Rory Cottam’s vocals are so rooted in northern England you’d imagine he was raised in a two-up-two-down terrace and took his summer holidays in Blackpool.

The Cheek’s frontman first evoked South Yorkshire and Alex Turner, then it was Bolton and The Buzzcocks’ Pete Shelley, followed by a slice of Manchester and Noel Gallagher, with the band’s guitarist churning out lines to match the sentiments.

So, from which gritty conurbation do slick indie-pop five-piece The Cheek come? Woodbridge, Suffolk.

It was XTC’s Andy Partridge who said the best musicians write about what they know – in his case the Wiltshire suburbs – but The Rolling Stones made a fortune repackaging the blues and selling it back to Americans.

The Cheek’s problem, however, is not about whether they should be peddling escapism or realism with Cottam’s faux-northern twang and the band’s mock swaggering, it’s about originality.

They write catchy three-minute new-wave-meets-Britpop pop songs that fizz past you before you’ve had to chance to scribble something down.

They have a great, charismatic frontman: he eyeballed the audience with the coy swagger of the best in the business, swung from The Basement’s girders and barely missed a note.

They’re appeared an ambitious bunch, too with fancy in-ear monitors usually reserved for bands playing arenas, plus big amp stacks and cabinets. They churned out luscious hooks over solid grooves and did a fine take on Roxy Music’s In Every Dream Home A Heartache.

But every idea is borrowed from a narrow pool. They are young, but unless they broaden their horizons and write some original material, they are destined for a short, possibly sweet, professional musical career.