Another exemplary PeppermintPatti night, another celebration of double X chromosome superiority, another week’s pay dropped on the merch stall. You only play a PP gig if one or more of your band members have ovaries; oh, and being very good helps. Such is the case with Heck, who’ve coalesced around ex-members of Sammo Hung, Mo-Ho-Bish-O-Pi and other local guitar bashers, and who make satisfyingly chunky slabs of mid-tempo rock, vaporous guitar lines circling low-end strut. They rarely take proper flight, but have a weighty heft that I like.

Fast forward to the end of Betty & The Werewolves’s set and they’re literally jumping for joy. To be fair they’re doing this at most points of the set, such is the band’s delirious dedication to ramalama garage and frantic pop. It’s dangerously close to perfection: playful, stylish, ultra-tight, and leaping out from some place that demands excitement, vitality. The most fun since, like, forever.

With Wet Dog, as with B&TW, you get the feeling that they arrived fully formed the moment they picked up their instruments. They also look ridiculously cool, while clearly operating outside such crappy frameworks. Their actual music is primitive, repetitive, pretty great: song after song that takes Liliput as a starting point, and stomps itself into something more strung out, more weirdly British. These awkward, joyous shapes seem to come from nowhere. More nights like this please.