Live: Undercovers On Under Camden. Rival Schools, Electric Ballroom.

When it comes to songwriting and the subsequent construction of records, most bands are somewhat more prolific than Walter Schreifels' Rival Schools, fresh from the release of sophomore record Pedals, ten years after its predecessor. But then most bands don't have anything half as era-defining as debut LP United By Fate in their back catalogue locker room, and it's fairly evident that all that've made it down to their unfathomably early show (they're wrapped up by 8:15) are here to bask in its off-kilter post-hardcore glory. Whilst the anthemic, almost angular 69 Guns jolts with vigour, Schreifels bounding about exuberantly in faux-velvet behind his weatherbeaten Gibson SG, and Shot After Shot is vaguely visceral, a bastardised Go With The Flow that's at times as pulverising as a stint in the ring having your braincells wrung out by Homme, even instrumental outro Hooligans For Life, doused in adolescent nostalgia, shreds Pedals material like dandelions torn apart by forlorn lovers. Slap bang in the middle of the NW1 timewarp, just for tonight it may as well be 2001 all over again, as a rambunctious High Acetate grinds to a halt in cataclysmic abruptness, Schreifels stumbling atop a monitor, his ebullience almost resulting in the evening's first casualty. Everything Has Its Point meanwhile still stings venomously despite its bewildering dub overhaul, orchestrated predominantly by bassist Cache Tolman. The cracks, inevitably, are starting to show, the band bunging up their ears with fluorescent foam these days, Travel By Telephone their most ravaging shard of brilliance, yet in their imperfections lies perfection, Schreifels evidently elated and uncaring of the odd wayward vocal here and there as a look of unadulterated triumph diffuses across his perspiring features. A seemingly whimsical, worryingly accurate rendition of Bon Jovi's Wanted Dead Or Alive permeates the divine grunge of the likes of Undercovers On and Good Things, before an awesome Used For Glue stitches up proceedings. A projected message averting us to mobile phone thieves glares overhead. It reads: 'Don't let them ruin your night.' In the wake of Rival Schools, blistered, battered and bruised, it seems superfluous to loiter around in wait for ...And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead, as the New York troupe prove themselves to still be altogether capable of sticking together a night, or at least early evening's worth of effervescent oomph.