The geordie four-piece, Fast Blood, are the main support tonight and they bring an appropriate amount of punk rock energy to try and jolt the somewhat staid audience to life. The juddering bass and steady pounding of the drums complement Abigail Barlow’s shouty exclamations (and occasional impressive screams). She jumps down into the crowd a couple of times to mostly bemused stares, but the band genuinely seem like they’re having a blast and have an infectious enthusiasm that can’t help but bring a smile. The secret weapon is guitarist David Hillier, but his intricate shredding is obscured by the loud, distorted whole – get him louder in the mix!

Fucked Up come out to little fanfare, but their brand of intense hardcore punk needs no introduction as Damian Abraham and co. get to work melting faces and smashing heads. ‘Stimming’ and ‘Baiting the Public’ warm the crowd up to their sound, but ‘Queen of Hearts’ is the first to really get to the melodic core of what makes them such an impressive band. It’s sadly the only song of the night from David Comes to Life, but the set list manages to show off the band’s range from early flirtations with psychedelia (‘Color Removal’, ‘David Comes to Life’), complex golden-era cuts (‘Son The Father’, ‘Year of the Ox’) and recent double-downs into blistering hardcore (‘Being’, ‘Disabuse’).

Abraham is on typically gregarious form, mashing plastic cups into his head, dousing himself in water and engaging in a lengthy battle to turn the mic stand into a weapon. His manic energy and barking vocals make him difficult to look away from, but the rest of the band are a well-oiled machine, consistently providing a barnstorming canvas for these hardcore vignettes. Sandy Miranda is an excellent, melodic yin to Abraham’s screaming yang and during the occasional interludes where Abraham takes a break there’s a glimpse into what could be a great metal band when they drop the pace a little.

The epic title track to 2018’s Dose Your Dreams closes the evening with maximalist bombast. Abraham gives a final showstopping attempt to obliterate his voice while the guitars ring out and drums reverberate into a droning crescendo for the instrumental finale.

With no space or time to parse the weighty lyrical themes that can barely be discerned, that aspect of Fucked Up is mostly lost in their live show, barring a lovely, impassioned short speech from Abraham in support of trans rights. And some of the more complicated musical choices can’t be easily replicated live which informs the choice of songs. But what’s lost in the message comes through loud and clear in the delivery: Fucked Up can still rage with the best of them after more than 20 years in the game.