Live Review: Lightning Bolt, Sewers, Magenta Voyeur, Slow Riots

Opening up proceedings tonight is Slow Riots, a young band in awe of the distortion pedal. There are moments when their set emulates the gritty atonal angst of early '90s post-hardcore grinders that littered the Kill Rock Stars roster; there are others that take too liberally from the grunge how-to guide, obliterating their creative drive in favour of overblown noisy tropes. There's a sense that the three-piece have been on the cusp of developing a ground-breaking sound for some time – tonight finds them still battling the demons of their obvious influences.

Magenta Voyeur is a band that resembles a sonic bowerbird, cribbing errant, seemingly incongruous sounds in the hopes of crafting their own iconic voice to nestle in. The detritus of prog rock overconsumption hangs heavy over this brace of songs, to the point where anything overtly interesting ends up merely as a bridge to yet another bludgeoning 'improvisation'. There is a song midway through the set that resembles Akron/Family, but that too segues into the slipstream of indulgence. They clearly enjoy what they are doing up on stage – pity the same can't be said for those in the crowd.

Main support Sewers have no qualms taking the night and eviscerating it, providing a typical set of sneering contempt and base primitivism held together with spit and maniacal glee. Revelling in nihilism can be alienating, yet the four-piece continually find new ways to make it a delectable cyanide pill to swallow. The dead-eyed stares, the thrashing of limbs and gnashing of teeth combine with the music to unsettle, yet their pitch black humour outlines that Sewers have a soul – however dark and twisted it may be.

Lightning Bolt are without peer in this or any world, and tonight they pummel this fact relentlessly into our ear sockets. Littering the set with songs from 'lost' EP Oblivion Hunter and some newer tracks, it might seem brave to LB virgins to only occasionally dip into the classics bag – Dracula Mountain and Colossus being two brilliant mainstays – but then again there is nothing about the two Brians (Gibson on bass, Chippendale on drums) that can be taken for granted. Chippendale is a dervish of manic energy, punishing his kit in an inhuman display of dexterity, pace and unparalleled rhythm – there's a reason he's considered by many as the best drummer in the world. And while Chippendale hides behind a lurid makeshift mask, Gibson remains stony-faced, resorting instead to killing the bass in a relentless display of subdued aggression. Lightning Bolt is a force of nature, a carnival of cartoonish depravity, and effortlessly blast out the set of the year.