Man, I’m hungover. My brain should be under a flannel, weeping, not poked violently by sadistic young ‘musicians’. But what do brains know: tonight’s rinse-out starts with two bands plying bracing assault music, high volume devastation bent into focussed riff worship. Although Death Of Her Money have a nice line in varying degrees of sludge Sabbath, and are the only band I’ve seen whose singer can uncork a white wine bottle midsong, Dethscalator edge them for hypnotically strung out noise, songs building to slowly destroy, or locking into waves of low end goodness.

The Osaka Invasion begins with a man in a loosely-tied kimono, standing on a drumstool, pointing to his knob. This is Bogulta, and they are also bracing, like being mugged by a naturist. They are drums and bass overdrive, playing over a mess of samples, and their cartoon Lightning Bolt sprint is ridiculously lovable. Maruosa is next, and shows what one man can do with a screaming laptop, when there’s no school tomorrow. Clots of noise, screaming, long hair; vaguely entertaining.

Quicker, drunker. We’re edging towards dayglo brain abuse now: Ove-naxx might operate at the cuddlier end of breakcore, but his cheery mentalism still owns, and even prods the curious musicians from the upstairs indie meh-fest to wobble like grinning fools. And DJ Scotch Egg kind of takes all this twisted beered-up bonhomie and squares it. Not sure when Shige became the pied piper of booze casualties but you now get full pints mixing with the obscenely loud destructobeats in the air. It’s great, obviously, a little hairy goblin hopping through Gameboy noise levels, on wet equipment. Someone pushes a laptop through the front row, his friend’s face filling the screen. You can tell she’s watching the gig: she keeps putting her hands to her wide-eyed face. Too much fun.