The Fred Perrys, severe haircuts and distinct lack of facial foliage immediately ties this Home Counties mob’s subcultural colours to a certain mast.
So when singer Billy Sullivan’s strikingly Weller-esque voice delivers a snarling proletarian polemic against the daily grind on Disciples, you’re expecting an album of few surprises.
Thankfully, The Spitfires’ sonic palette broadens considerably after that, as they take in acoustic introspection and Mariachi horns (Serenade Pt 1), string-drenched soul-pop (Spoke Too Soon) and ska-punk (Words To Say) inbetween jagged sub-Jam jags of high-octane ebullience.
The kitchen sink pen picture of 4am also suggests Sullivan is no slouch as a lyricist. All they need now is a couple more really strong tunes to permanently transcend their target-badged heritage.