Firstly quickly, Buffalo’s new gig space – a large-ish square space with alright sound where you can actually see a band playing on a stage – and they said it could never happen. Bite your fist in shame neon sign [details: Oxford Collapse review below] and a posterized Chrissie Hynde wall mural greets you on the way in, you still get a little black hanky with every drink and I finally found the fabled £2 pint.

All girl London three piece and solitary support act Wet Dog‘s shaky start can probably be blamed on their late arrival. More fortunate for them, it’s tardiness that also grants them an audience to play to. Rake thin angry drummer in oversized xmas jumper rules proceedings and between-song bickering. A few songs in and they loosen up a little, rushing through some choppy jerky yelping [spinning the revered-girls-in-a-band comparason roulette… Erase Errata… The Slits]. When they hit their stride it’s a blast and they were great on their last Cardiff visit so i’m blaming this one on their GPS.

Brooklynites Crystal Stilts prove to be less of a toe-tap than NY comparables Vivian Girls, preferring to tread the DARK PATH to C86 via one hypnotically morose baratone singer and a wash of reverb jangle guitar. They display their influences (J&MC, Manchester misery, early Rough Trade, 60s garage pop) so unashamedly and clearly that it pretty much ceases to be an issue, nor is their authenticity – dude is undoubtedly mumbling something very important with fixed gaze. Stand-up Spectorbeat drumming stops this becoming a wallow and keeps things lively. Guitar player looks like late 80s Steve Shelley AND Rivers Cuomo! Banter is minimal, songs are short and the 10pm club night and late start mean they are finished way before I’m done with them.