It’s easy to be entirely dismissive of every new band on the indie production belt. Without DiS wanting to sound like the old duffers of rock, who really can tell the difference between a Mumm-ra, a Good Shoe or a Pulled Tiger Tail? Let alone a Cajun Dance Party and God knows what else. Seems like everyone’s got a top 40 single in them these days.

Flying mid-level high at the moment with a top-25 album are The Maccabees. Colour It In has propelled them to London Astoria-size venues, thanks to a large knot of fiercely loyal fans and much, perhaps, to the bemusement of wider observers. This is because we live in the peaking days of indie boom and bust: bands come and disappear quicker than you can say ‘The Bravery’.

Such aspersions would be unfair to cast on The Maccabees, though; they’ve been working away for a couple of years and released a slew of singles before their debut LP emerged in April. They’ve probably supported more bands than you’ve seen.

So tonight’s show, a radio broadcast gig at the York Fibbers, is now distinctly undersized for them. The crowd swell right to the back of the venue, while the front pockets of fans are the very definition of hardcore, all wide-eyed and sweaty-backed. From opener ‘Latchmere’ onwards, words are spat back with venomous devotion. Why? Because against all odds of pronta-print generic indie indignation, The Maccabees are a very, very good band. Constant rounds of slogging across the lesser-valued venues of the UK have created a tight-as-a-vice quintet. Now, this band has a canon of songs to be rightly proud of. Key single ‘X-Ray’ contains a coruscating guitar hook that excites each time you hear it. ‘About Your Dress’ charms as well as it propels and ‘Good Old Bill’rocks harder than a song entitled as such should, especially given it’s introduced as “about a man who makes trains”.

Occasionally the band sound like an acid-friend youth club version of Razorlight – before the stadium rock years, when Jonny’s lot were personified by piercing, melodic guitars rather than liaisons with Hollywood actresses. It’s no bad thing, hinting that The Maccabees may manage to break the stifling stranglehold of ‘our band’ syndrome.

All throughout, frontman Orlando twitches and stutters like a more introverted, Ritalin-ridden Alan Donahoe of the Rakes. He omits a sweet confusion entwined with a visible frustration throughout, and it’s very fetching. It’s mirrored by the rest of the band, clearly tired after a long trawl through the UK.

Closer ‘First Love’ sends an ecstatic crowd home with a warm glow, and the firm fans are entirely appeased, with newer, recently interested fans equally won over. DrownedinSound included.

Just don’t wear them out too much more, okay?