I’m still a bit of a new boy to these, in terms of numbers at least. My third outing; some have witnessed them over 70 times, one 7 times in 9 days all along the West Coast of America. Idles inspire these levels of devotion - deservedly. 

So, I’m down the front, surrounded by fellow AF gangers: that collective of over 35,000 fans who have drawn each other into a beautiful, mutually supportive community via Facebook, a paradigm of how the internet can actually become a force for good in the world. The dedication and focus upon worthwhile, even life-changing experiences is evident in every direction.

Lambrini Girls punked out, Battles whacked drums very, very hard, in syncopation, set off by delirious keyboard sampling. Both are entertaining. And, I’m here, at the front, closer than I’ve ever been to those shiny barriers, all that separates us from the magical noise about to be created and thrust upon us.

It starts with ‘Idea 01’, a crackling rumble of intent [‘these are the things we lost in the fire’], segueing into the bass throb of ‘Colossus’, by now a starter anthem for 10 or more. This builds and builds, stretching tension until close to snapping strength. The ending explodes, like the cover art to ‘Tangk’. Left breathless and heaving, the audience surges, seeking relief. 

From hereon in, HIT AFTER HIT AFTER HIT flows from the stage. Joe Talbot, so fiercely committed you imagine his skin might spontaneously shed, stomps, spits and serenades the assembled. No point in resisting - palm of the hand and all that. Accept command. ‘Divide and Conquer’. ‘Mother’ crops up early on, incendiary and salutary, as ever. It’s almost too much to take. 

Joe talks politics, about his alcoholic mother, his wife, Palestinian people : he is humanity in excelsis, so humble, yet snarling like a caged wolf. He desires to communicate clear messages. The band rips through a back catalogue dripping with intent, hardcore JOY and merciless, punkish attitude. ‘War’ and ‘Mr Motivator’ whizz by, bristling with new found energy. New material from Tangk already comes dressed up for the ball, all shiny, sparkling and confident. The rhythm section keeps everything tight, John and Dev the picture and pose of absolute focus, whilst Bowen and Lee career around the stage, one step from self-destruction in the process of issuing a kick in the balls to mediocrity. 

Maelstrom-like, Idles speak truth to power. Waves of controlled noise build, constructed from muscle groups, heavier than heaven. There is no encore, no ‘Samaritans’, no ‘Benzocaine’ or Exeter. Does it matter? No, not at all. This set is front loaded with side vents, spewing pure fire. 

The crowd go moshi moshi, ragin’ full on, utterly smitten, their sweaty souls smelling vitality and victory, arms aloft, awash with certainty. Two hours, no breaks. These are such things as dreams are made of, yet here are songs that drip and foment with the realness of lived experience. Trust, loyalty and pure pure love are here in abundance. Like I said, I was down the front : those metal crash barriers are still reverberating, with JOY.

Goes and it goes and it goes… 3rd time lucky. Now, here’s to the 4th!

Hugh Ogilvie.