Stepping into the Water Rats last night felt like stepping back in time to one of the awful rock club nights I used to frequent aged sixteen. This didn’t bode well. I felt rather out of place waiting for Fighting With Wire to go on, being as I was the only person there not shod in a studded belt and a popular make of skater shoes. Things got more ominous when the sound system started blaring old favourites by The Clash, At the Drive-In and Incubus. Incubus, I kid you not.

As Fighting With Wire started it sounded like they would blow the cobwebs out of the crowd’s badly dyed red and black hair. Unfortunately, after a forceful start, the music slowed to a banal, sing-along chorus reminiscent of Biffy Clyro or Foo Fighters’ duller moments. This was a pattern that could be heard in almost every song of their tired sounding set.

The singer seemed to be emulating the look of Dave Grohl too, with his checked shirt and dark wavy hair falling in his eyes. Regrettably, what this young whippersnapper failed to realise is that thrashing around stage with your guitar uncontrollably and singing really quite loudly does not a rock god make. You’re never going to be ‘rock’ with song titles like ‘Last Love Song’ and a chorus that has the energy of a limp lettuce leaf.

Thank the lord that Future of the Left pulled us out of the 2002-sounding time warp we were in. By contrast, when they started with the fantastic ‘Wrigley Scott’ nothing sounded more fresh and straining with energy. Until something went wrong with the bass amp and they had to stop playing. The singer, Andrew Falkous (formerly of Mclusky), kept things ticking along with some amusing banter; usually this sort of thing really grates on me but the wit evident in Falkous’ lyrics thankfully shined through, until the gig was in danger of morphing into a stand-up routine.

Every song that followed was perfectly succinct; sounding like a more aggressive, stripped down Les Savy Fav. Nothing in the music was superfluous; everything had been considered but still sounded artlessly spontaneous. The use of both the lyrics and the driving, infectious sound was almost annoyingly clever - yet Falkous and the gang could never be labelled the kind of musicians that act like intellectual poseurs, the music is too raw and fun-filled.

The deceptively simple sounding melodies had me breaking out the classic uncle-at-a-wedding heeltap and head nod, while everyone else in the venue was jerking around with not quite the same amount of grace. The fact that the set was being recorded added to the already dynamic atmosphere, the sound had to pulse its way through the sweat-filled air.

I, like everyone else, was rapt for the whole set. The mantra from the brilliant ‘Manchasm’ encapsulates Future of The Left’s ethos: ‘Audience please! Every minute matters!’ And it did.