A dank, dark, dingy, dirty delight: anarcho crust punks Antisect’s Out From The Void grumbles and groans as it gears up (made even more atmospheric by my turntable’s needle slipping and scratching on the first seconds of my vinyl), toms knocking and pattering, the metal of cymbals pealing and distorted electric veering back. I was actually at an Antisect gig, holding a pint, when a bloke in front of me whipped his mohecan back into my pint then again into my face. An impressive feat at one of my favourite punk nights of all time – Antisect’s crackling intensity keeps you fixed from start to finish.