The key to The Wrens’ success is probably patience, though perhaps by ‘the key to their success’ I really mean ‘the reason they’re still together’. Their refusal to change from their emotionally-charged indie-rock roots and go radio friendly after a label buyout in the mid-‘90s led to them being dropped, and by the time they’d found a new home and written and recorded a third album, seven years had elapsed, and almost another four have passed since then. Tonight they discover they haven’t been forgotten.

But first: The Favours, fronted by Sara Sanchez, for whom the phrase "butter wouldn’t melt" was seemingly invented. They might look innocent enough, and the first part of the set is somewhere between The Cranberries and The Cardigans on the sugar-coated pop-rock scale, but the Hull quartet soon raise the volume with some crunching power chords and big choruses, though the prominent harmonies and big smiles still leave a syrupy layer sitting on the surface. The four mild-mannered musicians end the set in a hail of feedback and instrument slinging regardless.

They don’t stand much chance of competing with the headline act tonight though, although you wouldn’t know it from The Wrens’ first four minutes. The two guitarists play at each other over looped effects from opposite sides of the stage, once they’ve both finished playing with the mass of pedals in front of them, and all is sedated until bassist Kevin Whelan takes centre-stage just as the song kicks in and the wall of noise gives way to frequency-filling rock.

Some more on Kevin Whelan: he’s completely bonkers. Only a minute after he picks up his bass guitar he stops suddenly and slings it face-down across the stage towards his guitarist brother and wrestles his jacket off as the song continues, now bass-less, around him. One song later and he again sheds his bass as, screaming at the gawping audience, he runs to the front of the stage and flings his instrument towards them. He might still have hold of the strap, but the first five rows of people in front of him don’t know that, and as they duck they’re buying into everything The Wrens have to offer tonight.

And they do have a lot to offer. Soon 20-plus people are plucked from the audience, handed drumsticks and invited to pound the floor, microphone stands, anything in time to the song as the band sit amongst them. After that, the band invited a ‘fifth Wren’ onto the stage to help them out with 'Hopeless', and the 6Music competition winner still looks wide-eyed, petrified and dazed when he emerges in the crowd come the end of the night. This isn’t just a band playing to an audience; to some these four 30-slash-40-somethings are heroes, and the respect involved is almost palpable.

Elsewhere, the stomping riffery of ‘Everyone Chooses Sides’ packs even more punch live than it does on record, a perfect fusion of old-school emo and rock, whilst ‘She Sends Kisses’’ chorus soars effortlessly. Vocalist Charles Bissell continues playing with his effects between songs, joining them together with little touches of prog, and having gotten bored of tuck-jumping across the stage and subsequently climbed the speaker stack a few moments prior, Whelan takes time out from hurling things at people to sit in solitude at the piano and solemnly deliver the brief ‘Propane’ alone. Come the second encore, Bissell sings the first verse of set-closer ‘I Guess We’re Done’ from backstage, phoning guitarist Greg’s mobile, who in turn aligns it with his guitar’s pickups, Bissell barely audible through the buzz of static and radiation.

I entered the ULU tonight armed only with the knowledge of their history I gleaned from their Wikipedia biog, but I left with the desire to purchase everything The Wrens have ever released. I want to hug them and I don’t know why. Perhaps this is a message for any band that might be looking uncertainly to the future and contemplating that new ‘easy listening’ direction: don’t do it. Instead, how about you jump higher, shout louder or maybe just look involved? To say it works for The Wrens is an understatement.