This quirky debut album from The Blue Eyed Shark Experiment is an eclectic example of sombre indie pop that varies in quality. With the title track a tepid non-starter and first song on the record, it really doesn’t bode well. However, the album soon recovers with the heart-warming tale of companionship, ‘Goodbye My Little Friend’. This track was inspired by Bes’ (as he’s more familiarly known) battle with cancer, yet despite his ill health being the motivation for the lyrics, the melody of the song is surprisingly upbeat. The piano-led ‘Generation’ has a ‘We Didn’t Start The Fire’ feel to it, with his endless listing of the features of our generation, whilst his latest single, ‘Tapdance’, somewhat resembles the sound of Belle & Sebastian. Throughout the album Bes maintains his predominantly acoustic vibe, with the odd electronic aid, and generally the profound resonance of his lyrics is not matched vocally, although his rough around the edges voice is the secret to his endearing charm. The surreal ‘Jet Plane’ rounds the album off nicely with a celebration of ‘The Age Of Distortion’ using energetically scintillating synth.

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Codeine Velvet Club have got me calling call Hollywood ‘Tinseltown’, name checking Old Blue Eyes and telling strangers in bars that, back in the day, you never had to worry about a dead hooker in the pool so long as you knew the right people. A side project of Fratellis’ front man Jon Lawler and singer-songwriter Lou Hickey, CVC make a spirited attempt to annex the swath of retro musical territory stretching from noir to Nancy Sinatra. The band’s opening thrust – their panzer strike through the Ardennes, if you will – gets things off to a cracking start. This reviewer’s favourite track, ‘Hollywood’, is a punchy number oozing silver screen delight and film noir charm that serves as a sort of manifesto for the rest of the homage-heavy album. Hard on its heels comes the probably-just-as-good-now-I-come-to-think-of-it ‘Vanity Kills’, a Broadway-style show tune that ups the swing and smooch factor with lines like “Life’s a roll of the dice/But you’ll pay the price/When that curtain falls”.

Seriously, serve up these songs on Radio One for long enough and fedora sales would skyrocket. But don’t all rush off to buy shares in Acme Hats Inc. quite yet, because the snag with CVC is that they’re essentially a novelty act – and novelty can get old real fast. ‘Reste Avec Moi’ could be a Kinks’ soundtrack for a hip French film, ‘Like A Full Moon’ is a song that The Coral never quite got round to writing, while ‘Nevada’, orchestrated by Belle & Sebastian’s Mick Cooke, has a woozy romantic beauty. However, this whistle-stop genre tour means that the album never quite breaks free from pastiche. It’s difficult to dislike Lawler and Hickey’s rummage through the musical equivalent of a dressing-up box, but ‘Codeine Velvet Club’ sounds like a parlour game in a way that Amanda Palmer’s Weimar burlesque and Luke Haines’ acidic 1930s anti-nostalgia somehow manage to avoid. I bet CVC had fun making this album and I certainly enjoyed listening to it, but in the end ‘Codeine Velvet Club’ is like Gus Van Sant’s remake of ‘Psycho’ – glossy, well-produced and kinda pointless.

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