Rolo Tomassi @ Barfly, 26 Sep

In the few years since Rolo Tomassi’s spasmodic digi-shred first demanded the attention of the post-hardcore and indie rock worlds alike, there’s been one issue that crops up with predictable frequency, as vocalist Eva Spence acknowledges. “Even now people come up to us and say ‘you’re fourteen and fifteen aren’t you’ and we have to say, ‘er, no actually, we’ve been aging…”

Youth aside, there’s no ignoring that the sweet, smiley 18 year-old - speaking to the Skinny ahead of tonight’s Barfly gig - seems a world away from the screaming dervish that will later storm the stage. But this preoccupation with appearance seems less about patronising the band, and more to do with postponing the tricky task of capturing their kinetic exuberance with words that go beyond breathless hyperbole. Their sound cannibalises wide-ranging sources, creating a volatile concoction of jagged syncopation, tightly-methodical guitar and an electronic core of serrated bleeps and post-rock soundscapes - an eclecticism that Eva sees as key to their genre-crossing fan-base. “Generally, for heavier music we all have very similar tastes. But we’ve been influenced by loads of different music, and through that people can take away different things“.

Tonight’s support from label mates Mirror! Mirror! (****) evidences Rolo Tomassi's crossover appeal, owing more to indie-disco pioneers The Rapture than the likes of Dillinger Escape Plan. Choppy guitars and cowbell-bashing initially suggests a band arriving too late to the post-punk dancing party to acquire their own niche, but their edgy overhaul of a sound bastardised of late by dayglo-hoodie ‘nu-ravers’ is inventive and insistent enough to leave even the most sceptical metal-head on the verge of pulling shapes.

Busting moves to Rolo Tomassi (****) is considerably more difficult, though the band themselves are up to the challenge; filling the stage with flailing limbs that mirror their Jekyll and Hyde transformation from sweetness into the epitome of hardcore frenzy. Their cacophonous set of erratic time signatures and ear-melting screams sounds both thrillingly reckless and intricately controlled at once, and by the time a manic Scabs brings things to a close the crowd look more exhausted than the performers. One polite 'thank you' later and tinnitus is all that remains of their strident brilliance - until October that is, when they’ll be back to startle Blood Red Shoes fans at King Tut's. Earplugs are advised, "and you might also want some sort of glasses," suggests Eva, "to protect you from mine and James's awful dance moves." You've been warned.