A girl, who is probably Cosey Fanni Tutti in leather, sits engrossed in evoking discord from a guitar, while a guy with a synthesiser howls incomprehensible “Sperm Song” lyrics through voice distortion, then another about child-strangler “Mary Bell”.

Now, theirs is a two-piece fifteen-minutes of musique concrète white noise.

Earlier, Genesis P Orridge, in military fatigues, supervised setting up Monte Cazazza’s equipment, synching the tapes, triggering soundcheck reverb careening over packed heads and poking holes in the smoke. When the nukes start to fall, and the evening (of civilisation) is high, we will celebrate this way…! Clock DVA is doing “Brigade”, a nuclear love song which is their contribution to a seven-inch 33-&-a-third rpm compilation EP of Sheffield bands called ‘1980: The First Fifteen Minutes’. Now seen in silhouette, now in stark white leprous light. And a vocalist with a Tommy Steele quiff and bagged uniform pants rasps what remains of a tormented bow across a violin.

A guitarist in white pointed-toe boots (which I envy), plays with two broken strings. A mangrove-bearded saxist shreds bits of John Coltrane into spacio-temporal dislocations. From where I’m sitting at the ‘F-Club’ in Leeds, backed up against the amp stack, I get fragmented repetitive impressions of green luminous digitals set into the high-technology backdrop.

Vice versa band