The Research

It is with some trepidation that I approach this review. It’s not that I don’t love The Research; I’m just scared of fucking up. Not that there’s any reason to feel so worried. The vibe in the cosy enclaves of Bar Academy is one of a mid-week treat and there are few more sugary sweet gifts than Wakefield’s finest.

From the moment Russell, Georgia and Sarah take to the stage there are broad smiles pasted across the faces of all those who have gathered in front of the band. If the wind changed during the heroic opening She’s Not Leaving, packed full of giddy keyboards, chances are parents would cross the road with their small children as they saw me approach.

The long-awaited debut album looks unlikely to surface before next February, but it seems to matter little to the hardcore supporters who nod along with every song, made familiar after a busy year playing to every man and his dog in every nook and cranny of the British Isles. 'C’mon Chameleon' and 'True Love Weighs A Tonne' beat with the most precious of hearts; at times it’s like witnessing the Muppet Babies' career through Lazy Line Painter Jane while Fozzie Bear’s secret tears bounce off his Fisher Price organ.

The Cribs and Arctic Monkeys have stolen the headlines so far, but anyone with warm blood running through their veins would be hard pressed to ignore the obvious charm of The Research. Russell (The Disaster) may have thought 'Ba Ba Ba' sounded like Nirvana when he first wrote it, but his fizzing Casio combined with Georgia and Sarah’s perfect harmonies mean a lot more to me than 'Pennyroyal Tea' or 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' ever will. In a world of mundane jobs and a stubborn fixation with getting on the property ladder, the last thing we need is a blast of angst rock. If the NHS saw The Research they’d probably quit dishing out Prozac and prescribe 30 minutes of pure pop majesty to half the UK’s population.

That’s not to say The Research are all happy-clappy funsters. 'I Love You But…' may sound like the barroom waltz from Crocodile Dundee, but there’s a fragile insecurity in Russell’s words. Behind every tale of love there is a tale of loss, right down to the grief of seeing his friend getting moved into another maths class. At times he looks like a weary children’s television presenter who turned to drink the day he succumbed to the humility of having Dick and Dom shove a custard pie in his face. Yet tonight there’s so much love in the room for The Research, even the most committed depressive would be pulled from the brink.