The Bar and Grill is bustling – bustling! – and DiS is pumped – pumped! – to see Islands this evening. Having enjoyed debut album Return To The Sea immensely (which exhibited all the mischievous spirit of The Unicorns wrapped up in pristine ambition and verve), it’s not without a sense of trepidation I wonder how they'll translate in a live setting.

Co-founder J’aime Tambeur is long out of the frame, the band in relatively new configuration – and as they take to the stage said trepidation begins to manifest in abject worry. Where are the mandolins, percussive tools and vintage keys they’ll surely need to re-imagine their sound as on record? No acoustic guitar? Why…why aren’t they smiling? Why is Nick Thorburn so deathly pale?

Well, his pallor is a result of the white face paint he’s fashioning – one question answered. And as the band open with a new song on the subject of disorientation (“Pick me up so / I can fall back down again / Descending into vertigo”) prior concerns diminish, as while this isn’t Islands as I anticipated, it’s immediately captivating stuff (even if old Thorburn does look a mite grouchy). Dark, moody and revolving around pervasive rhythm guitar, it’s long too, the latter half leisurely making its way to the finish sans vocals in a manner bordering on the progressive. This from the same band who gave us the impossibly cute ‘Jogging Gorgeous Summer’?

More new material is aired before the band strike up something known to me by way of superior first album cut ‘Where There’s A Will There’s A Whalebone’. A deep, rumbling bassline colliding with ominous synth, indicative (in tone more than anything else) of the direction the band have thrown themselves in. Brushed drums and flutes are out – swathes of volume and muscular sticksman-ship are resoundingly in. Imminently the band roll into ‘Volcanoes’, which in a live showing perfectly marries the forthright ambition and strength of the group circa 2008 with the idiosyncrasies and lightness of touch abundant upon their 2006 arrival. Deliciously grand it is too, duelling violins and all – an undoubted highlight of the evening.

Such is their tightness as a unit it’s impossible to begrudge them showcasing almost wholly new material. The sextet are wondrously intuitive, and for all I’ve emphasised the ominous nature of the new songs (Ahem: “You said you had my back / But I was attacked by a pack of dogs, frothing at the mouth / Stabbed in the face, glass in my guts”) – and they do emanate from duskier origins – they retain the inventiveness and guile of older material, unafraid to abruptly shift into harmonious middle eights or unexpected breaks capitalising on strong musical versatility. In Thorburn and Patrick Gregoire’s twin guitar attack traces of punk are discernible (that’s when the latter isn’t skronking out on a behemoth saxophone), and the direct, commandeering vocals veer towards glam on occasion.

An encore sees them pull a Sinead O’Connor cover out of the bag (yes), before a boisterous ‘Swans (Life After Death)’ closes the show. Prior to this endearing first album ditty ‘Don’t Call Me Whitney, Bobby’ receives a live outing, ultimately coming off a little weak; out of its depth among the focus and power evident the rest of the evening. “‘Rough Gem’!?” an audience member chances during the encore – a move I had until ‘Whitney’ been on the cusp of making myself – only for Thorburn to intone the group have “forgotten how to play that one”. A glib response sure, but a significant one nonetheless.

While they will inevitably pick up detractors for playing a set so heavily leaning on new, predominantly unheard material – and for having the audacity to sound so different (gasp!) – tonight must be viewed a triumph: of a band ready and willing to step up a level, requisite talent and heartening originality to spare.