Death Cab For Cutie

For tonight's trio of bands, the wooden spoon/booby prize/slap in the face with a wet fish goes, by an overwhelmingly unanimous judges' decision, to the personification of shit music - try-hard losers Coin-Op (cue muted applause and a small heckle). The oh-so fashionably sleek mullets and skinny tees form an impenetrable barrier of wank-noize that can only be likened to Toploader with a (slightly) better record collection.

First and second places are a closely fought contest. Northampton's Medium 21 are excellent, all choppy fuzzed guitars and melodic hooks so impressive you could hang a yak's carcass on them. Varying from darkly yelled verses to falsetto, Modest Mouse style tweeness, but keeping that cool-as-fuck attitude throughout.

Next contenders for the Indie Championship Belt are headliners, Washington's Death Cab For Cutie. Having listened to a couple of their records, I was expecting the set to be like one long gawky first date on record; you can almost feel these guys blushing at the sound of their own voices. Even though last LP 'The Photo Album' topped the American billboard charts, beating the likes of Spiritualized and The Strokes, they have remained a rare species of US underground success. Your Nan would call them "nice boys" and they probably all give generously to charities and recycle their trash - but tonight these meek little emo boys rock like absolute bastards. Every track is a raw, endearing, edgy slab of pop-rock that pays homage to the likes of Superchunk and Built To Spill. Tight as Anne Widdecombe throughout, DCFC mix old favourites from their first record 'You Can Play These Songs With Chords' with tracks from forthcoming album, 'We Have The Facts And We're Voting Yes' - all of which are nothing radically different, but when the formula sounds this good, why change it?

So the night ends and in a well-matched contest, DCFC are crowned the righteous champs of white-boy rock, laying down the gauntlet to anyone man (or mouse) enough to take them on.