A minute in, Hookworms have already reached the kind of intensity most bands would be lucky to reach by their gig’s climax. Over pounding-heart drums and chest-throb bass, guitars scream and synths wail like sirens, drenched in echo and tremolo – it’s as if Jeff Wayne’s Martians have returned to Earth for a final reckoning.
They maintain a fever pitch for much of tonight’s set, but there’s nothing enervating about this Leeds quintet’s assault, the noise locked to driving, mantric rhythms, the minimal chord changes betraying a peculiar pop knack, and bandleader MJ’s effects-laden howl lending these jams a thrilling, cathartic quality.
Soaked in strobes and bathed in the light of video projections, MJ rages at his keyboards and barks into the microphone, looking like some messianic preacher and sounding like a dubbed-out Black Francis. It’s even harder to decipher the lyrics tonight than on Hookworms’ albums – indeed, the vocals often seem like another instrument, another layer to the wall of noise – but the declamatory zeal with which MJ delivers them is electrifying.
Harboured within the din are bona fide songs, with abrasive but undeniable hooks. Set to urgent, pulse-racing drums and a streetwalking Jesus & Mary Chain chug, Radio Tokyo’s surging keyboards are manic, celebratory carnival music, while On Leaving imagines Can covering 96 Tears – an inspired pairing, as it turns out. The slower-burn ire of Off Screen, meanwhile, builds imperceptibly to something colossal and impressively satisfying.
There’s no between-song banter and, as the last notes of Retreat’s triumphant, pungent pop die away, no encore (an unabashedly honest presence on Twitter, MJ recently declared: “Death to fake encores”).
It’s an abrupt ending perhaps, but while Hookworms’ incandescent riot rages, there’s not a decibel wasted and not one Farfisa-driven tune that doesn’t bullseye its target.
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