Paul Wolinski doesn’t seem to know where he is. There’s a guitar hanging loosely from his hunched frame, but that aside, there’s nothing to suggest this is a gig, nothing to install within him any sense of occasion as a whole truckload of punters stare at his cap-topped features. He staggers around a bit, lashing at the strings before him, flailing like Keith Richards full of Special K. Or Jack Sparrow rum’ed into absolute inebriation, if you will. Those that share the stage with him turn their backs, absorbed by their sample-triggering and pedal-stamping duties, but there is no disharmony here: this is the everyday chaos of 65daysofstatic’s standard set, their flexible frames distorting before all onlookers with all much twisted splendour of the music about them. That said, I still reckon Wolinski’s pissed.

Getting here – headlining an impressive bill (Misty's Big Adventure's loopy pop entertains some and infuriates others before 65dos take the stage) at one of London’s larger venues, the obvious super-sized halls excepted – has been no plain sailing for the Sheffield dustpunks. Two years of solid, back-breaking touring has taken its toll, and tonight, a countrywide jaunt only just behind them, they look a little rougher about the edges than usual. Interaction is minimal – fuck that, it’s non-existent – and Wolinski’s Moscow State Circus moves aside, the twin figures of (lead) guitarist Joe Fro and bassist Simon Wright remain relatively static. All things being relative, you understand: they still jerk wildly when called upon to do so by the incessant bombast of the songs from latest album One Time For All Time. The lack of respite sears certain front-row ears, but from the safety of the balcony the cacophony sounds positively beauteous, a few early set gremlins aside. The alien effects of ‘Await Rescue’ alone set the skin on edge for the set’s entirety. When the house lights bleach the surface of our eyes thirty minutes later, the cries for a never-happening encore are sign enough of the band’s success thus far. Three slink off, applauding right back; Wolinski wobbles a little more.

So where to now? Home, we assume, for deserved rest and recuperation. The only foreseeable potential tragedy for 65daysofstatic is over exposure: their hard graft thus far has been absolutely beneficial, but now it may pay to step back somewhat and survey the scene. With so many so keen to talk them up, us not excepted, non-stop touring and record releasing could lead to an indifferent reaction come the next long-player. One Time For All Time is a master stroke, but one accomplished in an incredibly small length of time; now we need to see what further love and care, and time, can produce.

Others will tell you that 65daysofstatic’s time is now, but I disagree: their achievements to date are commendable and no mistake, but there’s another echelon or two to their sound yet to be revealed. Let’s hope, then, that this time is not for all time, and that future adventures will lead to even more strange and wonderful worlds of white noise and blast beats.