Carnaby Street Syndrome is a little-known condition which mostly affects fans of British indie-pop. Superficially similar to Jerusalem Syndrome (the condition by which devoutly religious pilgrims to the Holy Land lose their identities and are found wandering the streets of Jerusalem wrapped in hotel bedsheets, believing themselves to be Moses or John the Baptist), it is characterised by a delusional belief that one is living in the Swingin' Sixties, the golden age of pop. As well as striking indie kids who visit England (many of whom never recover and end up spending the rest of their days cruising around the streets of London on an aging Vespa), a variant of the condition seems to have afflicted quite a few indie-popsters from the UK; notable cases include St. Etienne, Damon Albarn (at least before he traded in his scooter boots for Nikes and reinvented himself as a cartoon character), and Belle and Sebastian, and now, just as everybody else has moved on and is trying to be the next Beach Boys, Spearmint have come along with a new album.

Spearmint's latest falls into neatly into the Carnaby Street Syndrome category; from the jazzy, jangly chords reminiscent of '60s pop and the timeless songs-about-girls formula, and if that's not enough, the fact that one of the songs compares its subject -- undoubtedly a young woman -- to now veteran actress Julie Christie; there are no prizes for guessing the nature of the time warp Spearmint are from.

If you've heard of Spearmint, it was probably from a characteristically dismissive Tanya Headon review of their previous effort; now, they have a new album, A Different Lifetime; out on a small German record label named Apricot. The CD contains 15 songs, divided into two virtual halves (vinyl nostalgia?); the songs vary, from slow, acoustic-guitar numbers about breakups (at least three, at first count) to more upbeat numbers, some of which sound like a neat, stylish, if somewhat buttoned-down form of power pop.

The songwriting, which is technically impeccable, sticks to the time-honoured themes of falling in love, being in love, breaking up, and perhaps most of all, love of music and the way it affects one. ("Suddenly the songs that meant nothing to me / seem to have been written for me".) It is obvious that Spearmint are driven by love of pop music, and express this in their lyrics. Take, for example, Scottish Pop, which name-calls a number of, well, Scottish pop artists from the 1960s, and compares being with the notional romantic interest to whom the song is addressed to listening to their music. (And from these lads, I doubt that you could expect a finer compliment.)

This may seem self-referential, though don't expect ironically detached tongue-in-cheek commentary, à la Baxendale, here; they approach the subject with a completely attached earnestness, or at least stay firmly in character all the time. It could perhaps be argued that Spearmint are as much cartoon characters as, say, Gorillaz, from their Mod/Britpop getup on the back of the booklet to the summery sound of their songs, seemingly from a universe where punk, Thatcherism and acid house never happened. Who knows; perhaps their universe is a nicer one?

You won't find anything experimental, postmodern or particularly daring on this CD. This isn't post-ironic retro kitsch; it doesn't sample the past with tongue in cheek but wholeheartedly embraces much-loved genres without a shred of self-consciousness or a hint of detachment.

All in all, A Different Lifetime varies from lush, stylish classic pop to pleasant enough filler. It's all rather twee, but it does it with style. You could do a lot worse.