When Fcukers first appeared on my radar, I had them pegged as another provocateur outfit — names like Savages and Dead Kennedys came to mind. A band using their name as an initial platform for anti-establishment rhetoric that the music itself would reflect. Well, it turned out I was half right.

The stripping back of music to create a space from which people could escape the brutality of life — ignoring the beigeness of so much that is presented as popular music, turning against the established music machine and the machines of war — is what Fcukers are about. They rewind and present an alternative ‘now’ that is, in many ways and by their own admission, a vibe and feeling drawn from two decades ago. Solidarity formed from optimism. Sub Club and Trainspotting euphoria mingled with a bloc-party sense of camaraderie and unity.

Whoever chose tonight’s venue deserves a gold star. SWG3’s TV Studio is the perfect environment for such a musical experience to thrive. A brutalist, Kafkaesque space with low ceilings and lots of concrete — you could be forgiven for thinking you were at a 1990s illegal rave. Tonight wasn’t just about the music; it was about the experience. Even before the band came on, the sound system was pumping out beats at a tireless, continuous 120 BPM, give or take. The scene was set, and the light was low. Very low.

As Fcukers took to the stage, it was obvious this was going to be a strobe-heavy show punctuated by backlit colour. The band were silhouettes for the entire set — the odd flash would reveal a face, but then it would be gone.

Musically, the band delivered exactly what you’d hope for: bass-heavy and body-pumping. The New York-accented vocals — nonchalant, almost spoken, with a The Velvet Underground quality — were so personable that you could join in, mimic the lines, and feel even more connected. The influences of Groove Armada and Faithless are obvious, but then you catch something that triggers a memory. Was that Talk Talk? Was that Pop Muzik by M? It turned out it was Beck.

The pace was relentless but always steady — as intended, and unmistakably club-like. There were no rip-your-head-off moments à la The Prodigy.

Tonight was far more than a retro retake on a club night. Was it re-emphasising the importance of subculture and past anti-establishment movements — musical and social? Was it a band presenting itself as a club? Was it a band saying: be yourself, don’t adhere to the rules? Probably all of these. Yes, this was no illegal rave, but equally it wasn’t playing by the rules either. Were they saying there has to be another way? I have no idea — but what I do know is that for those 60 minutes, none of the noise from outside that room got in. You weren’t thinking or worrying about the world, or even your own world. You were taken somewhere else. Somewhere optimistic.

What’s in a name? Fcuked if I know.

Words: Nick Tamer | Images: Chris Hogge