IT'S been a triumphant past 12 months for oor ain Supernaturals, those masters of perky power-poptasticality. Their numerous chart hits have won the hearts of thousands, as well as having earned principal songsmiths James McColl and Ken McAlpine an Ivor Novello Award nomination.

Yet, in keeping with the quintet's admirable air of wry self-deprecation, Sunday night's homecoming gig - the first of two such sell-out shows - was free of all pomp.

''Do you think we're superstars now?'' asked frontman James at one point. Female screams greeted his enquiry, but James remained unconvinced. ''I don't think so,'' he said with an air of finality. Moments later guitarist Derek McManus expressed his great amusement at one audience-member's demeanour: ''There's a scrunched-up guy down the front who looks so bored.''

Boring? The Supernatties? Naw. Never. Too bouncy. Too tuneful. Too funny. Best examples of the band's witty and down-to-earth couplets? It's a close-run thing between ''Don't flatter yourself, son, you were never that much fun,'' and the band's Caledonian re-write of Wham's Freedom: ''You can take me to Helensburgh and back, so long as we're together.''

Most typically Supernatural on-stage moment? Either James and Ken rather awkwardly juggling a drum-stool between them, or James claiming to have written Everest during a fishing expedition with his good chum, Chris de Burgh.

Or maybe it was the gnomic phrase on the back of James's orange second-hand air-sea-rescue helicopter-winchman's boilersuit: TIFT A EA ESCUE.

The Supernaturals? They're aturally uper!