Gallows: Roadhouse, Manchester; Friday March 2

Gallows amble onstage. They pick up their instruments. They eye up the anxious crowd and look to each other. Then, out of nowhere, about three seconds into opener ‘Just Because You Sleep Next To Me Doesn’t Mean You’re Safe’, someone flicks the mental switch.

“Wrrraaaaghhh”, screams frontman Frank Carter as he bounces from monitors to mic stands to drumkit to speakers to the ceiling in a violent one-man mosh frenzy. The mob respond with a passion that arises from overcoming their fear and reaching don’t-give-a-fuck delirium. Welcome to the opening night of the punk-rock prodigies’ rampage across the UK; a mission to scorch their mark in the history books.

Launching into anti-date-rape roar ‘Will Someone Shoot That Fucking Snake’, Carter invites the crowd to either sing along or punch him in the face. We all choose to sing. ‘Six Years’ and ‘Rolling With The Punches’ shred nerves to pieces but the head-breaking climax is ‘Orchestra Of Wolves’. It’s guttural blast that, along with the cut, bruised and sweat-drenched shells of bodies slumped around the Roadhouse, announces the return of true punk.

Andy Hughe