In Brixton's uncomfortable and dimly lit Windmill (though everyone always says how much they love it, I can't see it), the worn décor and fuzzy regular clientele seems somewhat disparate to the excess of twee on display this evening. And don't start getting all upset because I used the word twee. It's not derogatory.

Pocketbooks are just about the most disorganised and under-rehearsed band one might pay money to see. And not in the charming 'actually our songs are really good so it doesn't matter we can't play them' sort of way. They're just silly, really. There's nothing offensive about their Gorky's meets Tallulah Gosh whimsy-pop, it's just close to impossible to make a fair judgement when they don't know their own songs. They might be amazing, I just can't tell. Ah well, maybe I'm a stick-in-the-mud…

Stars Of Aviation, however, are comparative professionals (not that that’s an issue for the assembled twee folk). Their vaguely Canadian (and not just because the guitarist looks every single member of the Arcade Fire mixed with a geography teacher) sound is as tuneful as it is texturally bracing and adventurous, delicately wandering between the twinkling melancholy of Adem and something much more likely to make you actually feel an emotion. Every song they play this evening sparkles with a wit reminiscent of a much more agreeable Luke Haines, whilst retaining some wonderful timbral shifts as the accordion and keyboard merge to form a counterpoint to the punching trumpet melodies. Beautiful.

But then, cripes, things get a bit fraught. Everyone seems to be hell-bent on getting to the front for Butcher Boy. There's been the odd sprinkling of hype around London about this band thanks to favourable inclusion on the How Does It Feel To Be Loved? label compilation, but their single isn't out until two days after this show. How have so many people heard good things about this band? Is it just word of mouth and the sheer power of genial PR? No matter. The point is that people are genuinely excited about the songs written by John Blain Hunt of Butcher Boy and their humorously depressing overtones.

Despite this, things do start somewhat shakily. Songs struggle to find their own choruses, they finish before they get started and leave the ears confused. But then, thank Christ, they play 'Girls Make Me Sick', that single that no-one's supposed to have heard yet. And it's ace, beautifully sad and vibrant with string swells aplenty and the good sense not to hang around any longer than necessary. That's pop know-how. After that, every song they play suddenly becomes wonderfully dour and weirdly loveable, fizzing anthems to sobbing sadness and pity shot through with Motown panache and the homespun charm of Belle & Sebastian. One wonders why this couldn’t have been the case from the beginning. But then again, it's early days for Butcher Boy. We will be watching closely.