The Itch lead a killer First Fifty triple bill for Dork at Sebright Arms, London

That’s the magic of The Great Escape’s First Fifty. With gigs scattered across East London on one night, Dork sets up shop at one of our spiritual homes, the Sebright Arms. The result is a triple-header so strong you’ll look back in twelve months and mutter: blimey, that was a scorcher.

The buzz of discovery rings loud with openers Slag. A mesmerising alt-rock detonation, they arrive so fully formed it feels like they could headline by the end of the set. They barely need to speak. The music does it all; crunching riffs and soaring vocals pull the already-packed Sebright Arms into their orbit. ‘Face Off’ is a highlight, the clearest sign yet of why people are about to fall hard for a band who sit in that alt-rock-meets-punk sweet spot where raw talent transforms into something brilliant. Slag have that in abundance. Consider this your early warning.

Light a fuse, and Really Good Time explode. Their garage-rock rumble tears through the room with the momentum of a runaway train. Imagine The White Stripes let loose in a dive bar, ripping through fuzzed-out riffs and snarling hooks. Clad in what they proudly describe as “beautiful jumpsuits”, they volley chaotic asides between songs and keep everything gloriously loose. It’s ragged, charismatic and entirely unforgettable. Really Good Time promise exactly what their name suggests, and Dear Reader, they absolutely deliver.

By 9:45pm, no party in East London can touch The Itch. A jukebox of indietronic brilliance, they thrive on sweat, spilt pints and the kind of communal release that only comes alive in a room like this. The recently released ‘Space In The Cab’ sets the tone for a set fizzing with colour and catharsis. It’s like blending the best of LCD Soundsystem with the neon hum of late-night city life, each song bouncing off the walls as wide-eyed strangers turn to each other in disbelief at just how essential The Itch already sound.

‘Co-Conspirator’ and ‘The Influencer’ send synth hooks to dizzying heights, the breakdowns utterly ridiculous in the most joyful way. In those moments, The Itch don’t just run away with the night, they sprint off into the distance and dare everyone to keep up. ‘No More Sprechgesang’ is only a teaser of what’s coming next, a dance-punk battering ram with enough force to dent steel. Tonight, though, The Itch light the fireworks that signal the beginning of something impossible to ignore.