It'll take more than a global economic meltdown, the proliferation of nuclear weapons into the hands of (more) madmen and the threat of a new Wesley Snipes movie to get Angelino five piece The Little Ones down; indeed, their mission to bring guilt-free happiness to the world seems to be positively reinforced by the strife which CNN likes to bring daily into our living spaces.

History? Well, with former Sunday's Best stalwarts Ed Reyes and Ian Moreno at a loose end, once Reyes' sibling Brian, David Esau and Lee LaDoucer arrived it was time to set about reclaiming pop from identikit Visigoths such as The Bravery. For a while it was a quest which seemed to be blessed by the fertile gods of rock nirvana, with the release and subsequent re-release last year of their Sing Song EP wowing hard bitten critics with its combination of gauche charm and unrelenting melodic prosperity. Then almost as quickly, they found themselves persona non gratis at label Astralwerks, further hapless victims of Guy Hands' far from bloodless coup at parent EMI. With their debut long player Morning Tide already in the bag but with their contract torn up, a debilitating spell on the sidelines appeared inevitable.

It seems like small crowds do little to dampen their ardour for live performance either. Fast forward to Leeds, Friday July 24th, 2008. The city's Cockpit venue has established itself in the decade plus since opening as a lower rung on the success ladder, having played to host to everyone from Amy Winehouse to The Flaming Lips, but tonight fewer than 80 paying customers are circling the band warily, huddling against the bar in the face of a quintet of smiling Californians who have clearly missed the part at gigs where British bands like to spend the first half hour ignoring their public. As avuncular in person as seemingly on record (although more obsessive about making sure his guitar remains tuned), Ed Reyes diffuses any lingering discomfort on taking the stage, ushering the crowd forward across the perceived invisible barrier eight feet from it's edge, then proceeding to treat the lucky few to an hour of chiming guitars and melodic attention to detail for which the word effervescent seems woefully inadequate.

Predictably it's the more familiar moments of Sing Song which move the feet –“Lovers Who Uncover”, “Let Them Ring The Bells”, the diaphanous “Oh, MJ”! - but there appears to be plenty amongst their new material to become excited about. Afterwards, not for the first time I'm left wandering how Gerard Way's Barnum-esque shtick has so totally captured the hearts and minds of a generation, when in contrast something with so much colour, vibrancy and poise is so diffidently ignored.