As audience interaction goes, it wasn't hard to feel the rock love at this gig.

Polysics singer Hiroyuki Hayashi's expletive-centred declaration of lust for Brighton met noisily emphatic reciprocation, and the riot which might have ensued had the Japanese punks not returned for an encore didn't bear thinking about.

The moshpit the orange boiler-suited gang induced was teeming with good-natured violence, surging back and forth in a sodden mass of flailing limbs, braver members occasionally dicing with death by clambering atop the mob.

Comparisons with new wave oddballs Devo are obvious and easy but, as fraudulent as it feels, casting much analysis on Polysics' music would be selling the experience short.

Their hyperactive guitars and space-age electronica are technically proficient, but it's their limitless capacity to pogo which inspires.

They're the musical equivalent of having Smarties intravenously pumped into the central nervous system, the sort of band only previously imagined in Wayne's World, with that glorious ability to make life temporarily seem a care-shorn joke of stupid colour and vivacity.

'Polysics Or Die', scream their technicolour T-shirts. Resistance would be a glum and futile exercise.