With its stately, enclosed surroundings, a sound even purists might describe as "not that bad, really" and a night sky packed with aircraft, it's hardly surprising the Somerset House Summer Series has become a London July staple since its inception in 2003.

It's far from perfect, of course, and while nobody could be blamed for last night's unseasonably chill wind burrowing in from the Thames, truculent security hardly helped the mood and the meagre food rations were available only to those braving the lengthy beer queues. Those seeking hot fare of any kind would have left hungry.

Unkle, The Blue Nile, Lupe Fiasco, We Are Scientists, The Zutons, The Feeling, Duffy and Adele are to come but The Fratellis opened the 2008 series. To garnish with a sense of occasion, the three Glaswegians (plus added keyboards and guitar) were piped onto stage and the Union Jack at Somerset House was replaced by a Fratellis flag. "This," promised singer, guitarist and songwriter Jon Fratelli, "is going to be a good one." He was almost right.

The chill and a 9.50pm start dampened enthusiasm but so buoyant, so cheery and so good-natured were the faux brothers that they just about carried the night. Undemanding, punky nursery rhymes from their first album such as the rip-roaring Got Ma Nuts From A Hippie and Everybody Knows You Cried Last Night were made for outdoor singalongs. Indeed, if Somerset House had a roof, the most loved Fratellis moment, Chelsea Dagger, wouldn't have quite blown it off but there might have been some dislodging.

More encouragingly, much as their second album, Here We Stand, ploughs a similar furrow, Look Out Sunshine! Mistress Mabel and My Friend John were brimming with sweeping, irresistible choruses and, for all the new songs' relative unfamiliarity, the crowd carried on bouncing, although this may have been just to keep warm.

And The Fratellis are beginning to look like stars. Jon seemed manically possessed, Barry Fratelli basked in bass insouciance and exuberant, hardhitting drummer Mince Fratelli may yet be the one whose cheek-puffing performances ensure that The Fratellis' puppy-ish search for adoration is fulfilled.