Wake the President should be easy to define. They hail from the west end of Glasgow. They play finely-crafted pop songs with a lyrical conceit. They are signed to the Electric Honey imprint at Stow College. They have a sartorial preference which marks them out. None of them particularly wants a job. Anyone see where this is going?

When the be-suited WtP climb onstage to play live, the uninitiated member of the audience may sagely nod, chuckle to themselves and prepare for half an hour of twee pop homage. True, there is a debt to the acoustic-led stylings of early Belle and Sebastian. Less predictable, however, is the visceral thump of Arab Strap, the art-pop delirium of Orange Juice, the incandescent jangle of messrs. Marr and Deebank, the rumbling precision of Rourke and Joyce.

And the show itself? Serenity and chaos. Vulnerability and hubris. An elegant din. They might dress fey, but would you want to fight them? Erik Sandberg delivers lyrics about cognitive therapy and sexual deviance as if experiencing his own personal catharsis, now rocking, now barely standing, as twin brother Björn and the rest of the band, veering from major to minor, desperately try to keep the ship on course behind him.

Wake the President’s penchant for light and shade is encapsulated in their single, a double-A side comprising the songs Sorrows for Clothes and Mail Alice, released on Electric Honey in May 2007. The first vinyl offering by the label since B&S’s seminal Tigermilk, WtP honour their legacy whilst hinting at something entirely more sinister.