It's a relief to know that not all angsty teenagers listen to Radiohead and spend the rest of their adolescence trying to emulate Muse. Some of them stick Boards Of Canada stickers on their guitars, acquire DD-5 sample pedals and violin bows, and proceed to work the Mogwai-esque quiet - loud - louder - FUCKING APOCALYPTIC dynamic till their ears bleed. So thank fuck for Hentai. Apparently, Hentai is Japanese for "Pervert" and the band are certainly sound perverts; their music is thick and chewy and so damn heavy that their bassist actually breaks a string - do you have any idea how hard you have to play to do that? Although they sit with their backs to the audience, the shoegazing revival hardly starts here. There's no cathedrals-of-sound bollocks, it's heavy, intense, dirty stuff like Loop or Bardot Pond. We like this. Yum.

Theremins and trumpets and moogerfoogers, oh my. Los Planetos Del Agua take the stage and seem to have brought half of The Telescopes with them to reinforce their live sound with squiggles of analogue keyboard and percussive tone-bursts of brass, kind of like Spiritualized used to do before they started to suck. People ask me why I love dronerock so much, and this is why. There are catchphrases that I like to bandy about, like "texture" and "autistic intensity" but this is what it's all about. Reduce music to one riff, one chord, take it by the neck and shake it like a ragdoll until its neck breaks and it's free and you're sitting on the floor, rocking gently back and forth, losing track of time and space. As the extra Telescopes drift off, it goes a bit post-rock, brainy and intellectual, trying to control music, rather than submitting to it, and showing telltale signs of the perfidious influence of JAZZ. But on the last song, they return to a driving, intense, multi-part epic with lots of drone and nods to Godspeed! and enigmatic Russian composers and everything is OK.

As The Telescopes set up, The Adorable Soundman is standing in the middle of the stage, scratching his head and looking perplexed. There's no drumkit, no amplifiers, and really, no conventional instruments as such. OK, there's a guitar in the middle of the stage, but it's propped up on a chair with a Pignose amp taped to its pickups so it does nothing but belch tiny waves of gorgeous feedback. There are banks and banks of analogue wave generators, and chord organs with their keys taped down, so that the entire stage looks more like a 1950's laboratory than a rock show. Experimental Audio Research, indeed.

The banks of equipment are switched on, and start to generate a slowly building, infernal, ghostly, all-encompassing HUM, like the music of the spheres, the sounds that the planets make on their spinning paths through the cosmos. Clicks become organic electronic shrieks, the burr of a motor warming up, leaving a thick, sticky, reptilian trail of Chthonic texture. There are no instruments as such because there are no songs as such. This isn't Dronerock, this is Free Drone, all drone, no rock, the aesthetic taken to its illogical extreme, only vague trumpet stabs of melody and fragments of futile vocals drifting in and out of the beautiful, overwhelming, eternal LaMonte Young cosmic SOUND. It's the aural equivalent of a Rothko painting, stare too long and you will become lost. But that's OK when lost is where you want to go.