The omens weren’t good. Instead of the usual 30-minute tube journey, thanks to the strike it had taken me almost two hours on a rammed bus with my face wedged into the sweaty armpit of a suited Hard-Fi fan only to get to the door of the 100 Club in time to be told I wasn’t on the guest list.

So upon entry my mood was pretty much readying me to hate Malajube, the French-Canadian band that had brought me here. What could they possibly offer to lift the day out of the depths?

Ah… here we go again, what is it with Canada at the moment? I’ve said this before, as have many others, but there is a sudden rush of quality Canadian bands appearing on the UK shores as if desperate to apologise for the past sins of Celine Dion and Bryan Adams. Malajube are from Montreal and spent the summer touring Europe supporting Arcade Fire, as every Canadian band seems to these days. Like their touring partners they certainly know how to make a big sound, but it’s less ominous and less doom-laden than Arcade Fire.

This isn’t music for dark times or the end of the world, it’s music to get stoned and nicely drunk too. They take their lead from the sixties psych-pop of Revolver-era Beatles and they run with it taking flight with the likes of Jefferson Airplane on the way. With tunes as joyful as this, the language barrier is rarely a problem, and I have a sneaking suspicion they may know a little more English than they were letting on, coyly making use of some Gallic charm to gain our affections. It was unnecessary though, as they’d already done that and gained a few more fans within the first few songs, this reviewer being one of them.

Matt Oakes