Ignore for a moment where they live, or where they come from; Pains of Being Pure at Heart are British to their bones. The jangle-and-fuzz of the guitars, the cooing, fey vocals: it’s easy to forget that these are five young New Yorkers, and not some forgotten C-86 band doing the rounds. There’s not much about Pains that can’t be traced back to Teenage Fanclub, or the Smiths, or any number of other painfully cool bands. For all their influences, though, there’s more to Pains’ appeal than nostalgia tripping.

If this reads like the beginning of an album review, that’s not far off the mark: live and in person, Pains of Being Pure at Heart sound remarkably like they do on record. Most times, that might be considered an insult, but when the album in question is such a crystalline pop gem from start to finish, it’s hard to be upset.

Of course there’s the necessary volume boost in the live show, which only enhances the effect of the just-right distortion burst that is Stay Alive’s chorus. Come Saturday also kicks harder in person, shimmering more brightly than mere stereos can replicate. The crowd, an interesting mix of Oxford Arts hipsters and girls dressed for frankie magazine cover shoots, were swept up in the sweetly fuzzed-out pop, alternately staring transfixed or swaying gently.

Most appealing about Pains is their wide-eyed naïveté. For a band that have more than a little buzz about them, the group seems genuinely surprised by their Australian fanbase. Like their music, Pains come across as blissful innocents in a field known for its cynicism; let’s hope they stay dreamers.

Photo from Myspace - http://www.myspace.com/thepainsofbeingpureatheart