There used to be a rule about bands. If you liked them you’d say ‘I’ll buy the album’. I used to say that last century. Now it’s ratcheted down to ‘I’ll check them out on ‘MySpace’’. Even worse, now it’s: ‘meh, maybe spotify’.

Ocean Rooms! First venue. The Hoodlums from Southend gave lively fun. It’s always great to see a proper double bass on stage. Cursive were also amusing enough as we waited for thecocknbullkid and that’s who we were there for. The singer knows what’s she’s doing. Great frock and charisma. Channelling Aretha, she gives it lalldy***. But her band need to realise that loud isn’t best. Those three boys drowned out their diva in a tiny venue that needed a bit more subtlety. Thecocknbullkid isn’t just a bad name for this potential popular sensation, it’s a misconceived idea. The girl wins it. The chaps on guitar and drums shouldn’t look so bored. She’s way better than them. Ditch ‘em sistah and I’ll more than Spotify.

And so next to Komedia, and the Rumble Strips. These guys are an engaging six-piece. There’s a bit too much middle-of-the-road Kaiser Chiefs/Franz Ferdinand-ness for my taste. Not least because they do chirpy rock with a bit of Madness better. They’re clearly technically very good: when they harmonise vocally and chuck in a few crazy chords and stuff. Wow. The singer really gives it all live. On some songs you get a pair of keyboards and on others there’s trumpet and sax goodness. But what is totally remarkable about the sound? Alas, not much. Fellas: we agreed at the Waggon & Horses afterwards that you’re cleverer and better than what you do now. Break free. Competent but unrevolutionary.

I didn’t actually see Blue Roses at The Basement. I was there. I heard them from a corridor: prissy, pedantic staff didn’t much add to the ambiance. I reckon they’re probably quite good. But when a bottle of beer costs £3 and you’ve already had two before not being allowed in to the room where the music happens enthusiasm wanes. If I’m generous, I’ll blame that as the curse of The Great Escape.

Back to the Ocean Rooms. I’m listening to the Filthy Dukes**** on Spotify as I write this piece. It’s good stuff (if you need a Spotify invite I have some left). But what they do isn’t much enhanced by live performance. Apart from seeing two long haired chaps drinky drinky twiddling knobs, they may have just played their CD. They’re pretty good. They’re possibly very good maybe. I’m just not sure what the two great lumps of wood were for (they clunked them every now and again presumably to get a sample) but how much entertainment can you get from knob-twiddling?

I haven’t bought any records. Yet.

*So far I’m only professing personally to 2/3.
** The ‘un’ thing is an homage to the idea of an ‘un-conference’.
*** A Glaswegian term from way back, I believe. Lalldy: sang with real spirit and strength.
**** Update, Friday morning. On reflection, the chaps we saw may not have been the Filthy Dukes. Not sure who they were frankly and I spose it doesn't much matter. But it further reinforces my reputation as Britain's worst music reviewer.

Vampire Weekend: Oxford Comma
I fell in love with Vampire Weekend, the Kings of PrepPop, back in January when I saw them live in Hoxton. Barely weeks later, their first album was released and it's a corker. For my money, their best song is Oxford Comma. I find it hard to resist a song about punctuation and this video is pure dead brilliant. VW are my band of 2008. But I'm looking for a new mistress in 2009.

Billy Bragg: I Keep Faith
Earlier in the year, when the girl who dumped me in 2007 was fresher in my memory than now, this song spoke to my dwindling heartbreak. Comrade Bragg is a towering genius and this is a bittersweet, almost cruel, lovesong. The video is a good live version (and the best I can find) but the album version (and the album in general) is more soulful. And a little less political than his previous stuff.

Elbow: One Day Like This
Catharsis is a word overused by people who've never experienced it. The first time I heard this song, I welled up and cried. I was sat in the garden on a warm spring evening drinking beer and I felt much better. It's been overplayed on Radio 2. But it is brilliant and they did win that prize, after all. Anthemic. Orchestral. Majestic. Optimistic.

Devon Sproule: Let's Go Out
Enough man-angst already. This is a beautiful ditty from the delicious songster Devon Sproule. Just one of many superb songs from a brilliantly jaunty album that quite simply makes me happy. Technically, 2007. Apologies. The album is much more jazzy than this solo acoustic version and so worth your time.

MGMT: Time to Pretend
Meaningless electronic pop. I love the lyrics. I love the sound. I don't love the fact that a proper embeddable video can't be found on Youtube. So make do with this link to the official video.
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=XVnRzEjpUmE

At dConstruct I reflected that this community of people reawakened my hunch that diversity is vital rather than just preferable: otherwise you end up with 'group think' where no one's questioning why we 'twitter', blog, fiddle endlessly with iPhones or buy Moo cards.

One fault I think we geeks/internetists/dotcommers or whatever you want to call us have as a group (and it's one of my favourite riffs and certainly deserving of a post to itself) is that it's assumed that the mass-market (that is usually essential to commercial success) is exactly like us, doing what we do. And as anyone who has spent time teaching their parents to use Skype or observed a usability test will know, it's simply not true. But that's a discussion for another day.

So when I saw the Last.FM charts a few weeks back, I immediately thought: 'It's the dConstruct charts.' And then on closer inspection it dawned that I was listening to most of this stuff. Cripes. This is the geeky white boy hit parade. (Although, I must say at this point that I don't do Coldplay.)

It's all good fun. Check it out. But it did rather make me wonder why I use Last.FM. I like it. But all it does for me is make me worry what people will think about what I listen to. Which reminds me: I must delete Will Young. I can't have listened to him 36 times. And I reckon everyone's deleting Will Young and only leaving the cool stuff.

In Hoxton in January, they played their second UK gig to a tiny capacity crowd. Their album was yet to be released and I'd only heard what they'd put on Myspace. A friend and I exercised our superior financial power to bag some tickets on eBay at a vastly inflated price: we were blown away by an electric gig.

A few months later they played Audio in Brighton, again to a small congregation and they were at the height of their intelligent, charming, humble powers. Lead singer Ezra Koenig coquettishly teased the crowd with his impish eyes through Oxford Comma and majestic drummer Chris Tomson (in my opinion the star of the outfit) energetically pushed the gig along.

And as the crowds got bigger, the venues more roomy, the band was just further and further away. I'm thrilled by their success, which is so richly deserved, and I look forward to their 'difficult second album' but I'm the boy who fell in love with the gawky girl who became the prom queen. It's time to find someone else.