Horowitz

Let me introduce you to a place where CDs don't exist; it’s all about seven-inch vinyl pressed succinctly in wrap-around gatefold sleeves here. Where the uniform is perfectly straight fringes, hairslides and polka dot dresses for the girls; cardigans, satchels and Morrissey quiffs circa Meat Is Murder for the boys. We'll abstain from mentioning the words ‘twee’ or ‘fey’ at this point, although a good knowledge of the independent scene of 1986, not to mention several references to the K, Subway Organisation and Sarah Records back catalogues, will stand anyone in good stead almost instantly. Tonight we're taking temporary solace at the home of Don't Start Feeling All Romantic's rapidly growing club night and, boy, are we enjoying every minute...

But first, there's the minor duty of reporting on some bands selected quite purposefully for the occasion. What's even more surprising - and ultimately pleasing - is that each and every one of them didn't look or sound out of place, surely a first for most club night ventures.

First impressions of Horowitz seem a bit mixed; their pre-programmed handclaps and drumbeats coupled with a three-pronged Buzzcocks-go-pop guitar assault, although pleasant, becomes quite repetitive by the third song although the delightful 'Tracyanne' does finally win us over enough to shell out on a slab of vinyl at the end.

Leeds five-piece The Manhattan Love Suicides are an entirely different proposition altogether. Musically influenced by both Psychocandy and Ramones... Leave Home in equal measures, their focal point is undoubtedly singer Caroline whose nonchalant approach to performing on the mic is vitriolic yet captivating in an intriguing kind of way. Adopting to swig on a can of Red Stripe or simply just turn her back on the audience between songs rather than engage in any kind of banter, songs like 'Kick It Back' and 'Burning Wire' become even more beguiling almost like an amphetamine-fuelled Primitives. Not that DiS is advocating the use of sulphates in any way, shape or form of course...

Which brings us on to New York's The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart (pictured). Despite only having been together for the best part of a year, TPPOBPAT are fast becoming the most name-dropped band in underground circles on both sides of the Atlantic, and only seconds into jaunty opener 'Hey Paul' (think The Pastels, The Razorcuts or indeed any pre-Madchester bands before indie became part of the mainstream first time around) it's blatantly obvious to see why. While they make no bones about where their hearts and inspirations lie, it would be churlish to call them mere revivalists, particularly with the way singing/guitarist and humble storyteller Kip engages in almost constant interplay throughout their 25-minute set with perma-smiling keyboard player and co-vocalist Peggy. Hell, their new single is even called 'Kurt Cobain's Cardigan' yet it sounds like Lazy-era My Bloody Valentine exchanging sweat glands with a pre-major label Soup Dragons in a sixth form common room. What's more, it's utterly ace like the rest of their set and turns the whole of the Red Room into spring-loaded coils of unbridled excitement.

Admittedly this kind of thing may be a million miles away from tabloid cool kids like Bloc Party and Klaxons, but like the scene it is unashamedly indebted too, expect to see The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart ("We'll Never Die!" exclaims their signature tune 'The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart') playing to much larger crowds on their next venture. Don't Start Feeling All Romantic? Don't Stop, more like...