Live Review: Lightning Bolt, Usurper Of Modern Medicine, Bomodi

As a preliminary for the hyperactive, guerrilla noise-rock of Lightning Bolt, the excitable fretwork of Bomodi was prescription perfect. Clearly channelling the under-celebrated Melt Banana to such an extent that the singer appeared to be impersonating a Japanese teen with her finger jammed in a wall socket, the band ripped through what seemed like 20-odd songs in 20-odd minutes. A slightly insular performance (staring at your hands isn't sexy guys) is probably the only thing holding them back from fulfilling their potential as Perth's edgiest party band.

No such qualms could be levelled at Usurper Of Modern Medicine, as bassist/vocalist Steven Aaron Hughes confidently sashayed about the stage. In amongst their new-school shoegaze there featured the mad scientist math-rock of Steak Rainbow and, fresh from the laboratory, their new single, Motorolla Borealis, (try saying that after a few ales) a pretty tune seemingly born to be played under laser-tracker disco lights. They closed with a cover of (Gasp! Sacrilege!) The Beatles' Tomorrow Never Knows, which they got away with by virtue of making it their own through ominous drones. Hughes' bass could've been louder in the mix given the way his grooves carry their songs, but other than that – a very commanding set.

The interest surrounding Lightning Bolt's gear, laid out next to the stage in readiness for a floorshow was palpable, as fans inched forward taking snaps and forming a pressure ring. When the duo themselves squeezed into place – with drummer Brian Chippendale sporting a tribal-coloured latex mask that made him appear something like a psychedelic version of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre's Leatherface – the scene was primed for a no-prisoners demonstration of claustrophobic intensity.  With a wantonly righteous take on cosmic surf jam Assassins and a thoroughly pungent Sound Guardians, the berserker rhythms took hold of writhing limbs and sweating torsos, sparking orgiastic scenes under the strobe lights. When not possessed by an unrelenting, breathless desire to smash every drum in his seven-piece kit simultaneously, Chippendale kept the banter surreal, with announcements that their equipment was made entirely from cardboard and furthermore revealed his disappointment that the inhabitants of Perth – the world's most isolated capital city – hadn't mutated into 15-foot giants due to its vast space and uranium deposits, rare moments of comic relief in an otherwise savage spectacle.