All hail The Noisettes. As we get over our collective obsession with all things male, jerky and pop! The Croydon-hailing trio offer nasty nuggets of encouragement to further our recovery. As far away from puddles of saccharine predictions of riots you can probably get without throwing genre completely out of the window, The Noisettes are a total revelation tonight.

Frontwoman, multi-instrumentalist and superstar in waiting Shingai flies around the stage like a gin-and-tonic fuelled diva. Unfairly on her bandmates, it’s utterly impossible to take your eyes off her as she wraps herself around her bass and guitar, tumbles monitors and plummets to the stage floor. Barefoot and dressed in the sort of off-the-cuff boho attire that Karen O’s stylist would kill for, she flits between rock banshee and Dan, with his lank hair and battered leather jacket looking like a cross between Nick Cave and a malnourished Ork, slings out crunching riffs and delicate chords, shattering Shingai’s moments of Sarah Jones-esque (renowned DJ Vadim collaborator) tantalising London beat poetry with shards of white noise just when you worry it’s getting a little too cool jazz.

The structure, timing and effect of the songs are as devastating as the singer’s faultless voice, and the band give an utterly compelling visual and aural show. It’s easy to see why The Noisettes have been afforded the patronage of the likes of Bloc Party - they share the same sonic adventurousness, urgency and awareness of modern life; but that’s where all comparisions end. The Noisettes are very much forging their own trail.