I’m a steadfast believer in the appeal of stuff, the trinkets and collectables of interest to no one but yourself that accumulate about a lived-in residence à la a Mogwai reproducing once it’s been inadvertently dunked in a reservoir. One man’s crap, of course, is another’s cherished heirloom-to-be, and it’s absolutely human nature to fill our everyday surroundings with reminders of adventures beyond the ordinary: souvenirs, photographs, et cetera. Broken Social Scene, all talk of supergroups aside, are something akin to aural stuff: they pack into an otherwise fairly standard-issue indie-rock song a good couple of dozen sparkling departures from the routes marked ‘generic’ and ‘predictable’.

Today’s case in point, on ‘7/4 Shoreline’, are the luscious guest vocals from Leslie Feist – she brings an air of glamour to a boys-own affair, her silken tones painting broad brushstrokes of femininity across a riotous affair that’d otherwise have only BSS lynchpin Kevin Drew’s borderline-annoying whimpers for vocal direction. The multitude of musicians that provide the clattering music about her prove themselves to be polished professionals – the record’s tantalisingly ramshackle traits are balanced superbly by the compositional tautness that expertly underpins such apparent recklessness – but it’s Feist’s brassy work at the microphone that delivers this single’s sole Wow Factor.

Let us celebrate stuff, then, because without it Broken Social Scene wouldn’t sound half as joyous as they do today. They are proof, positive, that the accumulation of many existence-enhancing morsels adds up to an end product worth treasuring, and one that possesses idiosyncrasies enough to keep those undesirable final destinations at bay for the foreseeable future.

Broken Social Scene’s eponymous third album, released here at the turn of the year, was packed full to the brim with stuff. Like watching Waking Life, you’re constantly being distracted by something new; try to focus on the singing or the bassline, and suddenly you’re overcome with something close to indie ADD, your attention whipped away by something you hadn’t previously noticed - warped singing in the background, or a sudden injection of brass; thinking, “Cool! Rapping!” It was all very... busy; at its best the various sounds stop competing and merge in a kind of polyphonic agreement, at other times just seeming cluttered and disparate.

7/4 shoreline is an example of the production working, and working well. Its opening chords remind me of sports day at my first school; all the kids, lined up side by side, eager to be set upon the track, nervous under the razor-sharp sun. Then the starting gun fires; that is to say, the drums kick in, and suddenly it’s a haze of lush, dreamy vocals (supplied, in part, by Leslie Feist) and to-the-point, make-your-feet-shuffle drums, jostling for position alongside restless guitars that build, soar, and eventually pause for breath before the last stretch. And when it begins again it’s more focused and sure of itself, the chant “It’s comin’, it’s comin’ in hard” pushing us on to the finish; something that comes adorned with regal trumpets and a grand sense of accomplishment, an exercise in being happy in the moment.

Like being caught in the most perfect rainstorm and walking hand in hand with the one you crave. Like opening a letter and finding a kiss at the end and a P.S that warms and soothes. Like drowning in a constantly altering and ebbing wave, yet being dressed delicately and treated gracefully. Like tossing aside a day of city woe and escaping to the country for the weekend; eager to return for another blast of metropolitical joy. Like those times when you make your boss smile and you impress your parents with an award. Like falling down a hole, being dragged and free falling through nothingness and being met by the arms of your beautiful wife and excitable child.

Like joy, in near-perfect pop format, glissading across fields of instrumentation, cities of noise and filled with colleges of musicality, through rivers and lakes and ending up on the shoreline. Ending up with 7/4 (Shoreline). Exiting stage left, taking in what just played out. Sheer unabashed joy.