Before seeing this, see this.

Part of the charm of smoke-filled wee venues is that the lingering carcinogenic puff that surrounds all and sundry gives the place a bit of atmosphere. Smoking’s cool, y’all. Well it’s not really, is it? But the new smoking ban in Cymru means that, without a cloak of smoke, the Barfly toilets smell like a urea bomb has just exploded. It’s T-shirt-over-your-face horrible. Yuk.

So it’s was with relief that we come to the US of A’s Murder By Death. Their name, taken from a 1976 film written by Neil Simon, leads one to assume that they're some kind of Pontypridd screamo band, but Adam Turla and Co make brilliant, bone-crushing rock and roll music that’s not too far from the Nick Cave and Johnny Cash comparisons flicked at the Indianans to date.

There’s also a hint of the east-coast rock of The Hold Steady on tracks like opener ‘Sometimes The Line Walks You’ (d’ya see?), something lent extra weight by Turla playing a Springsteen-trademarked yellow Telecaster. This, though, is quickly despatched with, and the be-sideburned singer grabs a huge, modified, black Les Paul (“I call it Excalibur, it’s so fucking big”). The mood changes as MBD fill the half-empty Barfly with songs about drinking whisky in the desert.

“I wrote this about a friend of mine who had a particular talent and that talent was getting arrested,” says Turla as he introduces 'Brother' from In Bacca Al Lupo the band's third and latest LP. It's another great song, hillbilly beats with murderous intentions. The singer also sounds a lot less like Billie Joe Armstrong than on record, which, I guess, is a good thing.

The band, well mainly Turla as he's the only who talks, also ooze character. He's got a blue rag wrapped round his microphone to stop him getting electrocuted. He then introduces a song about execution by electric chair, which really isn't funny, but the link between the two makes the whole band and crowd collapse in a fit of giggles.

About three-quarters in Turla stops and is left to his own means on the stage. “We didn’t write this song, but it’s a good one,” he proffers. It’s Sonny Bono's '(Bang Bang) My Baby Shot Me Down', as made famous by Cher / Nancy Sinatra / Quentin Tarantino / Audio Bullys (take your pick). And, oh my, his voice, already with more than hints of Cash, consumes the great man so much so that one of my fellow attendees says it’s like “the song that Rick Rubin forgot to sit down and give to Cash”. It’s scary - scarily good. You even forget the smell of piss for a minute or two.

They sound like a missing link, a strange middle ground that takes in Cash, the Bad Seeds, Springsteen, alt-country and desert rock. In short, they're utterly absorbing.

Photo by Luke Pavey