Porkees are a confidently besuited opening act whose efficient set of cover versions is delivered with a tongue in cheek sense of showbiz and glitz. There is something about brass in rock and roll music that never fails to lift the heart, and when the sax player starts dancing, you have no choice but to surrender.

Beaming in from a totally different planet, however, are Guerilla Television. Despite the nagging sense that a band with the word "television" in their name shouldn't sound quite this much like Television, they are, from the word go, quite simply astounding. The dynamics are consistently thrilling; the repetitive, looping bass, the bursts of ear-lacerating, psychedelic guitar and synthesizer effects-twiddling, the swirling tempo changes wrought by the drums, and the wired delivery by Nakanishi Takaaki's subterranean homesick weirdo frontman. As well as the aforementioned New York punk comparisons, there is a superficial resemblance, especially in the rhythm section, to Spacemen 3. However, Nakanishi brings a fragility and emotional edge to the music's explosive backdrop that recalls echoes of Nick Drake and the Buckleys. The audience takes the set like a punch in the stomach and the applause is slow to take hold as everyone carefully picks their jaws up off the floor, but there is no doubt that Guerilla Television left an impression on everyone who saw them.

The Modern Margarets are in no way suited to follow a spectacle like this. Nervous, high-school all-girl 60s/70s retro garage punk delivered with amateurish charm and plenty of screaming is always an entertaining way to spend an evening, and their choice of material (Ramones, Nuggets-type stuff) is faultless, particularly their creditable stab at The Choir's melodic "It's Cold Outside". The problem is that tonight they are simply far too tense, unable to put the necessary confidence into their delivery, and the applause that greets them is more out of sympathy than anything else.

Hammering the point about confidence home are Kegawa No Mari's. Eyeliner, tight jeans, no shoes, intra-band homoeroticism, David Bowie-influence worn on the sleeve somewhat, winner. The audience is up for it and there's some exhilarating call-and-response screaming going on between the stage and the floor. It's rock and roll, it's glam, it's sex, it's downright filthy dirty, but it's also as pure and innocent a thrill as you could ask for in this day and age. Kegawa No Mari's, we give our thanks unto thee. - Ian Martin, Oct.20.04.