Given the fact that nearly every other word out the dictionary has had a 'the' bunged in front of it and been sent out onto the toilet circuit frontline to die a miserable death in front of eight people and their girlfriends, it's no surprise that a band called The Romance would appear in some crap town sooner or later. The smart money was on The Romance popping up in Hull, but for now they'll have to make do with The Paddingtons as Middlesbrough gets the imaginary band name bookies in a tizz by claiming The Romance.

One of them bands that feature an annoying indie singer/songwriter type that dresses like a bad day at beamish. Front a band or end up being David Gray must have frightened Matthew Chipchase so much he had to write songs as good as 'Faith' and 'Joseph'. Because for all the bandwagon jumping accusations you could throw at them for sounding like half a dozen other indie throwbacks who have smacked up the charts during the past few years, The Romance have the tunes to maybe join them. Don't give your pointy leather shoes away to the Salvation Army just yet.

'Put on your dancing shoes you sexy little swine,' it's The Artic Monkeys. Babyfaced dreamers fuck off A-levels in search of rock n roll stardom armed with cheeky smiles and a battered copy of 'Up the Bracket'. It's happening all over the country and if the Libertines legacy amounts to not much more than record profits for crack dealers and a supermodel catching syphilis then it'll all be worth it for THIS band.

Before they can finish blistering opener 'I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor' hundreds of kids have surged forward, pissed themselves with excitement and whacked out the camera phones to get a picture of the next big thing. Meanwhile at the bar A&R men are fisting themselves with chequebooks and presumably somewhere in a crack den down south are Pete and Carl and the other two wondering if the second Libertines album was actually any good.

Fuck that Libertines talk off though; the nonsense of albion is replaced by northern wit and commentary on the mean streets of Sheffield. The excellent 'Bigger Boys And Stolen Sweethearts' is boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl, girl fucks off with some older bloke who's a bit of a chav. Forthcoming single 'Fairytales of San Francisco' has a pop at bands whose ideas above their station amount to nothing more than sticking a cigarette in the neck of their guitar. Add to this another dozen songs that sound like Mike Skinner raised on Melody Maker and you have a band who are killing those in the know, on the verge of battering the cool kids and with the potential give the mainstream a hand job in its own living room. Love the Arctic Monkeys now before everyone hates them in a year.