In an earlier review of the Four Volts' debut full-length I challenged you, the DiS public, to imagine Autolux having fun. “Hard isn’t it?” I persisted; mind failing to bend itself around the idea of the icy LA three-piece indulging in the kind of ‘Doolittle’ impishness that made ‘Triple Your Work Force’ one of the most stupidly ignored records of the year so far. Buy, buy, buy NOW you indolent bums!

Anyways, I’m still inclined to think they would take combustion over that, but Autolux’ fun is one all their own. Staring down on the band tonight from the first balcony at Koko, the fake-archaic arches of London’s purple palace make it the most inaptly conducive arena for the future sounds of 'Future Perfect', 2004’s debut. The fact that this is an NME club night makes the modern even more prominent; the to-be-bewildered crowd irresponsibly unprepared by a publication that is, nominally at least, devoted to today’s and tomorrow’s music. Before they take the stage, the DJ spins Jet. In the middle of all this retrospection, Autolux stick out like a sore thumb.

But those other bands that have dared to stick out their necks in such a way, (think Bloc Party, TV On the Radio), and reflect a colder, more modern world in their tunes have revelled in the praise that came with the contrast they gave to the rock landscape. While many people have aligned this new modern front in guitar music with punk, the term has become redundant. The punk revisionists toil in sweaty underground clubs, preaching to the converted and simultaneously scoring big, thick black lines through all the points of punk that pertain to confronting a public and SHAKING it. Intentional or otherwise, tonight Autolux have crash-landed into a scene that is just begging to be rocked to the foundations. That’s not ‘rocked’ as in “raawwked!” though stupid, nowhere close.

Onstage the band transpire, and kick out volumes of noise. Ridiculous amounts of noise; for a trio. But it’s not pointless noise, it sounds new and fresh whilst retaining just enough soul and shape to be pop, and it drips with the absolute melting-ice cool of Sonic Youth and Velvet Underground. Before vocalist Eugene even opens his mouth, the stage is claimed by the most bewitching drummer I have ever seen; her name is Carla and the seven pins in her bionic elbow are perfect. If she’da been German in the 70’s Kraftwerk would have cheated on, divorced and then blown the shit outta their machines for the chance to record with this girl. I can’t even see her face, her fringe is in the way, but I bet if she lifted her head she’d be the missing link between man and machine, like if Mary Tyler-Moore got loved by cold machinery. “That drummer is sooo cool” reckons the bloke next to me, as she sways her bowed head to the beat, her feet bare beneath the all-in-one white shawl she seems haunted by, working the pedals. When she comes out from behind the kit to kneel and sing dreams on ‘Asleep at the Trigger’, all I can think is ‘Nico’, as uninformed as that may be.

The androgyny in Eugene’s voice is a soothing antidote to the squalls of feedback that he and bassist Greg use to tie tonight together, their amps bitter-sweet wailing feels like biting at toothache. As the too-short set draws to a close, the noise takes over for five or so minutes before some honcho draws up next to me, draws cuts across his throat with his finger. Tonight though, by the looks on the faces of most of the punters here, Autolux have had their fun. Just happens to be that theirs is a particularly Sub-Zero type of Fun.