Les Savy Fav

“Let’s hope this party never ends!”

Tim Harrington runs a sweaty palm from his protruding belly up to his erect nipple. He teases it a little, points the microphone at the audience like a rifle and pops a number of caps off into our faces. Pow, pow, pow: but we couldn’t be happier, and if our hips upped the twirling-the-invisible-hula ante right now our spines would snap. If you’d asked us back in May of 2004 if we’d witness the Les Savy Fav party again, after the New York quartet turned in one of the year’s finest performances at the usually soulless Islington Academy, we’d have sighed negatively. Many assumed the Fav were no more, that their ahead-of-the-game disco-punk freakouts were sounds only to be listened to nostalgically from hereon in, through psychedelic-hued headphones. Yet here they are: four men, one beard, some nakedness, and a whole skip load of party.

“Wake me up when we get to Heaven!”

Those en face, witnessing Harrington’s half-cocked strip show – “It’s freezing!” exclaims the vocalist while perched atop a table in the midst of the crowd, torn T-shirt hanging from his ample frame as if he’s a hurricane survivor that’s spent three days huddling inside an upturned Econoline van – are about as close to Heaven as anyone can ever be in the grim interior of The Garage (two drinks, £6.20 please). ‘The Sweat Descends’ onstage with ease, but about us there are pockets of nothing, empty spaces that were rammed full of writhing bodies at their last capital city show; the walls remain resolutely dry. Where are the stay-aways? No doubt in their bedrooms packing their finest (read: most obscure) shirts in anticipation of All Tomorrow’s Parties, where Les Savy Fav will perform again, this time for a solid hour. Tonight we’re left wanting more, much more, as the band break for good to cries for an encore from those rightly in attendance. (See them at the festival, do, but Les Savy Fav in a confined space such as this is an event that only a fool would miss. A fool.)

Prior to tonight’s main event – Weird War may headline, but the number of people who leave immediately after LSF finish perfectly illustrates which act is the bigger deal; those that stay are left mostly underwhelmed – we’re entertained by an outfit signed to LSF bassist Syd Butler’s Frenchkiss label. Thunderbirds Are Now! are already in full swing – and swing they do – by the time the DiS contingent strolls in, a Thai meal bloating our bellies to Harrington-sized proportions. Their impact, though, is instantaneous, a "Hi, we're..." introduction not necessary for their hyperactive tunes to indent themselves upon the audience. Their core compositions tow a similarly bop-friendly line to those of LSF, but their execution is simpler, relying on pace to iron over any minor songwriting shortcomings – a few songs do rather blur together. That said, their handclaps are mirrored with glee by those that’ve showed early, bursting with anticipation for what’s to follow, and their upbeat brace of ‘Eat This City’ and ‘From:Skulls’ – “Here’s a message to the crowd,” says bespectacled frontman Ryan Allen, instructing us to get our partying started a few minutes earlier than expected – leave newcomers to their band absolutely won over. They'll be back for sure, and welcomed with open, glowstick-waving arms.

The awesome presence of Les Savy Fav, though, is something else entirely: essentially the Tim Harrington show in its aesthetic appeal, their set is both frustratingly short (around 40 minutes we think, although they’re billed to play for an hour) and fantastically hypnotising. Harrington wanders the crowd during their second song, ‘We’ll Make A Lover Of You’, his path to the ladies lavatories blocked only by a rather perturbed woman exiting them. A dalliance with a table is but a warm-up action for his chewing on the side of the venue’s sizeable speakers. Cameras and eyes alike rise to greet him, and he salutes them with – what else? – the devil horns of Rock. One could wax on about their superlative songs – “They came out two years too soon – Bloc Party and that lot have stolen so many ideas from them,” says a friend, and rightly so: LSF's best-in-show dance-punk blueprint has been aped with unlimited success by a wealth of today's chart-bothering indie oiks – but there’s only one way to assess Les Savy Fav, and that’s by witnessing them with your own eyes and ears. Do witness them with your own eyes and ears.

“If we get lucky we’ll be dead by dawn!”

We wouldn’t deem such an event lucky, but if we pop our clogs minutes after seeing Les Savy Fav tear the roof off ATP’s second stage this weekend, then you’ll know we passed away happier than a pig in swill.