On this night the Islington Bar Academy, which looks less ready to rock than any venue I’ve ever seen, was graced by three bands who made a glorious mockery of their genteel surroundings - hurrah for that. First up were Special Needs, who I’d seen twice before - the first time they were excellent, the second time merely so-so. Tonight restored my faith - the Needs' brand of patchwork glam, reminiscent of a Ray Davies-fronted New York Dolls with warbled backing vocals, plastered a grin over my face and got me dancing. It’s jerky, no-frills stuff which Special Needs launch at the audience in a slapdash and un-coordinated way, which makes you feel as though their set is unravelling all over you. And when it works, when the band get energy into the music and the momentum sweeps you along, it’s absolutely brilliant. Catch them on the right night, and rejoice.

Then to The Rocks, who were as much show as gig and who appear to have taken a flunky on tour for the specific purpose of gathering up the microphone lead behind frontman James as he scrambles over the venue fixtures and fittings. On this occasion, the stage was vacated several times in favour of joining the audience, parading over the bar and spooking those who’d chosen the entertainment of the bar X-Box over the stage show. Banter, crowd surfing and handing the mic to a crowd desperate to holler along with 'No One Needs You When You’re Dead' were the order of the day, and all this backed up by tunes which - as the name implies - thoroughly rocked. It’s the kind of live show which reminds you why records are Not Enough; you just can’t capture this sort of energy and sheer love of performance on CD, no matter how cunning the gimmickry.

Things shifted up a gear from dance floor to moshpit for The Barbs and their slightly heavier offering of theatrical, almost operatic vocals batted back and forth between boy and girl singer (like a verbal tennis match) over hard and fast riffs. This never quite grabbed me - I could see the good in it, and the enthusiasm from the front row was 100% understandable, but I didn’t take that final step from appreciation to thorough enjoyment. Though that could have had something to do with the fact that I’d ended up standing next to people smoking a lot of weed - pot always makes me disengage, and on this occasion turned my homeward bound trip down the tube station escalator into a disconcertingly Escherian experience.

But back to the music: the joy of this gig was that the audience really, truly cared. Everyone knew the words and sang along, people danced and cheered and heckled and actually gave a damn - in LONDON! At a gig featuring bands who haven’t been plugged by at least three glossy magazines! It gives you hope, oh yes it does. More nights like this, please.