As the band approaches the release of its third album, drummer Sebastian Rochford's decision to take the name Polar Bear because it represents something that's cuddly but dangerous seems increasingly appropriate.

As the band approaches the release of its third album, drummer Sebastian Rochford's decision to take the name Polar Bear because it represents something that's cuddly but dangerous seems increasingly appropriate.

There's a warmth to the music that the quintet creates, and an element in Rochford's composing that allows new tunes and motifs to become quickly familiar. Equally, though, the Bear is a band that can bite.

Rochford himself typifies the dual personality. Quiet to the point of apologetic in his announcements, when he returns to the drum stool he's assertive, without ever being bombastic, and he steers the music with a real sense of shape and colour. In fact, it seems fair to say that such is his style he could carry the gig by himself.

However, that would rob us of a two-saxophone front-line that plays with twin striker-like awareness - compatible tenor tones and a range of expression that includes gruff menace and sweet compliance; a bass player in Tom Herbert who's an understated but buoyant presence in a rhythm section that dances the beat along; and the inimitable Leafcutter John.

Adding percussion and the occasional, improbably funky mandolin lick, as well as laptop nous, Leafcutter has established himself as a strong presence in Polar Bear. His kidnapping of the saxophonists' efforts creates haunting chorales, a particularly effective device on the stop-start Fluffy (I Want You), and his hi-jinks add theatricality and humour to proceedings, including an artistically deflated balloon duetting with Mark Lochheart's saxophone. Not that they're a band who could be accused of being po-faced to begin with.