Wisdom of Harry is the work of one Peter Astor who slightly older readers might remember as the leader of mid-80s fey sorts The Weather Prophets. This is the man who wrote ‘I Almost Prayed’, something of a pure pop classic in its time. So what he’s doing twiddling a few knobs on an old synthesizer until they go “Pheeeeoooooow. Fut” while his bald mate hits bongos almost in time for about an hour beats me. What an absolute pile of toss.

But Broadcast are different, right? They’re lovely: sleek, cool, slightly sinister synth-pop heroes and heroines with the exoskeleton of a cyborg and the aching heart of a tragic pre-Raphelite princess. ‘The Noise Made By People’ is one of this year’s most stunning albums, full of almost baroque grandeur and clinical machine grooves, all topped off, cherry-like, by Trish Keenan’s sultry, almost babyish, voice. So far so very, very good.

And it’s all really rather lovely to start with: Broadcast onstage have almost zero presence but that’s hardly the point - their music unfurls gently but forcefully as songs like ‘Long Was The Year’ and ‘Unchanging Window’ weave a seductive spell. Broadcast at their best are that striking point where medieval elegance meets futuristic sterility and they’re paradoxically cold and warm simultaneously.

What lets them down, though, is a tendency to wander, not so much losing the script as unable to develop any character part. Too much of the middle part of the set is merely a pale rehash of the beginning and, with nothing up there to divert your attention, your own mind wanders, thinking mischievous thoughts of fellow Brummie synth-abusers Pram with their genuinely oddball take on music.

What does save Broadcast eventually is a final change of tempo for encores ‘Illumination’ and ‘Hammer-Time’ where they crank up the bass, strike up a hypnotic beat and grind through a semi-heavy krautrock groovefest, Trish’s voice at last overpowered and reduced to a plaintive howl. The magic finally resurfaces and dampened expectations shake themselves down. Broadcast are capable of excruciating dreariness but equally they are the cold blue light that can dispel the darkness of today’s grim pop world.

Victoria Waterfield