oOoOO take up the Songkick Detour mantle at London's Birthdays

oOoOO. Pronounced “Oh”. Which, coincidentally, is the same noise you make when you find out that you shouldn’t be greeting door staff, ticket vendors and or friends enquiring about your plans for the evening with a spectral moan. Still, add a question mark, and quite possibly an exclamation one too, and you’re sort of there in terms of the response to this crowd-funded show.

Enjoyable? Not exactly. Intriguing? Absolutely. There is a certain element of endurance to hearing Chris Dexter go about his work in a live setting. The low frequencies are heavy, not ear splittingly loud, but with a resonance that causes your ribs to vibrate like they could pivot round laterally at any moment. It’s disorientating and leaves you feeling uneasy. Not least because there is something recognisable there. They sound like hip-hop, if someone was rolling hip-hop slowly through a mangle. Each lasting just longer than your brain suggests they should.

It creates this underlying treacly mass which languidly envelopes you. Occasionally, things pop above it. Human voices, a disembodied Lady Gaga, the floating tones of his collaborations with Butterclock, snippets of samples, short runs of skittering drums, all jump up from the rising tide. Trying and failing to stop themselves from drowning. And you cling to them. You cling to them because they sound like they have half a chance of escape.

Although they never actually do. Tonight ends on a track from his new album, for which Dexter picks up a microphone to sing. Or at least to whisper in echoing, wraith like fashion. It’s no less creepy and no less memorable than what’s gone before it. It leaves you wandering away thinking oOoOO. Pronounced “wow”.