Despite the incredibly dark stage lighting, it seems like Cloth are finally peeking eager heads into the light with their third album, Pink Silence. Although Paul Swinton quips that he enjoys the anonymity it affords, there’s a sense through new singles ‘Polaroid’ and ‘Golden’ that the Glasgow twins are aiming for a more upbeat, almost jaunty sound. This musical progression feels natural and doesn’t detract from the moody textures they’ve made their name on. Rachael’s voice is more commanding and confident throughout, bolstering the wispy intricacy of older songs, giving them a more solid footing while retaining their touching nature.

Kathryn Joseph wastes no time in undercutting the serious, often sombre vibes that each of tonight’s bands dabble in; she’s had a good time on tour, didn’t fuck anyone, didn’t even suck any cocks. Not that anyone was asking, she pauses the intro of ‘Mouths Full of Blood’ to clarify. Fans of Joseph know the blunt hilarity of her stage banter well, as jarring as it is with her elegant, evocative, yet sparse songs. She closes with the title track of her latest album, For You Who Are the Wronged, using her unique and powerful voice almost as an instrument, reminiscent of Phew or Bjӧrk in the way she uses intonation and breath control to bring her poignant words to life.

Mogwai are no strangers to the Usher Hall stage, they’ve played here half a dozen times in the past two decades, and they enter with typical nonchalance, with full knowledge of the almighty racket they’re about to make. A couple of songs from their latest album, The Bad Fire, starts things on a relatively sedate keel, especially the restrained slow build of ‘God Gets You Back.’ But revamped deep cut ‘Ithica 27Ø9’, one of their earliest songs, shows that they don’t needs ten minutes of build up to go from gentle melodies to squalls of noise. It’s the Mogwai version of punk.

Luke Sutherland, of Rev Magnetic and formerly Bows, and frequent Mogwai collaborator, pops up for a few songs to add his sweeping, stately violin. First in restrained fashion on ‘Take Me Somewhere Nice’ but later as part of a madcap dash on the brilliant ‘Christmas Steps.’ The former is the first time we hear Stuart Braithwaite’s vocals, providing inscrutable snippets of paranoia. But his real pop star turn comes with ‘Ritchie Sacramento’, a wistful tribute to David Berman that sounds like a reluctant smile through tears.

‘Mogwai Fear Satan’ is as fierce as ever, building a wall of sound that swirls menacingly around the ornate surroundings. It’s oddly fitting in a room of such grandeur; the famous explosion of distorted guitar doesn’t take many by surprise anymore in a room of regulars, but it certainly shakes the cobwebs from the high, domed ceiling and the reverberations can be felt particularly strongly in a room designed to amplify organs and oratory, now struggling to contain such distorted intensity.

After a short but no less abrasive rendition of Bad Fire standout, ‘Lion Rumpus’ closes the main set, the encore consists of the epic ‘My Father My King’, another of Mogwai’s famous extended exercises in control and release. Luke Sutherland returns to add to the furore as the carefully constructed melodies descend into brash distortion, fading to nothing and then returning triumphantly once more before the final washes of static abruptly cut to black.

Now approaching 30 years together, the band continue to tinker at the edges of their sound, but it’s the foundation of relentless power that affirms their legendary status.