Boulet sounds about as far-removed from the folk-tinged indie-rock solo albums he was making a decade ago as you can get, the towering drummer smashing his kit with the kind of visceral, thrash-metal ferocity that you can feel thump you in the chest.

Tickle, wearing a workmanlike white jumpsuit, also goes all-in and blasts her saxophone with a similar deranged fervour, the pair triggering other effects and discordant sounds like they’re a wrecking crew tasked with reducing the Lansdowne to rubble.

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Song after song the duo go at it like they’re locked in a to-the-death cage match, lobbing dense walls of sound at each other as a light show as disorientating as the music creates an atmosphere best described as The Apocalypse as directed by David Lynch.

Barrelling through appropriately named instrumentals like The Great Ape and Shit Faced, Tickle takes the unhinged atmosphere up a notch by bellowing unintelligible lyrics into the mouth of her saxophone on Gun Control and recent release The Worker.

Whether by design or by accident, the pair finish with twelfth track Party Dozen, wisely wrapping up their set at around the 50-minute mark and ceasing their delirious sonic assault right on the cusp of where it begins to feel like it may overwhelm.

On paper Party Dozen may not seem like the kind of thing you’d willingly sign up for – chaotic sonic assaults are probably a niche concern – but for those willing to feel the force and experience some from-the-gut, all-the-way-to-11 mayhem, Party Dozen do indeed bring the party.