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So yeah, noise. Where could anyone possibly go with such an idea that My Bloody Valentine/Jesus & Mary Chain/Spacemen 3/Sonic Youth/Curve etc… haven’t been before? It’s a pretty saturated market. So, bearing that in mind, is what A Place To Bury Strangers do (loud, piercing, pedal-heavy rock) just a shortcut to inspiring awe? A cunningly constructed façade of abrasion and originality that still classifies as innovative when seen in the context of those aforementioned sonic boundary pushers? Well, that’s not quite fair. They’re smarter than that.

They play the game, yes. The influences are clear. Still, it’s a game played with refreshing conviction. And skill. They know the Spinal Tap philosophy of “my guitar goes up to 11” isn’t going to shock anyone in this day and age. But guitarist Oliver Ackermann, with his day job manufacturing pedals with names like ‘Supersonic Fuzz Gun’ and ‘Interstellar Overdriver’, is someone well acquainted with getting the most out of loud.

In hazy swirls of smoke and strobe lighting they appear. And that’s how it remains for the set, giving the oddly surreal sense of having stumbled into someone else’s dream. They spring from song to song like they’re playing pass the parcel with time bombs, the sinister, low-slung stalk of ‘Into Your Heart’ and the yearning, squalling daggers of ‘Deadbeat’ spiraling deliriously out over the crowd. But, while loud and distorted this may be, it’s never messy. Every sound is very deliberately executed – Mary Chain nihilism combined with Kevin Shields-worthy levels of competence and control. Ackermann flails around with a kind of thrillingly sadistic precision, roughing up his equipment (none of this holier-than-thou, shoegazy, vacant, wallflower demeanor for them!) calling to mind the ritualistic control with which Hendrix set his guitar on fire all those years ago.

Sure, ‘It Is Nothing’ is a bit too My Bloody Valentine’s ‘You Made Me Realize’. The biggest problem the band face is the weight of their influences. A lot of tracks do rather snow ball into one. However, ‘Keep Slipping Away’ ripples delicately, like The Cure trapped in a wind tunnel, and ‘Don’t Think Lover’ has a genuinely damaged heart of gold, proving they are capable of more than just hollow noise.

And then, in another swirling belch of fog, courtesy of the rather over-zealous smoke machine operator, they’re gone. The lights come up, and everyone tries to touch back down to a normal sensory reality. Escapist, abrasive stuff to be sure. But does the mighty canon of loud fuzzy sound really have any space left for another band of ear-bleeders? Truthfully, no. Music isn’t exactly lacking in the sonic death department. But who else is up for evicting Ride and Slowdive to make room for these guys instead?

Why, in the 21^st century, with all its drive for progress, is a band like The Brute Chorus allowed to exist? It’s all spiky post-punk rip offs, but without any of the guts that made that sound such a vital creative force. It’s all wannabe stadium whoring, but without the skyscraper tunes, which, when it comes down to it, is all that’s about anyway. They constantly strive for emotional connectivity, but don’t project the required warmth. It’s like listening to air. Stale air.

Essentially, The Brute Chorus have two factory settings. One is the infuriating, faux-quirky little ditty, a la ‘Send Me A Message’, which after repeated listening has you pining for Scouting For Girls (a very sorry state of mind indeed). The other is the plodding we-wish-we-were-legitimately-damaged-but-we-don’t-have-the-soul-for-that trudge best (worst?) showcased on ‘Love’s Chains’.

Occasionally, they tap into somewhere in-between the two, which is far more bearable. In fact, in a different context, one might get quite used to ‘All The Pilgrims’. Sounding like a metallic reshaping of ‘Surfin’ USA’, it is the single moment where the band convey any genuine spark of creativity. We’ll also allow them one star for a song title as brilliant as ‘I’m Gonna Shake Your Treehouse Down’ – even if it is less the glam-pastoral dance floor stomper it should be, and more of the same tedious drivel that permeates the rest of the record.

The band don’t exactly help themselves either. While they probably thought recording the album live would lend a raw and edgy flavour, it instead renders it even more flat and calculated. Did he just say “fuck” on record? Oh my. How hardcore and anti-establishment are they? As if. It sounded attention seeking when MC5 pulled that trick in 1969. Find a new way to try and convince the record buying public you have personalities.

So. We’ve established that this is an appallingly bland and vacuous album. But is getting overly worked up about it worth anyone’s while? No. That would be pandering to any delusions the band may have regarding their own self-importance. In fact, if you’re still here because a) you have nothing better to do than read up on a band no one quite rightly cares about, or b) you are one of the pitiful few that do think something of The Brute Chorus; then, in all honesty, you need to have a long, hard, metaphysical think about the empty shell your life has clearly become. An album review and some free psychoanalysis? I should be paid.

