It takes a lot to get me out on a Monday night. Not because I’m hard working – I am lazy, and this is reflected in my rate of pay. However, when this particular paring is in town chances are I’d go as far as re-mortgaging my own grandmother just to get a look in.

Kong take the stage dressed in red t-shirts and trackie bottoms, sporting their regular facial apparel which has them looking like a bunch of sinister clowns on death row at the local nut house. Fortunately for us they ain’t local, and before the ‘style over content’ banner is erected they launch into ‘Blood Of A Dove’. To describe this band as being influenced by Oxes, Shellac or Arcwelder would not be untrue, but it might be a little unfair. So many bands who bandy around such influences usually end up sounding like twee indie nonsense. That is certainly not the case here, and the realisation gradually dawns upon a bemused audience; this is something special rather than specialist (sorry, I’ve been watching that stupid A&R rubbish on E4, Terminally Unsigned?). The set highlight is ‘Wet Your Knives’ which is the nearest Kong get to ‘radio friendly’ once you’ve cut the three-minute intro from it. But who wants to be on Radio 1? Last I heard their demographic was a 14-year-old racist single mother and real estate agent.

Future of the Left follow. The place is near to heaving, so much so that we flee to the upper floors for a better look. Most of tonight’s set is taken from the pulsating debut album Curses. Comparisons will be made with Mclusky ‘til the day Andy Falkous stops stalking the stage like a disapproving father whose motto is “I don’t tolerate fools gladly”. Tonight, though, any such comparisons should be mere pillow talk; there is something simpler and more driving about these songs, stripped-down but powerful like a panther to the jugular. Drummer Jack Egglestone is the shining star in this band, having joined Mclusky halfway through their career, he finally gets make his mark: dishing out tribal floor tom rambunctiousness like Bing Crosby beating his children with a bag of oranges, catching cymbals like a well oiled plate spinner. All the while, Kelson serves up jazz-funk arse moves, pounding guitar-riff-mimicking bass and grins like that sinister Burger King. The set eases us in slowly with ‘Plague of Onces’ before trouncing through the audience with ‘Small Bones Small Bodies’ and ‘adeadenemyalwayssmellsgood’.

We are treated to some nifty organ from Falkous on ‘Suddenly It’s A Folk Song’ with the distraught refrain, “suddenly folk songs are part of our future”. Ironic seeing as the following song, ‘Fuck The Countryside Alliance’, reminds me (in content at least) of Chris T-T’s seminal ‘Huntsmen’. Unfortunately I have to exit just as they return for an encore. I’m the only one. Can’t help thinking I’m missing out on something.

Photo: MySpace