First up tonight are Purple Munkie managed by DiS’ very own Adie Nunn. A music-industry heavy queue flows into the Castle (it’s not actually a castle, castle, more a bar with a backroom) and the sound pouring from the stage, from 4 barely-started-shaving Elgin boys is one with a lot of magic. And I ain’t just saying that. Some pixies'ish moments, but many a journey into dizzy, drunk on a mountain top, partying in the pit of a canyon pop-noise before they leave us, all smirks, excited, tingling with just enough self-belief to pull it off.

Now, some boys with torn off t-shirt sleeves, scruffy hair, kinda smelly-looking, as if they’ve been touring for weeks (cus they have) get onstage. What on earth is this music? Is this music? No. Actually, hang on, if this band were a cliché it’d be Elton John influencing a death metal band, doing orchestral, doing loud-as-fuck, with rambling, ranting, spitting of lyrics about sexual encounters, brawls and probably the drummers sweat’n’spunk oozing barbie wig. I guess that counts as music. Whatever. There really is no need for comparisons; this band make me want to put it in journo-hack fosters-fuelled pictures for you. These are fellow scots Lapsus Linguae currently 5 or so songs deep. They stop. Everyone looks bemused. They bash and roar. It breaks down to a piano solo for a minute and a half, sounding so gentle, poinant, life-changingly profound, and almost, beautiful. I said almost! The words are barbwire, a perfect contrast - perfect for art students and 4am philosphers anyway. The bassist is bouncing around in the crowd, slashing his weapon, and I mean weapon, menacingly. Dum, dum, dum, the bass chugs a bit like the fat monsters who’re talking on samples beneath everything in the numb seconds before they wash us in a sprawl of white noise that snows for what could be hours. It stops. That is it. Wow.

Time for a band I literally don’t shut up about. It's packed. Other peoples sweat is condensating on my face. Three Essex boys, not that you could tell, step up on the stage, half-coy, half-demented-hell-hound, the singer, a bit is-he, isn’t-he, whispers “good evening” and the world could be about to burn down outside but I’m not leaving for anyone. The riffs begin, bad and mock-metal. The opening line ”We are the Vaccinated!!!” dollops itself on the room still buzzing from Lapsus. The first chorus “I WANT TO BE YOUR CROOKED SEX!” and the rest my friends, is history. You missed it, man; it was amazing and exactly why I love music, especially new, boundary kicking stuff. These love songs, like Billy Corgan coulda or woulda packaged them up. Oh yeah, they’re a bit like System of a Down and other such good nu-metal bands too. But who gives two shits about nu-metal, most of it is all cartoony by bands who don't care what they write aslong as it's good enough for the black-clothes-only tweenie target market. Careerist fuckwads! These songs are so much more. I mean, find me another band who sum up EVERYTHING, all this sick stuff in our wannabe Californian, gotta have the best sneakers, eating disorder ridden, trust-no-one, drink chemicals, “you are shit, cus you eat shit”, moronicer than thou, ironic, dissatisfied, world around us. A world that we didn’t exactly choose to live in, but pay extortionate rent for all the same. Find me another band who rock as hard as this, so effortlessly. Especially a new band who don’t even have a record deal, who have a bassist with two broken fingers who gets up and gives it his all, all the same. 3 guys who actually, really, truly, fucken MEAN IT!

Engerica leave the stage tonight both loved and hated.

I leave the venue with the biggest grin since, fucking hell, I really don’t remember when. I’ll cherish this night for a long time – just hope my voice comes back sometime soon so I can tell more of the world about it.