Harrisons

Without sounding demeaning and using the five letter word that begins with the letter "R" and ends in "O", it's fair to say that all of the four bands here's raison d'etre is as easily traced as a carefully pencilled outline on thick parchment.

Take openers Censored for instance, wearing their influences on the sleeves and lapels of their buttoned-down suits. It's all Small Faces, Jam and The Who as far as this three piece are concerned, but while they are so obviously ensconced in the classic British 'mod' sound, they also possess a handful of decent tunes, and more importantly, a spate of energy that is captivating - if occasionally bordering on the cheesy side - from start to finish, which they do with a blinding cover of Sam Cooke's 'Shake'. Ones to watch and move your feet to, for sure.

The Fakers though are the exact opposite. Coming onstage with a cocksure swagger and a list of chord sequences from Definitely Maybe, their wannabe Mancunian bravado is embarrassing to watch, and even the hecklers get bored after three songs.

Lee Rickers, though, is a different kettle of fish. Vocally schooled on Grace and The Bends, his effortless take on both the preposterous and the effervescently mindblowing is further enhanced by the guitar dynamics of sidekick Alan Watson. At the moment he is in need of that one killer tune which stands out from the crowd, but make no mistake, given time he'll get there and without the aid of a prayer or a sliver-lined cloud, too.

Most people though are here to see Sheffield's Harrisons. This four piece have already been touted as the next big thing to follow the Arctic Monkeys out of the city that Ian McGregor forgot. Aided and abetted by their 'following' - a ragbag collection of football lads and scallies (one of their entourage has a badge inscribed in flashing lights,_ "Harrisons Official drug dealer"_) - and named after a road in their native Hillsborough district, virtual unknowns they may be at the minute but household fame, shame and notoriety beckons.

Their wardrobes scream 1979, as Fred Perry polo shirts battle with Paul & Shark jumpers and Adidas Stan Smith trainers, while the haircuts look like they could have been lifted straight out of Alan Clarke's portrayal of Borstal life, Scum. Who's the daddy now then? Certainly not these lads, as none of them look a day older than 20 at best. Instead, they've obviously ramraided uncle John's record collection and carefully orchestrated the best bits into creating their own sound.

More to the point, on the whole it works pretty well, with 'Man Of The Hour' sounding like the explosive duet The Clash and The Specials should have recorded but never did, 'Discotheque' owing more than a passing nod to the nouveau dancier punk of The Rapture and opener 'Leave Us Alone' offering a northern riposte to The Rakes' 'Terror!'.

Singer Adam 'Jubby' Taylor may be barely visible beyond the front three rows but he packs a powerful bark into his overworked larynx, while his band, for all their youth, play like seasoned professionals, and when they launch into recent single and set highlight 'Wishing Well', even the jubilant singer remarks at the end whether he's taken a wrong turning into the local karaoke bar.

On the negative side, there's perhaps too much of a feeling of deja vu in that we've all seen and heard this done before, but if a band ever deserved to make it on enthusiasm alone, Harrisons would be that band. In the same vein as the Monkeys and the Kaiser Chiefs before them, Harrisons are set to be one of next year's biggest love/hate relationships.