Lip Critic @ The Glad Cafe, Glasgow, 1 Jul

I take my place in the crowd for Lip Critic with high expectations, having spent the train from Edinburgh hyping myself up with the help of strangers on internet forums. Fans of the hardcore/electro-punk/slippery New York outfit extoll their live shows with a ‘just you wait’ attitude. That I do, as a droning noise reverberates through the venue like a preshow mix for Death Grips (albeit with less monstrous dissonance and not for a full hour – we’ve only got until 10pm after all). The four-piece jump on stage. Frontman Bret Kaser wastes no time commanding the latent crowd to move closer – or in the case of one follically-challenged gentleman, Kaser clamps down on his shiny head like The Claw in Toy Story, yanking him to the front. I thank my gig intuition for standing in the second row.

It’s the fourth time Lip Critic have performed in Glasgow, this time for a sold-out show in Southside spot The Glad Cafe. A venue with cafe in its name? For a band with two drummers? I envision rattling saucers and lager-stained pine floorboards (okay, okay, I know it’s a separate space). Performing in tight venues has been a fixture of the Theft Saga – the band’s tour name for their acclaimed sophomore album, Theft World. With New York stops including a laundromat, a boxing ring and a bar basement, The Glad Cafe feels like a suitably intimate squeeze for the tinnitus-inducing band.

They roar into Yard Sale (230 Take). The room immediately shifts, fizzing with energy. "Clap those ass cheeks!" Kaser shrills as they move on to standout track Jackpot packed with slot machine chimes and lyrics about casino hubris. Kaser and Connor Kleitz face one another over a tangle of samplers, whilst drummers Danny Eberle and Mikey Sandvig are positioned adjacent, playing in tight unison. The lack of guitars feels refreshing, though the sheer noise from the dual-kit setup buries some of the weird and wonderful bleeps on the album. Kaser’s enigmatic performance is undoubtedly the highlight, his frenzied vocals true to the band’s studio recordings.

Kaser gets creative with his crowd control. He jumps off the stage, slices through the crowd and lowers his timbre. Now crouching like a hunting dog looking back toward his band, he leaps back on stage leaving a tangle of limbs piling into the place he once stood. They close with 200 Bottles on Eviction which feels like a melodic comedown in comparison to the chaos of the last hour.

I’m churned like butter in the mosh pit for the majority of the gig, so when I finally emerge into the gloaming on Pollokshaws Road, I look like the victim of an udder attack. I wouldn’t have it any other way – how can you keep glued to the wall at a gig like this? Lip Critic delivers exactly what those charming internet nerds said they would, an ecstatic cacophony of noise and one hell of a good time.