Are you the type of person who hankers after the days when Top Of The Pops was inhabited by studied delinquents in Fred Perry shirts? Do you find it impossible to enjoy a gig unless you feel physically menaced by both the band and their audience?
Do you, or have you ever, linked the words ‘Pete’, ‘Doherty’ and ‘romantic’?
Does the term ‘Teen-punk’ make you weak at the knees?
Are you, in short, Alan McGee?
If so, The Paddingtons will float your boat, light a bonfire under your backside and blow whatever hair you have left back from your eager face.
If, however, you’ve lived through the life-cycle of any of the manifold specimens that have over recent years devolved from the UK’s lad-rock gene pool, chances are The Paddingtons will leave you hopelessly unmoved.
Sure, there’s a relentless corner-boy energy here, and in the case of ’50 2 A £’ and ‘Worse For Wear’, even the semblance of genuine, rollicking pop moments, but even these provide only cheap lighter-fluid thrills.
With a typescript pilfered shamelessly from The Libertine's Up The Bracket, an in-sleeve nod to Mick Jones, song titles such as ‘Some Old Girl’ and ‘Loser’, and a thank you for “everyone who’s lent us £5” – the presence of a certain indulged moon-faced pretender hangs heavy over proceedings.
Make whatever judgement you will from this. But be aware – The Paddingtons make no effort to disguise the wagon they’ve hitched their collective nag to.
I’ll give it a miss. The wheels, after all, are bound to come off and, as everyone knows by now, there’ll be another one like it just around the bend.