The Islington Academy is a bizarre venue because it is located in a shopping mall - an exceedingly sterile exterior giving no hint of the rock and roll mayhem that takes place upstairs most nights of the week. Tonight was one of those nights. The Bronx, having kicked of their European tour at the smaller Barfly venue in North London three weeks earlier, had now come full circle to close their tour with a grinding halt.

First up was young American band Ladyfinger – sorry make that Ladyfinger (Ne). The (Ne) stands for Nebraska and was a necessary addition due to another band having the same name. Silly, yes, but there’s nothing particularly silly about their music. Dirty but strangely sexy is the best way I can sum them up, a little bit Kyuss, a little bit early Soundgarden, but definitely all good. Check out their recently released debut Heavy Hands – I certainly plan to.

It was getting late by the time these guys had finished so, given the early ending time of London gigs, I was under the impression it would be Bronx time. Instead a small drum kit was set up at the front of the stage and two grungy looking dudes who I though were roadies stumbled out – one took the stool while the other set up behind the mic wielding a guitar. And then they proceeded to aurally slap us around for the next 50 minutes or so. Ben 1 – both band members are Bens – is like Kurt Cobain at his angriest, sizing up the mic, hair in face, yelping as he assaults his guitar.

The songs are ALL hard, fast, heavy – no such thing as tempo changes for these guys – but they are good. They are the real deal – you just know that this is exactly how they play in their garage. So who are they? Winnebago Deal, apparently. They supported Nick Oliveri’s Mondo Generator for a year on tour and Oliveri cameos on their Flight of the Raven album recorded in Seattle this year. And what’s even more amazing than the fact that I’d never heard of them before is that they’re from Oxford! Hardly anyone makes this kind of bare bones, straight up rawk no more, and they certainly don’t make it in Oxford. No wonder they’re so angry.

So now it’s Bronx time and the venue – cramped at the best of times – is pretty damned squishy with (predominantly male) black clad punters. On come the misleading dubbed Bronx, who are actually form California, and who are in the mood to party. And by party, I mean blast us senseless with quickfire guitar riffs, tight as hell drumming and Matt Caughthran’s raspy bark. Indeed Matt bears an uncanny resemblance to a Pit Bull crossed with a Pug – I mean that in the nicest possible way – incessantly bouncing like a riled up boxer and shaking his head from side to side, spraying slobber about.

The first half of the show is pretty much a solid slab of sound, the band are on a roll and having a blast and guitarist Joby J Ford - sporting one hell of a 70s porn star moustache – can’t stop grinning. This is punk rock at its most positive – it might be heavy enough to scare the hell out of your parents but there’s nothing but good vibes bouncing around in here. Matt leaps in to the crowd and stays there for the entire during the entirety of History’s Strangler, moving around the crowd, grabbing kids by the head and screaming along with them. Then he’s back on stage, unscathed and grinning idiotically. “We’re all family here, we all love music, we all love London. This goes out to all the pussy in the room,” he says before launching into White Tar. Awesome.

They do a couple more bouncy, less shouty tunes and it’s a bit strange, but everyone’s singing along so why not? They play Shitty Future then they’re off, and everyone just kind of stands around. Surely enough they’re back on again and play one more chunk of noise and it’s officially over when Matt launches himself into the drumkit and the rest of the band take their leave. Moments later he rises, with a sheepish smile replaces his bowler hat, waves, and that is that.