These guys are emo… emotional that is. Plastic Mermaids’ emotions are of the introspective and celebratory type. So good that they brought an old Mancunian to tears – flaming lips-meets polyphonic spree, sincerity and lyrical sophistication, soaring-watch-the-sunrise synths.

But this isn’t the Nineteen Ninety Noughties. We’re in the dark time now. Plastic Mermaids display a verve of sincerity, and demonstrate a lyrical sophistication, that’s emerged after living through the generalised anxiety of the last five years. They’re not alone in this existential expression, Mike Joyce of the Smiths saw the band on this, their current Everything Explodes tour, and told Twitter he was welling up. There may be five mermaids, there may be more. They bring a coterie of performers wherever they go, adding violins, vocals and vibes.

Tender songs like “Luliuli” explore the origins of thoughts and the melancholy of a life that ‘all looks the same’ and how there is ‘nothing pretty about being pretty’. “1996″ laughs about the computer they’ve just met, not the person operating it.

While I think it is safe to say they’re a bit troubled by the rifts in our lives, especially those mediated by technology – damn you iPhones, damn you! – their scepticism is more than straight cynicism. Plastic Mermaids offer a way out through emotion. Through soaring watch-the-sunset-with-me synthesisers their harmonic thought rock feels like saying goodbye to someone. Maybe you won’t see them again. Maybe you’ll see them at Scala.