The first time I ever saw The Vasco Era live, I remember bassist Ted O’Neil was strumming so hard that he began to splatter his white tee-shirt with blood spitting from his bare fingers.

The second time I saw them play, I was pulled into a thrash-mosh with 40 men with hair longer than mine – my friend walked away sans a sneaker but plus a blood nose, and I popped three buttons on my dress and ripped my favourite pair of leather boots so badly that my foot was hanging out the edge.

I’ve seen them a few more times since, and I guess you could say that I have gained high performance expectations for them. Which tonight, they fulfilled; and they fulfilled them without filling my mouth with blood.

Everything started off fine and dandy with a fine and dandy rendition of The Beatles’ Why Don’t We Do It In The Road. Anyone who hasn’t seen The Vasco Era before, would have been quite surprised (ie – scared shitless) when Ted’s drums and Sid O’Neil’s magnificent screeching vocals replace the quiet de coda at the song’s conclusion. This is one of my favourite parts about this band: they take something that you think that you know, do it well, and then completely re-invent it anyway.

But then fine and dandy it wasn’t. The song seemed more truncated than usual, and suddenly Sid was left alone on stage, taking requests for audience singalongs. I’m still not sure quite what the hell happened (and I’m not sure if they do either), but it took 15 minutes, a whole lot of masterful improvisation, three covers (Bob Dylan’s Girl From The North Country, The White Stripes’ Take a Whiff and Elvis’ Can’t Help Falling In Love) and a whole canister of salt to keep the audience happy and attentive. And somehow, they respectfully did. Who would have thunk it at 1am on Labour Day Eve?

The band magically reappeared after a lot of Sid sweating and looking frantically towards the stage door. Will power won in this case. Not that I don’t love the threesome, but I was quite enjoying the vocal/drum duo. They were like The Ting Tings, except better – less peroxide, more skill.

The gig continued as per normal, with songs taken equally from their 2007 debut album, Oh We Do Like To Be By The Seaside, and their earlier EPs. I couldn’t help but notice that the set sounded pretty similar to the last two or three times I’d seen them. The energy started lagging a little in the middle, and I felt like the audience were just hanging out for Kingswood and Honeybee. ‘Fans’ who couldn’t tell Michael Fitzgerald’s kick pedal’s down-beat if it kicked them in the arse were impatiently jumping the gun, leaping onstage like steeplechasers, and embarrassing themselves just as much as if they smacked their heads on the hurdle. If you’re going to make an arse of yourself by climbing on stage, at least know the rhythm of the song that you’re gonna be dancing too. Honestly.

And then it came: the simultaneous drum and bass line that pounds through your head like the Labour Day hangovers that everyone was to wake up with in only seven hours time. Honeybee. Between Ted’s neck tearing thrashing, Michael’s thigh quivering smashing, and Sid’s vocal chord ripping performance, there is no way that you can not succumb to that song.

The night turned a full circle – halfway through, riding a pool of sweat, nearly a dozen people crashed onto stage. The space was awash with chaos, as crazed fans began picking up random instruments and strapping themselves in for the ride (leaving Rich Bradbeer and Sean Ainsworth from the supporting blues/rock band The Fearless Vampire Killers running around the stage trying to avoid their own instruments’ destruction).

It was over as abruptly as it had begun, and the audience (both onstage and in the pit) were left scratching their heads and muttering ‘What the hell was that?? I think I liked it!!’

So what have I learnt from my Vasco outings? Stand back to avoid blood noses and blood splattering, don’t wear nice shoes (especially to The Espy), and if everything’s going right, enjoy it, because it won’t last for much longer.