Waiting for a friend outside a seemingly deserted Oxford Carling Academy, I reflect that it probably doesn’t bode well that I can’t actually recall the last time I saw The Futureheads, beyond the vague sense of a marquee in a hot field somewhere. As a rule I remember gigs, even at festivals, so this worries me. Could it be that, save that cover and those uh- oh-ohs, they are – whisper it – just a little bit forgettable?

 

Through the doors, I’m already more hopeful. It’s not a sold-out show, yet it feels like one as the crowd swells towards the barriers. By the time support act Thomas Tantrum takes to the stage, we are positively baying for music, and Miss Mega and co don’t disappoint. While Work It and forthcoming single Shake It! Shake It! leave them easy marks for NMEchés like “indie jerk-pop”, they remain an adventurous band, leading us through many an unexpected tempo change and deliciously sinister guitar lick over their half-hour set. As they roar through stand-outs Why The English Are Rubbish and closing Pshandy, their deliberate insouciance becomes the eye of an increasingly frenzied storm of flailing limbs and wolf-whistles fit for headliners; the night is off to a good start. And it’s about to get even better; as Miss Mega herself says, “The Futureheads are up next. And they’re wonderful.”

 

Buoyed up by ’Tantrum’s own rather wonderful set, there is less of a between-bands lull than usual as we wait for the main event. But they pale in comparison, as almost any band would, when The Futureheads erupt onto the stage. If any other artist walked on to the strains of Oh Fortuna, I would relish this opportunity to mercilessly ridicule them; here, I just can’t. Deservedly predictable opener Decent Days And Nights hits like adrenaline, and they don’t pause for breath till they’ve Broken up the Time.

 

If there was whistling for Miss Mega, it’s a full-blown mating call for Barry Hyde as he leaps about the stage like a guitar-toting mad March hare. The whole set is enthrallingly tight yet frantic, the band matching the crowd for energy, punch for punch. This alchemy is due in no small part to The Futureheads’ easy way with their audience, from throwaway references to Oxford’s Truck festival to bemoaning the loss of its independent music venues. Here is a band that really does give it their all, so much so that when Hyde tells you to put your hands in the air or dance, you do it, as the least you can offer in return. By the time the crowd-surfers come out for closing Man Ray, it feels more like a peculiarly dark indoor festival than a gig in rainy March.

 

Yet if the live show does justice to their music, the music is an even greater credit to the band; you fall in love with old favourites all over again, and even with album tracks you weren’t that keen on back in 2005. Most importantly, their new material more than lives up to the old, assuring the ’Heads’ musical future for a while yet; Beginning Of The Twist is a classic waiting to happen, and I’m still humming the anthemic chorus, “You will never find anyone to come along and take you by surprise/Because you’ve had too much again tonight” from a song without a name three days later.

 

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