The debut full-length from Aussie indie-boppers San Cisco is out of its element, arriving as the nights grow longer and colder, and the chilly nip of Jack Frost begins to ratatat upon our noses. It's not exactly blizzard weather yet, but given the overt summer feel of San Cisco, it may as well be – following the same marketing foibles as Theme Park, they drop an LP rife with sunbeam riffs so dazzling you'll need SPF 15 smack in the middle of the wrong season.

Maybe it's us. Maybe, as a nation consistently drowned under torrents of dour cloudage the second August ceases (and indeed, during it too), we forget that places like Australia and lots of the USA bathe in sunshine for much longer than us. Maybe, in our grody microcosm of perpetual gloom, we disapprove of the incessant spirit.

If this record was unveiled back in the height of our frankly exceptional summer, we'd probably appreciate it a considerable amount more, and it'd probably have garnered meatier sales. However, being a pretty meagre archipelago, the collective sales of the British Isles, in comparison to America, are presumably fairly pale, which is a shame, because San Cisco's first offering is amazing.

On 'Awkward', thumping drum pulses, Los Campesinos!-style twee yelps and a copious blob of 'do-do-do'-ing all mingle in a hotpot of Metronomy-on-Valium '80s-pop. Its cooing chirrup is sickly sweet, but marvellously endearing. 'Beach' throbs like the OST to Drive, but vocalist Jordi Davieson recalls modern pop-rockers like The 1975; the synths end up twinkling like fairylights during the fizzing Scandi-folk chorus, rather than drooping into the shadows. It's a cream soda anthem: super slick, sugar-coated and sparkling. Sin Fang springs to mind. On the jaunty '50s rock'n'roll-plus-chiptune cut 'Fred Astaire', Davieson channels his inner Ezra Koenig; the main downside to the otherwise infectious effort it's got the subtle but unmistakeable whiff of The Fratellis' shit britpop-revival dross. Regardless, it's a pogo-stick hit, bouncing along with tapdance percussion and Limburger lines like: "You'd be better with Fred Astaire/ he could take you anywhere/if you asked him to."

It comes across loud and clear on San Cisco that the Fremantle foursome are very nice. For indie-pop, that's all you can really ask for, but when the band roll out Deerhoof-esque kook on 'Lyall', lurching panto menace on 'Mission Failed' and tribal junglist dance beats on 'Rocket Ship', you can't help just wanting slightly more from them. Even when they veer towards more adventurous realms, things are quickly reigned back in. It would be mighty interesting to peep San Cisco with bite, with violence, with vengeance, with lurid, torrid steamy sex. Something along the lines of San Sisqo would be ace (well, not exactly Sisqo per se, but he was a bit lewd and the pun works better than things like 'San Marvin Gaye' or 'San Barry White'). They don't need to get all aggro, but Grouplove and MGMT have indie-pop with an edge; it can be done. That said, sometimes it's bloody lovely to just let waves of simple bliss wash over you.

Even with the weather tapering off jarring alongside San Cisco's glorious pep, and only tentative forays into the unknown, there's a magnetic appeal to this anthology of glee. What they're peddling works well - fans are bound to flock after this quartet – but if they have a desire to run with the big dogs, they might do themselves a favour to borrow from Dexter and discover themselves a dark passenger.