Like many a Manchester punk gig, the floor is sticky. The bottom of your shoes squelch and a giddy swirl of shaved heads and Doc Martens spring as if in slow motion at the front. This scene, I have only ever witnessed in flashback programmes to the Wilson era.

A projector beams black and white abstract images on to the backs of heads and dimly lights the otherwise pitch black stage. At the centre of it all, Eagulls’ George Mitchell, the epitome of a post-punk frontman sways amongst a sea of reverb as white noise chimes out and seeps through the packed room.

For the first time in years, there is a genre of music to be excited about. A group of disillusioned twenty-somethings, who, until a couple of months before appearing on Jools Holland, were still working the retail jobs that helped to spark the anger so obviously portrayed on their first self-titled album.Whilst evoking an eerie Ian Curtis vibe with his writhing twists and frantic stage presence, Mitchell’s vocals are spat with anger. The tales of an unsatisfied, unfulfilled existence and the sort of ethos that can only fuel this sort of energetic, furious punk. The venue adds to the romance that this could easily be the 70’s punk scene, Sound Control’s dim glow and rich musical history make it intimate and loud, so very loud.

The delivery of ‘Tough Luck’ is confrontational and uncomfortable, their style may not be new, but they have dragged it into relevance before anyone else. You can feel the furious, slapped bass on ‘Nerve Endings’ pound in your chest. Mitchell’s vocals are shouted enough without becoming too abstract, teetering on the perfect balance (support act Autobahn take note.) ‘Amber veins’ repetitive chorus is shouted back at the band from the angry gaggle in front of the stage, hungry for the fidgety and at times frenetic slashes of guitar. The consistent flanger guitar effect continues on ‘Footsteps’, echoing and making it a billion times more effective live than it could ever sound on Spotify.

They round off with the obvious choice of single ‘Possessed,’ a nod to their early gig reviews in which the audience wrongly assumed it was substances that fuelled Mitchell’s almost maniacal movements. Abruptly, the glowing haze clears and the lights spring back on to catapult you back into the 21st century, if you can peel the soles of your shoes off the floor that is.