The Gullivers is a band that has been improving at a pleasing rate over the past couple of years, and yet their development has been entirely qualitative: they’ve improved their knockabout punk pop, but haven’t seen fit to alter the blueprint any. That is, until this new record, which demonstrates just how great they can be, as well as showing up their very real flaws.

What truly knocks us for six is the understated melancholy of opening tune, “Forever”. Yes, it has short vocal lines, and insistent new wave drums, but there’s no hint of the scruffy urchin bluster that made earlier recordings sound like glue-sniffing takes on “You’ve Got To Pick A Pocket Or Two”. In its place we find a mature resignation in the performance, especially the vocals – check the wonderfully world weary way that Mark Byrne intones the hook “This is history”. In their older, Sex Pistols influenced days the band would have declaimed this as a nihilistic statement, whereas now it sounds more like a guilty admission, and is all the stronger for it. In fact, this song is surprisingly beautiful.

“Majesty” continues the high quality, melding the punk music hall feel of earlier Gullivers material (listen to that vintage Stranglers bassline) with their newfound introspection: an emotive synthesised french horn part suddenly gives way to a surprise bumpalong chorus, with conversationally chanted vocals that remind us most unexpectedly of Shakespeare’s Sister! It doesn’t sound a thing like them, of course, but it is a decent tune.

Sadly, “The Fun We Have…” sees them lose it completely. Never the tightest band in the county, it’s the vocals that put many people off The Gullivers, Byrne displaying such a heroic inability to hold down a melody he sometimes sounds like an effete Mark E. Smith. Not only does he fail monumentally to stay in tune on this track, but the backing vocals sound like someone half-arsedly calling the cat from the studio door. Add to that a loping rhythm that plods along like a wooden-legged postman and you’ve got a track that reveals all the band’s faults and none of their charm.

Things improve slightly with “Chemicals” (hang on a mo, wasn’t the last EP called Chemicals, even though this track wasn’t on it? And this EP doesn’t even have a name, though it does have a photo of some suburban budgies). The contrast between a bouncy handclap and brittle guitar intro and a dissonant march is neat, but should probably be played slightly more tidily to really work, plus the vocals, whilst better than the previous track, don’t come close to the wonderful ennui of the opener. Still, the line “Your absence of evidence is not evidence for absence” is one of those pop moments that seem to carry much more weight of meaning that they ought, and put us in mind briefly of early Wire lyrics, even if the music drifts from our consciousness pretty soon afterwards.

So, an uneven record, but one containing the best track The Gullivers have yet committed to wax, and one displaying hints for a very interesting future, even as it clings on to clunky remnants of the past: the rough and tumble playground feel is departing, but The Gullivers are still tottering a tiny bit in their grown up clothes. Fuck it, we don’t want to end the review on a bad note – let’s play “Forever” again and let its wan, autumnal half-smile win us over once more.