Live: Rapid Heart Rates on The English Riviera. Metronomy, Shepherd's Bush Empire.

Metronomy are on in ten, and the guestlist queue still skirts halfway round the building. In the wake of superlative sophomore record The English Riviera, anticipation is rife amidst the clamouring bustle outside, with proud parents, a Klaxon, a Midnight Beast and a plethora of hangers-on shuffling anxiously to be admitted into the regal realms of the now-heinously sponsored Empire. Joe Mount in exuberant, if a little overwhelmed swing, the R'n'B schmooze of We Broke Free kicks off proceedings, before they tumble on into the off-kilter Krautrock of Love Underlined, frenzied spotlights bedazzling and blinding in synchronicity with Oscar Cash's spooky arpeggio synths. The chaotic, racy guitars of On The Motorway then signal the troupe's initial plunge into revered debut Nights Out, much of which is to be aired tonight, a thunderous My Heart Rate Rapid and really fucking loud rendition of A Thing For Me welcomed as greatest hits of sorts, every lyrical witticism bellowed back towards Mount et. al with the gusto of a sextuple espresso. The bass thrum of Holiday sounds relatively antiquated, the atlas-indebted The Bay is somewhat lacklustre, and instrumentals You Could Easily Have Me and The End Of You Too (sounding forever more akin to a 21st-century Yakety Sax), although tighter than the majority of the American Apparel catalogue, alienate those that've attended purely for "the hits" as it were. Thus despite the Cirque du Soleil twangs of Corinne proving irresistible, Joe Mount's flickering chest light contraption beaming out his heart, ecstasy is reserved for rapturous closer Radio Ladio, the elasticated bounce of Heartbreaker and, quite astoundingly, the fragile impeccability of On Dancefloors. What with today being Record Store Day and with many already touting their latest record, out this very week, as one of the year's finest thus far, it seems fitting that the incontrovertible acme of the night is provided by the sensual The Look, fully formed and all set to invade and enamour any and every festival willing to attempt to harness its seething ardour and emotivity by the time seasons spring into summer.