Whilst the bitter and twisted shit otherwise known as the weather piled it's way down from the dark and merciless Sheffield skies, angry young northerners kicked out of the Octagon for rowdiness were throwing obscenities at anything that looked like it might respond. All this was fully appropriate and had lightening made an appearance it would only have been in fitting anticipation for one of Britain's most charged up bands.

Ash made an appearance under a purple haze, working their Flash Gordon style guitar wear to produce a pulsing drone that slowly transmuted into a raucous string thrashing. No warm up for these lads. From the word 'go' they were hip thrusting like nobodies businesses, each plectrum blistering swipe sending convulsions through the body collective.

Punched on vinyl for the market consumer, Ash are a beautifully melodic fairytale band with guitar bits that kick for fun and leave an aftertaste of bitter twang. Live, everything becomes a bit more discordant, a bit more real and much more rocking. The guitars, and in particular the more bassy elements of the music saturated the whole venue treating the ears of everyone to a highly dangerous melodic blockade.

The youthful audience were impatient, like a nervous stallion wanting to bolt the stable. And Angel Interceptor was the clarion call for the flood barriers to be opened. Hundreds of moshers started doing their thang, tossing each other in the air like a raging storm. Young eager skinny ribs surveyed the horizon - each one coming up with the same conclusion. Surf's up!

But this wasn't just about hoodlums and Korn fans. Ash like Tony Blair appeal to the most unlikely of musical bed fellows. Witness for example the dreamy, Oh Yeah, providing transient relaxation for all those who felt like adding willow tree impressions to the acrobatics of earlier on. And oh dear, someone's got a lighter out.

Ash also played quite a few tracks from their new album which weren't received as well as some of their older hits. Isn't that always the way? But it's so true that you can't beat the old favourites. And never did this adage receive so much support as when they played their first ever hit single (thanks to Mark Radcliffe) Jack Names the Planet - the equivalent of Supergrass' Caught By The Fuzz. Goldfinger then had the crowd swinging back into action, as pint glasses flew across the crowd and legs did 180 degree turns in the air. From the ensuing malaise stumbled the exhausted, dizzy, pissed and injured. It was like witnessing the aftermath of some terrible explosion.

Lead singer Tim thingy stopped and said, 'This one's for the chicks. People call em sluts but they're friends to me…' Hmm. The crowd failed to respond. What was all that about? Tim bowed his head and smiled with what seemed like embarassment The hits continued and being a thoroughly vein band they asked for two encores and got both of them. Well what can you do when it's the opposition that hold all the aces. Arguably they'd left their signature tune till last - the quintessential action packed Kung Fu. An adrenaline charger and all well and good, but would it be enough to help me fight my way though the meatheads selling the bootlegged stuff outside the gig?