Hot freakin’ damn! The diminutive proponent of incendiary garage punk rock, erstwhile Pussy Galore musician, dapper Dan about town, and Blues Explosion frontman, Jon Spencer tonight brings material from his new solo album Spencer Sings The Hits! to the deepest, darkest corners of Glasgow.

Kitty cats congregate here, and are served an abundance of cream. Spencer’s new band The Hitmakers, featuring bass player Sam Coomes and drummer M Sord bring effortless swagger to proceedings, while the deadpan singer punctuates his staccato punk rock and swampy blues with a well placed “Ahhh… shit!” There is many a playful and flirtatious aside, like, “We’ve been touring with The Melvins, and you guys are a much better looking audience”. The crowd collectively blushes to its bloomers. You flatter, good sir.

This is a full force rock and roll show as it should be: sometimes politically-minded (Spencer alludes to the Pittsburgh shootings, reminding everyone to stick together before playing Tough Times), a bit chaotic, yet often surreal, sexy and teasing, with a flip of the bird to TV evangelism and gushing sports commentary in its delivery. It’s as caustic as it’s titillating: retro; yet completely of the moment.

Ghost feels as though the band ate each individual member of Black Sabbath and spat them out like a furball, Do The Trash Can has a hula hoop swivel and grind. Classic Pussy Galore track New Breed ripples like a python, and I start to feel punch drunk on the filthy riffs and Sord’s pulverising drumming.

There’s even a nod to Childish Gambino, as Spencer, bathed in red light, asks for more lighting so he can see his guitar, but adds with a Glover flounce, “I’m so pretty”. Indeed so, but never ever vacant. This is their America, the anti-Trump, and it’s as confrontational and raw as these sad, screwed up times deserve. The happy, sweaty audience agree. Dang!