To start with King Adora, all that stuff that’s been written about them being some kind of ‘Glam revivalists’ just because they wear eyeliner and sing about sex in a somewhat impolite manner seems a bit exaggerated. They’re far too punk to ever be Glam in the full-scale “flares-and-showers-of-glitter-Slade-on-1975-Top-of-the-Pops-Christmas special” sense of the word. Which is probably just as well. What King Adora ARE however, is a pretty wicked pop band. Their well maintained air of gutter-punk coolness is completely undermined by the fact that they play so damn well. No missed cues, broken strings, pointless feedback, instrument smashing (well, not much anyway) or any of the other rock n roll antics one might reasonably expect from such a shambolic looking bunch. In fact, their music sounds terrific all the way through. King Adora seem to have a talent for writing instantly likable and infinitely moshable songs, all of which sound just different enough from the others to be interesting (not unlike early Ash in fact). Confirmation of their songwriting expertise can be found in the fact that, despite being completely unheard of only a few months ago, they now have nearly half a dozen songs which are met with applause from the audience and – gasp – even some singing along. Plus, the frontman (isn’t he called … Matt Browne? Correct me if I’m wrong..) is endlessly entertaining to watch, having seemingly spent his youth mastering the best moves and poses in rock history and learning how to employ them on stage while only occasionally looking like a complete fool. In fact, one of the things I liked best about the band is that they constantly seem just a few inches away from self-parody, and they’re definitely not going to claim they’re “in it for the art”.

The downside is that, as their detractors have frequently pointed out, King Adora can get pretty annoying when they don’t quite hit the mark. Despite having some great lyrics, Big isn’t Beautiful still sounds far too much like offcuts from the Pixies, and the distorted voice thingy they do in Smolder is really, really irritating.. But still, if they keep writing the hits and get Matt a more interesting name, these lads could go far (I’ve always wanted to say that).

Next up, we have My Vitriol, who are even better. After a couple of minutes of dark noises which sound a little unsettling after King Adora’s pop perfection, MV break into their first proper song and.. BANG!.. I’m convinced. The sound this band make live is just amazing. The perfect balance between glorious thrashing racket and expertly picked out power chords, while the rhythm section keep a fast pace and .. well, my instant reaction is just wow.

If I had to pigeonhole My Vitriol, I think “somewhere between Nirvana and My Bloody Valentine” would just about sum it up. And if I analysed their sound any more I’d have to start talking about things like “guitar dynamics” and “razor sharp melodies”, so it’s best if I just say- go and see them, then you’ll know what I mean. Like Sonic Youth if they stopped being arty for a while and completely rocked out – I thought I’d died and gone to guitar-valhalla. Their big flaw, however, is that they lack any immediate stand out songs on which to hang their heavenly noise. The actual lyrics and song structure of “Cemented Shoes”, “Always Your Way” or “Pieces” are .. well, not bad exactly, but a little uninspiring when compared to the magnificent way in which they’re being played. This deficiency is evident from the way most of the songs quickly unravel into more or less freeform instrumental sections. Never the less, My Vitriol are still a fantastically compelling live act who’ll ring in my ears for days to come, and with slightly more solid material they could blow just about any other band you care to mention into next week.. (Maybe they could get Thurston Moore to write them some tunes .. he hasn’t bothered putting any into Sonic Youth since about 1994..)

Finally, we have MANSUN. I should explain that I’ve always had a bit of a love/hate relationship with Mansun’s music (ha, I bet you all thought I was going to say “Mansun’s bass player” or something..). I remember hearing their early singles and thinking they were the best thing since sliced bread. Then I bought Attack of the Grey Lantern and was immediately terrified by it’s gross self-indulgence. A little later they won me back with Being a Girl, then lost me again with Six. Now they’ve won me over again with I Can Only Disappoint You . By now you can probably see a pattern emerging, but thankfully I have yet to hear much of Little Kix.

And I don’t hear a great deal of it tonight either, as Mansun have wisely decided to leave their orchestral opuses to the recording studio and hit live audiences with every one of their singles to date and barely any album tracks. With any other band, this sort of setlist would probably annoy me, but with Mansun it works well, as their dozen or so great singles tower over the mixed up mess that (in the case of their first two records, at least) makes up the rest of their output.

And lo, Mansun do most righteously kick out the jams, reminding everyone in earshot just what was so great about them in the first place. Every intro they play is greeted with a massive round of applause, and quite rightly so, as Mansun’s instantly recognizable and unrepentantly individualistic songs are blasted out with typical self confidence and a complete lack of such follies as synthesized string sections or pointless & tuneless interludes. In fact, the only damage the punkier members of the audience incur throughout comes from a bit too much dry ice and some slightly too obvious heroic guitar solos. The readers of this article doubtlessly have their own favorite Mansun songs (mine being StripperVicar, Being a Girl or Take It Easy, Chicken – the trio of songs they start with tonight – coincidence?) and are no doubt aware that when they’re playing these songs, they still come over as the cool, clever, important and ever-so-slighty tongue in cheek rock gods we always want them to be. In fact, perhaps the most impressive thing about Mansun is the way that, no matter how many times the press knock them down and tell them they’re silly, they still come back acting like world conquering heroes. Whether they are world conquering heroes or not is irrelevant – just watching them put on the act is enough to convince. I still wonder how many members of the band or the audience really dig the irony as Paul Draper sings to the army of ever faithful Mansunites, “Come back to me, we want your money!”, one of many moments during Mansun’s set that made me grin openly. This is unquestionably Mansun at their very best, and even if you didn’t like it, it was worth the entry price just to look at Chad’s hair.

The ticket to this show was Ten quid well spent, a truly enjoyable triple bill. All three bands, whether individually or together, get a big: