As far as second birthday parties go – can’t really remember mine, must have involved pass the parcel and a Thomas The Tank Engine colouring book – there probably aren’t that many that begin with a cavalcade of cacophonous guitar soundscapes and pounding drum-machine beats. But promoters Ejector Seat throw no ordinary party and, with it being two years to the day since they promoted their first gig here at the Joiners Arms – the headliner back then, if you’re curious, was some contemporary beat combo called 65daysofstatic – then it’s well worth celebrating their second year putting on all manner of left-of-centre acts in Southampton.

As opening act Scarlet Letter Union appropriately points out, the scene ‘round here has become a great deal more interesting since they came along, solely saving the local circuit from being identical to almost every other city in the UK, i.e. just a swathe of Battle of the Bands semi-finalists and IPC-friendly Libs-by-numbers outfits. This statement comes, of course, between SLU’s sinister narratives about roadside memorials and staring bleary-eyed out of windows at drab skies. And, as we’ve come to expect since the blossoming of formerly-known Judas Kisses, the more he plays, the more noise he manages to create, whether it’s Meanwhile Back In Communist Russia-style atmospherics or Godspeed!-esque post-rock distortion. Not the cheeriest of starts, no, but for one man and his box of beats you can always rely on him to be amazing.

Another one-man band, equally amazing yet a different kettle of six-string wizardry altogether, is tonight’s biggest revelation, Edward J Hicks. At times you’d swear that there must be at least three people playing in front of you somewhere – perhaps Tom Waits hiding behind the drum kit doing human beatbox, any classic rock axeman you care to mention curled up in the corner having a nervous breakdown, or maybe, just maybe, Hendrix trying to claw his way to the stage from beneath the floorboards. All whilst a guy dressed as a vaudeville skeleton prances about like a frog with a cheese grater up his arse, before pressing a pedal that makes it sound like four hundred Martians are trying to escape from his guitar with a ten foot rubber hammer. That’s a good thing. Think Jack White if he was more obsessed with Lewis Carroll than Leadbelly, but more entertaining.

Even differenter (it’s a word now) still is Oxford quartet The Half Rabbits, who trade showmanship and invention in for all-out alt.rock tunery (c’mon, a little poetic license here). No, it’s not the most creative of all pop craftsmanship – the Pixies with a disco beat maybe - but with just as much fresh-of-face verve that most of the new-Yorkshire crowd can currently throw up. Plus, if such a thing as the indie Stars in Their Eyes ever gets commissioned, their singer would be a pretty convincing Paul Banks from Interpol. Admittedly their no-nonsense approach makes them stand out in this evening for the slightly eccentric, but anyone constantly gorging themselves on chocolate gateaux is going to want a Granny Smith every now and then, right?

As far as the South’s post-indie fraternity go, Tri-City President seem to have almost effortlessly become local treasures and grown a bit of muscle in the process. Previously, although bleak, they’ve also seemed timid, almost twee, but whilst they’ve hardly become Slayer overnight the plaintive guitar lines have grown to sound triumphant, and the trembling feel – basically the quiet bits of Mogwai trying to write pop songs – have now become sturdier and a lot more confident. Singer Roy Moss also seems to have smashed his shell, so to speak, yelling a lot of the lyrics instead of singing them and, at the (ahem) climax of the set spraying silly string like his guitar is ejaculating all over the audience. Nice. They’ve still got that edge, only it’s heavier and sharper than before.

Tonight, though, it’s difficult not to be entirely in thrall of New York’s lover of invention, and the man who put the ‘folk’ into anti-folk, Thomas Truax. Taking to the stage with the Hornicator – his own self-created instrument formed mostly by a giant phonograph bell and some springs – what follows is a mesmerising show of astounding songs and barmy (yet beautiful) looped sequences, in equal parts. It’s also, as the man himself points out somewhere around midnight, “the longest half-hour set I’ve ever played”, seeing as the crowd are so taken by his antics that they insist on him continuing further and further into the night.

Ultimately his array of creations (the Sister Spinster, for instance, which is essentially two bicycle wheels and some extruding junk parts but instantly puts a lot of drummers to shame) could easily just be there as extra curiosities - by himself Truax crafts fantastical narratives about giant butterflies and his own instruments stealing money from him that show he’s got enough observance and wit to destroy the need for gimmicks.

But it’s his skill as a performer that gives this gig magic: he howls ‘Prove It To My Daughter’ into the Hornicator while it frames him in strobe lighting, like what a withered Mississippi Delta dweller might have done if microphones had been invented before guitars. He plays ‘Full Moon Over Wowtown’ all over the venue, at one point from atop the merchandise stand and at another near the gents, whilst the audience follow him around singing along. At one encore, he makes up a song on the spot about chocolate cake and how pancakes remind him of Niagara Falls; at another encore he creates several spellbinding layers of loops, including recordings from the crowd, and ends up stood at the door doing up his shoelaces and talking to the promoter whilst everyone else is still staring flabbergasted at the stage. No wonder nobody wanted him to leave; tonight Thomas Truax was crowned the people’s troubadour professor and, considering the spindly magic he’s weaved around a chilly Thursday evening in March, our new favourite musical conjurer too.