I’ve a belly full of booze and a head full of melodies and my heart’s pumping like I’ve just ran a four-minute mile and my fingers are tapping like a 100-words-a-minute receptionist at some hideous high-rise bank office thing and I’m sweating as is customary at the soon-to-close Spitz and I’m sorta twitch-dancing to songs I don’t understand… I don’t understand… I really don’t understand… and it’s all brilliant…

Malajube would be annoying – irritating to the point of heckling – if it wasn’t for the fact that their songs are so good; the French-Canadian quintet’s run-through of songs old and older this evening – although their last LP, Trompe-L’oeil, was only released in the UK this month, it has been available on import since early 2006 – is a true joy to behold. These are songs fully informed by the best summery pop, the finest carefree jangles and the occasional obtuse angle; these songs are wonderfully crafted, lovingly executed in the live environment with a professionalism that many a domestic act of their profile lacks. You feel that home-grown indie-pop types would scuff up the corners of their neatly polished songs for a gig, but not Malajube. This is a band that believes wholly in its material, and treats it with care; no slip ups, no mistimed cues, no errors whatsoever.

While the banter’s far from endearing – vocalist Julien Mineau appears prickly and oddly on edge throughout proceedings – Malajube’s mastering of their craft is so overpoweringly apparent that a smile soon follows the start of each and every offering this evening. It is F.U.N., straight up. You can forgive them an unusual on-stage appearance – when not absorbed by song, the five fidget and mumble, occasionally back-talking the crowd in a slightly abrasive manner, despite the assembled many’s obvious adoration – because their songs, again in case you missed it, are so good.

And that’s your review: nothing, really, needs adding to the summarisation presented above. Malajube are great, their live set is great, and they leave the first-time attendee – hello – skipping on air all the way home (yes, even on the Underground). They could be a little more hospitable, but who knows what misfortunes befell the five prior to their taking of the stage. Perhaps Mineau’s dog was run over, or something. All that matters, conclusively, is the songs, and Malajube have excellent ones in spades. Brilliant.

Photograph by Lucy Johnston