I’m going to pull an old storytelling, suspense building, technique thing, and start at the end. Which for me is, a few stumbled changes later, on the right branch of the southbound Northern line. There are three young guys sat opposite me. They’re grinning with an uncharacteristically brazen lack of inhibition, and declaring undying love for the band we’re just heading back from seeing. This is (and one of them even has the t-shirt to prove it) Los Campesinos! “Wasn’t that, like, the best gig in ages?” “More like in forever!” “That was cool, eh?” “so cool!” etc… It doesn’t last too long. As the tube rattles on, the hyperboles steadily die down, the grammatical inaccuracies lessen, and they mutter things more along the lines of “where did I put my oyster card?” But nevertheless, an air of deep felt contentment remains. As do the smiles. Clearly, it’s been special.

“I guess I could be drunk right now. But that wouldn’t bode very well…” Rewind to around 3:30 that afternoon, and front man Gareth Campesinos! is sat opposite me in the main room of The Garage in north London, the usual pre-gig preparations clanging away in the background. The band are currently part way through a slew of UK dates, a touring routine Gareth describes rather unglamorously as “a life of Marks & Spencers service stations and arguing which music gets played in the van” (should you be interested, its apparently co-songwriter Tom who wins). He’s affable, keen to talk about the new album Romance Is Boring (out in February), yet calmly contemplative; not guarded, but arranging his thoughts with care. I suppose that’s growing up for you. “I used to really enjoy slagging off bands and now, with hindsight, I realize how silly and futile an idea that is. So long as everything is done with sincerity and so long as they truly believe in what they’re doing, then that’s all that can be expected of anyone making music.”

“Sincerity” is a word that cuts to the heart of Los Campesinos!, often used in relation to their confessional lyrics. “I like to write very honestly and autobiographically… It’s the only way I feel capable of writing.” That evening its obvious the predominantly young crowd identifies. Every word is yapped right back – a phenomenon not confined to merely the old favourites. “A week ago we played in Coventry and did ‘A Sea Is A Good Place To Think About The Future’ and ‘There Are Listed Buildings’ live for the first time, and the first few rows were singing all the words. Like, I can barely remember the words to those songs” he says, somewhere between flattered and a little taken aback by the adoration.

Still, he acknowledges that this whole honesty business can be a bit of a slippery slope. “Personally, I’m very nervous about submitting lyrics. I know I might change a lot and regret what I’ve written because it is so truthful…” there is a considered pause “like I do with our first record. I look back on it now and think ah, bit embarrassed by that… but its who I was at the time and you can’t really argue with that.”

Increasingly though, the band’s music is starting to reflect this open vulnerability. Change is evidently in the air for the group. Original keyboardist and co-singer Aleks has been replaced with Gareth’s sister Kim, “She’s really settled in… I think she already feels in her stride”. But this change clearly extends to more than a line up tweak. “We want to challenge people who like our band. I think it would be awful if we ever got into the situation where we were just resting on our laurels… everything on the new record is a lot more patient, and the arrangements make a lot more sense.” Sounds a far cry from giddy, first album crowd pleasers such as ‘You! Me! Dancing!’. True, it’s still these early songs that provoke the most energetic crowd response, but Los Campesinos! are no longer all about the sugar rush. Those bitter pills that dominated the second album’s lyrical themes are now served up with an appropriately darker, richer (dare we say more mature?) musical context on new tracks. ‘A Sea Is A Good Place To Think About The Future’ washes over somewhere between a slow motion nautical shanty, and the score to a heart-sore film. ‘Who Fell Asleep In’ is more piercing again, instrumentation stabbing with grizzled melancholic weight. ‘There Are Listed Buildings’ meanwhile, fizzes and darts with customary puppy dog like fervor, but sounds like it might bite back at any moment. Twee? Nah. They’re diving deeper than a term that flimsy implies.

There has always been something slightly militant about the band’s rigidly fan-centric philosophy. Second album ‘We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed’ arrived lovingly packaged with badges and a zine, and their website bears the statement “interaction and community is encouraged, nay, required. Email us if you fancy” with a link allowing anyone to do just that. At one point, Gareth uses the word “consumer” to describe the record buying public, then visibly winces at such a clinical term. But how does a group with such hands-on ethos find the age of the mp3? “The thing that bothers me is I do really like the idea of a tangible object, whether it be vinyl or CD. I enjoy putting a lot of effort into getting together the art work for our records, and with the rise of digital music, which is by no means a bad thing because its great that you can obtain things so easily… but I do miss that element of being able to hold and nurse a product in your arms…” he adds with a shy smile, perhaps realizing this all may come out sounding a bit too High Fidelity for comfort. But, while a lot of bands may be throwing around such lines, concerns over diminishing record sales at the for, in Los Campesinos! case the sentiment is evidently genuine.

“It makes me incredibly awkward that people would feel we weren’t approachable. I mean, essentially, we’re just seven students who formed a band and got particularly lucky” he tells me with typically endearing self-effacement. Except of course he’s wrong. They’ve got more on their side than mere sheer, dumb, luck could ever give. Scrawny, scuzzed up youngsters drip from the venue, all doe-eyed post-gig high, and meander tube-way, jabbering praise in ever more ridiculously grandiose terms, or else just slurring the ending refrain of set closer ‘Sweet Dreams, Sweet Cheeks’ over and over. “We’re very attached to our fans. It’s something important to us. Really.” Seems to be mutual, Gareth.

Romance Is Boring is out February 1st on Wichita