There is a somewhat contentious school of musical thought that holds that rock'n'roll took a wrong turn towards the conceptually and musically pretentious in the 1960s, perhaps best exemplified by my chum Tom's bourgeoisie-baiting line that Van Morrison never made a decent record after he went solo. For those with any sympathy for this line of thinking, The Ramones and some of the best British punk (but possibly not the Sex Pistols) are touchstones, as are a bunch of 1980s bands from Glasgow and Lanarkshire.

The reformed Vaselines, Frances McKee and Eugene Kelly, are peddling this sort of deceptively basic music more coherently now than they actually did in their earlier incarnation, as beloved by Kurt Cobain. In fact this album may well be their best collection of songs ever, more varied than it seems on the surface, and quite wonderfully well-produced with very big drums, a fistful of great guitar sounds, a touch of simple piano and cheesy organ (on the great Inky Lies) and the pair's vocals nicely pitched as the icing on the cake.

The gentler Single Spies nods towards BMX Bandits, while there are also reminders of The Rezillos (Earth Is Speeding) and The Undertones (Number One Crush). For some of us, those still are the days.