The moment the London-based four-piece (tonight a quintet, a wild-haired guitarist added to their number) open their mouths, it's clear that dimly-lit stages in pub back rooms just isn't where their music is meant to be heard.

Their charmingly bouncy pop melodies, are sunny day picnic stuff; cheekily sped-up Coldplay that rollicks along more chirpily than the original, so that affable lead singer Simon Pettigrew morphs into a smiling Chris Martin two octaves higher, ten years younger and infinitely less miserable.

Unsurprising, then, that the boys are currently dotting the 'i's of a spring debut album produced by Coldplay producer Danton Supple.

After ten years together their songs sound cosily like stuff you've heard before, particularly The World Is Outside which sounds like The Smashing Pumpkins covering a U2 track, but with that stadium-filling edge sanded down to protect you from splinters.

At the first of a month of Tuesday-night headlining slots, Ghosts sprinkle the crowd with smile-generating fairy dust harmonies, as far from offensive as music could possibly stand, but lacking chutzpah and those splinters a great band leaves you picking out for days.