Probably about sixty per cent of the front of the crowd was a) English b) Northern c) knew every word of every song. Jem Bosatta sees Blossoms, 14/2.

Destiny made me wait half an hour for an S-Bahn, then ten for a U-Bahn. When I finally get to Frannz Club, I’m in the mood for a beer and not much else. It peps me up when my arrival is greeted with screams. Well, not my arrival. I’ve stumbled in just in time to hear Blossoms launch into their set with an eighties-style steamroller of a song, At Most A Kiss.

It gets the crowd moving with its crisp, catchy unison of keys, melody and bass. Near the barrier, there are some blatantly non-German punters singing every word and intermittently screaming when Tom (lead singer) looks up and peers coyly through his unkempt, shoulder-length hair, eyes glinting.

Actually, I could say all of the above about pretty much any of the songs. It’s a seriously slick set. The band’s clinical and fashionably surly, but not to the point of being stiff or inexpressive. It’s noticeable on and off stage that have an easy relationship with their fans, from the frontman to the merch boy. Stardom might change that of course, but it’s hard to believe; and in any case their fame is already enough to inspire considerable cross-Channel loyalty.

I could say what I said about At Most A Kiss about any of the songs in the set – except one. The ultras next to me know what’s coming, I’m clueless. About two thirds of the way through, the band clears off so smartly you don’t even notice they’re gone. You’re busy listening to Tom, who’s ditched his semi-hollow for an acoustic. It’s not “Anyway, here’s Wonderwall”, nor “This one’s for the lovers”: My Favourite Room is a halfway house, wonderfully rueful and bittersweet.

When Blossoms perform, the sway they hold is far away from any flamboyant pop persona or eclectic rock-god climaxes. Tom and the boys all share a combination of rare talent and natural charm, which reflects their small-town beginnings and their clear connection to those roots: all with a winning flash of boyish arrogance.

Sure, they probably dress neater and play sharper than they used to. But Blossoms has struck a perfect chord of professionalism and boyish showmanship. Expect their chords to ring out in some very prestigious places in the near future.