Men in trilbies singing dizzyingly infectious anthems about dead goldfish can only mean Los Albertos.

The "foot-stomping" tag with which their riotous flurry of ska, drum and bass and swing is usually summarised always falls several superlatives short of capturing the insane fun of their gigs.

With tooting tales of pikeys, rascals and the dangers of running out of beer, they could be Brighton's answer to Madness were they not so incomparable in their own right, their soundtrack to inebriation held together by their supreme tightness as musicians and cleverly crafted lyrics.

This was a more relaxed evening than their recent triumph at the Spiegeltent, but remained relentlessly feelgood enough to spark the customary fear of a stage invasion from the bouncing hordes at the front.

Their new album is ready to go, but experiencing the party live should be some sort of law for anyone capable of cracking a smile.