Pity Sex @ Soup Kitchen, Manchester, 7 Oct

An evening of squalling alt rock? Best pack your earplugs. Local boys Claw The Thin Ice set the tone in more than capable fashion, with guitars flitting deftly between spidery, intertwining emo jangles and full-pelt cacophony. This is no endurance test, however; all that noise comes tightly tethered to an array of sumptuous hooks and freewheeling melodies that deserve a bigger audience than the lucky few who've wandered down early doors. Don't miss 'em next time.

Tour support Eugene Quell fares less well. Things start promisingly with some enjoyably grungey garage rock, toeing the line between Ty Segall's more furious bursts and the sort of Nirvana worship that we can all get along with, but things swiftly begin to plod along uneventfully. Perhaps he's unlucky that his affable spark fails to ignite tonight, but the set drags: groove-centric detours feel unremarkable, quips about YouTube videos fall flat and the growing yet indifferent audience offers merely polite applause. Ah well.

It's left to headliners Pity Sex to pick up the pieces – or that's the plan, at least. The Ann Arbor quartet made their name with the Slowdive-esque haze of Feat of Love and White Hot Moon: two collections of shimmering, shoegaze-slanted fuzzpop made all the more beautiful thanks to the effortlessly sorrowful voice of Britty Drake. Pitted against layers of guitar noise and paired with the relatively low-key mutterings of co-vocalist Brennan Greaves, her natural soar provided an easy way into the band's emotional core.

With Drake having left the band a mere two months previously, Greaves picks up the slack and duly undertakes all singing duties. The news seems to have bypassed a sizable portion of the now-packed Soup Kitchen, however, and there's an understandable air of disappointment as everyone puzzles over the erstwhile band member's absence. Still, the addictive honey of songs like Drown Me Out gradually bring everyone back onside; by the time a pacy rendition of Wind-Up rolls around (via a baffling but cheerfully-received cover of The La's There She Goes), the room's affections are clear.

It's still a little rough around the edges, but what Greaves' voice lacks in terms of Drake's winsome charm is compensated by his evident knack for songwriting. In facing up to the loss of a key component, Pity Sex have done the hard part, and they've proven that talent makes up their appeal as much as aesthetic. Still, it's difficult not to ponder where this will take them: their next record will surely feel like it has a point to prove.