Local four-piece Toy Balloon soundcheck to a handful of indifferent attendees, which multiplies into several dozen curious ears by set’s end. The band create an engaging atmosphere with ease while playing their second show as a complete unit – the first was at their rehearsal the night before. Without mincing words, they’re impressive. Their dense instrumental soundscapes hint at Royksopp, Ratatat and New Order, yet for a young band, they’re surprisingly accomplished. The four members are each intent on their individual instruments, so their stage presence is minimal. This is fine. Toy Balloon capture my interest in a shorter space than many artists, and landing this highly appropriate support slot will ensure that their intriguing blend of electronica and post-rock receives the attention it deserves.

On the other hand, there’s Taste Of Teeth, who’re immediately charming – guitarist Yusuke Akai introduces the five-piece band individually and thanks the crowd for watching them, which adds a nice human touch. I want to like them. But it’s hard to like a band whose music is completely unengaging with their audience. Their twin guitar noodling, bass overdubs, constantly cascading percussion and occasional saxophone solos leads the band into similar territory as free jazz legends The Necks: yet, unlike that band, Taste Of Teeth’s meandering compositions show little cohesion or evidence of a wider musical vision. You know how in maths class, you’d still receive some marks if you showed your working, even if the answer was wrong? I’d really appreciate if Taste Of Teeth showed their working. Maybe I’m missing the psychedelic, improvisational niche for which they’re aiming, but their sound is impenetrable and impersonal. A huge cheer greets their exit, though, so what do I know?

Headliners Holy Fuck share a similar musical space as the likes of Battles and Pivot, in that their combination of electronic and live instrumentation results in an organic, exciting sound. But where those two acts occasionally turn inward during slower, quieter moments, Holy Fuck retain their energy and bombastic force across eighty minutes. They incorporate live sampling and looping, effected vocals – Brian Borcherdt greets us several songs in with a cursory, heavily distorted “We are Holy Fuck from Toronto, Canada. Lovely to see you all tonight!” – and live keys, drums and bass. Borcherdt and fellow knob-twiddler Graham Walsh man facing electronic desks; they’re rarely stationary as they stab at laptops, plug and unplug audio cables, and feed tape through a seemingly ancient analogue playback device. Their constant movement immediately evokes a similar response among the audience; this frenzied activity continues throughout their set, which peaks during the joyous keyboard motif of Lovely Allen.

As dozens of bodies jump in unison, the band trade grins. It’s an excellent moment, and one that secures tonight’s show as a late entrant among this reviewer’s top shows of the year. The quarter-full Zoo easily coaxes the Canadians back for another couple of skilfully-manipulated, percussion-heavy numbers. This is the kind of wholly impressive show that transforms pedestrian fans into vocal proponents of a band’s art. As their unique soundscapes disappear into the ether and the elated crowd high-five the band members, an overwhelming sense of optimism and relief passes across the room. Holy fuck, what did we just witness?