In the beginning, if we face it, there wasn�t really all that much to do. There were maybe a couple of people at the bar, a tune playing on the jukebox perhaps, but besides that there was nothing.

Then there was the big bang. The universe erupted, the earth was created and all was good. Since then the centuries have passed by peacefully. They�ve had their ups and downs, there�s been war and disagreement, cultures have clashed and made up again and there�s been much progression and change. The end, some say, is nigh and will come soon like a giant vacuum, sucking all that�s gone before towards its imminent death. Then, like before, there shall be nothing.

A Formula One gig is in many ways not entirely unlike the evolutionary cycle.

With an explosion of guitars, drums, trumpets, flashy projected visuals, whooping keyboards and wild rambling vocals they hit the stage, shattering the pre-gig boredom and making damn sure that your attention will not go wondering in any other direction than the stage until they are long gone.

They�re taking you on a journey, but they�ve lost the co-ordinates (or simply disregarded them) and are flying wherever the hell the wind carries them. So you�d better strap yourself in tight. They fly through jangly guitar pop territory, take a nose-dive into rugged rocky regions and then hit a bit of brass turbulence before spiralling into orbit around Planet Electronica.

They swap ideas with a frighteningly unnatural frequency for an indie guitar band and are not afraid to push back the boundaries a little. Should they stray into uncharted air space, they�ll just hang around for ten minutes or so before heading off towards the sunset again.

Straddling the space that exists somewhere in-between The Wedding Present, Stereolab and the Boo Radleys, Formula One approach pop music as an open canvas and not the second hand paint by numbers kit that most bands seem to prefer. And they don�t let their experimentation and originality get in the way of writing glorious sparkling pop tunes either.

And just in case you thought that you�d get a nice smooth landing and be allowed to walk off without any bruises, think again. �Crash Landing� sees their set reach an appropriately explosive climax. They lock their co-ordinates for touchdown and put their feet on the gas, heading for the ground with engines blazing, alarm bells ringing and people, quite rightly, screaming.

And as you walk away from the crash site, slightly dizzy, slightly delirious, slightly grinning like you�ve just won the lottery, you know that there�s no point waiting around for the headlining band. They�d only disappoint you.