Live Review: Baths, Andras Fox, Kirkus

A small-but-enthusiastic crowd of couples and tight groups of friends boogie to opener Kirkus. His funky, softly volumed combination of straight-up, '70s-style soul beats and more watery, modern dance segments give the impression of a local disco night. His set eases seamlessly into Andras Fox's, who incorporates actual vinyl. With horn-laden numbers, he ensures the heavily retro vibe continues before an increasingly packed-out room.

Instead of another smooth changeover, the curtains close abruptly following Fox's set. Spooky, toy box-style tones play on the crowd's anticipation. We're confused – not quite sure if the show's begun or not. The curtains finally draw open, but to our surprise a stranger tinkering with a computer is revealed. “The sound guy?” guesses one punter, before Baths (aka Will Wiesenfeld) triumphantly appears to raucous applause in an unusual-but-endearing choice of skimpy tracksuit shorts.

The original performer Morgan Greenwood is introduced as Baths' new addition, and he proves a fantastic one. He fiddles away with a guitar and mixing board, allowing Wiesenfeld to really give his strained, garbled vocals his all – which certainly require all the dedication he can muster. As a challenge to the 'sexy female vocal sample' trope, Wiesenfeld frequently pumps out ultra-high verses mixed with plenty of screamo-inspired vocals; a dynamic combo. Unfortunately, some serious sound difficulties inhibit the full effect of these, as they're fully muted in the first few songs.

Technical issues plague the entirety of the set, but luckily this sort of works within Baths' glitching, jarring aesthetic. Their fresh take on electronica sees the mechanistic screeching of Crystal Castles meshed with the ecstatic, bubbly pop hooks of Animal Collective, while crowd favourite Lovely Blood Flow invites a more hip hop-infused grind. Crunching percussion, ambient keys, intricate drum patterns and pulsating synth inform a frantic sensory experience that sees the venue's foundations shaken. Dramatic stops and starts seize our attention, in strong contrast to the support acts' milder performances.

With a confirmation of no encore in advance, Baths close intensely with No Eyes. This proves an elongated affair, however, thanks to more computer troubles. After some midway industrial improv, Wiesenfeld simply levels with us, saying he's skipping to the final chorus (after eliciting a communal “Fuck computers!” from the crowd). It's nonetheless a hell of a finish; Baths never losing cool (or the audience) for the set's noisy duration.