Iceage @ Islington Mill, Salford

Iceage don't soundcheck. It's not their style. So when they come out with guttural beastly sounds, feedback galore and tons of ferocious riffing it lends the impression that they are a feral machine, well-oiled from five weeks on tour in the States.

Theirs is a world formed in stinking bars in Copenhagen, a world of red-light district warehouses and improvised venues. Such an extended time under these formative circumstances has left a significant imprint on the band. Since the gloss of recent record 'New Brigade', which dropped in January, the group have exploded onto the international scene.

The record created such an illusion of the group that many began to believe that they had departed from the awkward punk music they had toiled with for so long. So commanding on stage are they, that in an instant they are able to convey their whole ideology and in tonight’s opening moments any misgivings are shattered, transporting the audience back to their hometown.

However Iceage are broken. The singer and guitarist is homeless due to the overflowing of sewage in Copenhagen, leaving his basement flat flooded. In this disgraced, rejected likeness they excel.

When the riffing peaks to a postpunk groove the band never lend the impression that they are in control. The gig descends into debauchery as the tracks become more fragmented. Two chord punk progressions are elected and the group maintain this tone. Had the glossier moments not been so wretched these moments would not seem so pathetic.