You don't have to tell me twice, brother.

Opening with almost a barbershop harmony mixed with Clap Your Hands' Wembley Stadium breakdown, Midas aren't ashamed, because they don't know what it is. If they did, however, they'd probably cry for a few days and subsequently water down this gayness.

In a lot of respects, Midas sound like they've got it all. There's the rhythmical pauses that are so popular to the modern way; the vocals that are strong and full of repetition until they are accepted and the guitars are more than capable.

...But we know better to think that there is a formula for greatness, and with Midas, something still doesn't fit in place. Could it be that the repeats are overused? Maybe that they have no shame in using some typically dated sounds of disco, such as vocoder-like bridge effects? Maybe it's the throaty sections to the singing, that sound a little contrived and over-cooked?

It's energetic and has its memorable components, but still this is destined for a couple of weeks on a DJ deck somewhere in an art school and then thrown out with last weeks shoes.

And just as you think you could maybe get used to the suspiciously camp 80s ingredients, there are vocoders, further breakdowns and big-time Van Halen endings.

It isn't to be misconstrued. This isn't hair rock or anything... However, the techniques are as old as the sun and it all gets rather lame. Even the repetition of the one-liner 'Still don't dance, yeah' gets unnervingly boring. It almost becomes a suggestion, and so who are we to disagree and follow suit?

All will make you want to predict that Midas are but a flash in the pan.