s soon as I saw a picture of Circulus bedecked in their cod-medieval finery I knew what they were—The Darkness but with the pomp metal replaced by acid folk. When I read Sunday newspaper spreads devoted to the band I knew what they were—Blackmore’s Night for hipsters (and not even that, because they’re Blackmore’s Night for stoner rock fans and Uncut writers.) When I saw them live I knew exactly what they were—a Sealed Knot Society recreation of something that I have an antagonistic relationship with, but love nonetheless. A recreation that leaves out everything that made the original compelling but retains everything that made it embarrassing.

Those were different times; times when people hadn’t learnt to autopilot mug for laughs. Their singer surveyed the crowd, and then thanked them in a deliberately smug, regal manner, unwittingly resembling a Rik Mayall caricature in an episode of The Comic Strip. That’s bad news.

This is the point in the review where I say that I have listened to their album and changed my mind. That Circulus are a great band. That they’re something more than Brian Cant rummaging through his dressing up box on Play Away in 1977, disguising himself as a medieval serf and then declaring, “forsooth lord, a varlet approaches.” But I can’t say this because they’re not a great band. They’re should-be session hacks covering their bald spots with the hats from the cover of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours and covering their music in an extra frosting of sugar to make it go down easier. Or, worse than this, they’re sincere but utterly tasteless and lacking in the will and imagination to create something genuinely strange, something that could strike the heart through.

Despite this, Circulus have one enormous plus point in one of the best British drummers I have ever heard—heavy, hypnotic, funky and varied without having to overplay to demonstrate it: Bill Ward meets Charles Hayward meets the best of the faux-funk KPM library music breaks. Feller, get out now and join a band worth your talents, there are hundreds of them.

If you see a pixie—tread on it.