SNUG York Fibbers "If you come and dance," gibbers frontman James Deane as he scans a room with all the atmosphere of an OAP's breakdancing competition, "you can have some free beer." It's not a plea for help. While a turn-out that would shame a milk bottle museum on a quiet day might shatter the dreams of lesser bands, nothing is going to stop the fresh-faced Snug foursome from having a laugh, or jumping, posing and gurning like kids in the park overdosing on tartrazine and kumquat-alcopop cocktails. Snug know that all they have to do is wait for the rest of the world to catch up with their cheery Spacehopper pop songs. Because they have grasped firmly the slippery concept that the path to true greatness lies with crunching guitars, brain-disabling harmonies and pop songs about the oldest of chestnuts, boy meets girl, girl dumps boy, boy fondles guitar lovingly and comes up with top tune. Which they have by the bucketload. And, as the three-minute mark comesup on any given song, they look at their watches, decide they're a bit bored - well before they've even contemplated it - scream to a halt and launch into another hormone-charged pop song. New single 'Caroline' builds itself up into a guitar-spangled frenzy with drums that crash more than a blind man learning to fly a helicopter and, if playlisted by Radio 1, could well soundtrack the entire summer, while 'My Girl (Keith)' starts with Kenickie hand-claps, speeds through all manner of guitar twists, kicks and jerks. It is as vital a burst of youth as 'Teenage Kicks', 'Punka' or 'Kung Fu'. And that is the highest of praise. Call it teenage exhuberance or simple naivety (which might account for gloriously world-weary/naive lines like "I guess the human race is run/Your flies have come undone"), but Snug's attitude allows them to raid the back shelves of pop's sweet shop, appropriate long-discarded horrors - namely soloing that Hank Marvin probably has a copyright on - and whisk them up into a space-dust concotion that explodes on your tongue and leaves you feeling a little squiffy. Tomorrow might bring mortgages, triple concept albums and inevitable disappointment, but for now they're on a wave of sheer unadulterated fun. And it's as infectious as their tunes. By comparison Syposium, Ash and, heck, probably even Hanson are jaded old cynics. Next time, bring your own booze. Jim Alexander