Cloud Nothings @ Stereo, Glasgow, 17 Mar

It’s a Friday night and the walk to Renfield Lane sees Glasgow’s city centre bobbing with Guinness-branded top hats. Pints have been flowing since long before Dublin singer/songwriter Cian Nugent takes to Stereo’s stage, and he cracks the requisite St Patrick’s Day joke before charming the sizeable early-doors crowd with a short, quietly confident solo set of husky, atmospheric blues.  

The basement is sticky with bodies and beer even before Cloud Nothings – a four-piece once again – start to set up their equipment. Once ready, they dutifully file off stage to return with greater ceremony: it’s the only nod the Cleveland band give to theatrics. Bassist TJ Duke offers a brief “hello” before they hit the opening bars of Up to the Surface, the melodic opener to their newest (and, honestly, possibly best) record Life Without Sound. In a recent interview with The Skinny, frontman Dylan Baldi drew a line between the album and the band’s previous work, explaining that Life Without Sound offers a more meditative take on their usually abrasive introspection. In practice? It’s not your standard yoga session.

Three songs in and we’ve arrived at a bruising rendition of Psychic Trauma – a firm favourite from their 2014 album Here and Nowhere Else – and a pit’s opened up, sweat rising in steam from discoloured shirts and hugging, happy bodies. Duke offers a few cautious words urging consideration, “but I’m not calling you out,” he reassures. New tracks like Darkened Rings, Things Are Right With You and Sight Unseen are received like old friends, but there’s an extra special welcome for a couple of previous singles: 2012’s Fall In is throaty and emotional. 

Punishingly loud and relentlessly paced, Cloud Nothings’ set is driven by Jayson Gerycz’s unholy noise: the drummer’s more blur than human, loose-limbed and dripping with sweat as he does his best to dismantle Stereo’s noise absorbers. Rather than an encore, the band power through a thrilling interlude that’s shattered by feedback… before melting into another 2012 favourite, Wasted Days. Baldi’s vocals, matched by a soaking crowd, take on an exhausted catharsis: 'I thought / I would / Be more / Than this.'

Without chat or gimmick, Cloud Nothings leave behind hoarse throats, broad grins and battered eardrums. A different kind of mindfulness, if you like.