A few songs into their show at the O2 Academy, Kele Okereke opens a cut on his thumb and sullies the bodies of the next three guitars he uses. It’s a fitting image as the band unleash a breakneck, jagged performance on a crowd who can smell fresh blood in the air.

They tore through their catalogue of barbed, frantic hits while the lighting blazed a deep red. There are no ballads (to which Bloc Party are ill suited anyway) and no respite. When Okereke crowd surfs during ‘Ares’, the surging front rows are in a fever.  

The show’s not all tribal engagement. Okereke’s lack of poise in between songs serves as an unwelcome distraction. Through banal remarks and a slack jawed grin, he sways liberally on a fine line between goofy swagger and overacting.

But that’s a small complaint. The rhythm department is  a pulsating, relentless and irrefutably brilliant backing for each cutting guitar solo, and when the front man’s drawl melts into his keen delivery, you’re left watching a band who have built their success on being one of the most visceral in rock music.

Given their carnal approach to live shows, the bloodshed comes as no surprise.

Dylan Williams