.

We soon learn however, that sounds in general are this crowd's speciality. As Nada Surf take to the stage and the first few plaintive strums of 'Blizzard Of 77' ring out, a woman nearby screams so loud my ears make an independent attempt to leave the building. There are shouts and screams and repeat requests (he heard you friend, "PLAY AMATEUR!", they get it), but why not? Nada Surf are rarely spectacular, neither do they blow minds or rewrite rules. What they do is play joyful, unpretentious pop songs with an amiable abandon and an ignorance of 'cool'. And they're good at it. Matthew Caws' vocals are pitch perfect, Ira Elliot's drumming retains it's hydraulic quality and precision and Daniel Lorca.. well, he bounds around the stage independent of his dreads. Material from 2002's Let Go kills the audience - 'Happy Kid', 'Killian's Red', 'Hi-Speed Soul' - these songs are clearly loved and the rapturous applause they end with confirms it. Even the guy who's still shouting for 'Amateur'. Still. The material from latest album The Weight Is A Gift fits into the set neatly, the single 'Always Love' proving the most popular followed by the punchy 'Blankest Year'.

At least a couple of times during this show I caught myself grinning unwittingly. There's nothing like a solid pop song played with conviction and energy to make you feel content, at least for a few minutes. Remove your tongues from your cheeks! Drop your Pitchfork holiness for a moment or two! That's the only way you'll find yourself enjoying an impromptu version of 'Shadow Dancing' by Andy Gibb, or the truly bizarre 'Meow Meow Lullaby' (the token odd insertion into the second encore, in compliance with Encore Law™.) One line from the night sticks in my head, however saccharine or trite - "we'll pretend it's another planet/not so uptight." Come the end of the night, the crowd are red-faced and jubilant and armed with enough positivity and warmth to brave the chill of the city.