If we are honest with ourselves, the early noughties were rather a bleak and monochrome time for rock. Radiohead were being self-consciously awkward, the Strokes were plying an insipid brand of faux-rebellion that is only possible when you are the trust fund kids of Wall Street billionaires and The White Stripes were busy whitewashing the blues of all of its cultural heritage. Then into that world appeared The Darkness, a vivid Technicolor explosion in a valley of greyscale. Like all good explosions, they burnt bright and died young. A brief extravagant glimpse into a parallel dimension of lurid colour and tight spandex.

This however is the epilogue. The most confounding thing about their rags to riches and back to rags story is that The Darkness’ redemptive afterlife has lasted twice as long as their initial 15 minutes of fame. Tonight, we celebrate 20 years since their debut record adrenaline shot joy back into the dour world of rock 'n' roll. Tonight, we celebrate the utter beauty of daft no brains rock 'n' roll. Tonight, we remember what could have been and most importantly what is now.

Opening act Bad Nerves are feeling a little battered and bruised from the previous evening in Glasgow. Vocalist Bobby Nerves is not backward in coming forward to decry the collective indifference of last night's Scottish audience. He has nothing to worry about though about their appearance here in Cottonopolis as it is blindingly obvious that they have an awful lot of friends out there in the crowd. Cries of U.S.A can be heard at the culmination of each track, and it becomes clear that this is not a bad imitation of. a Ryder Cup mele but is instead a clarion call for their new single. It appears midway through the set and the baying mob situated just in front of the mixing deck goes suitably ape.

Garage rock is the gift that just keeps on giving. It is highly unlikely that the parents of Bad Nerves were born when the Stooges and MC5 cultivated the sound that launched a thousand careers. However here they are nearly six decades later offering up an almost identikit facsimile of “Fun House’s” riotous proto-punk. It's not bad and they do it really well. They have that spiky energy that is only possible if you are in your early 20s, believe your own press, and have got nothing to lose.

They may well be surfing on the umpteenth revival of a style of music that has been rehashed over and over again. But what they lose in originality they definitely gain in simplistic enthusiasm. They are enjoyable and engaging to watch and in many ways, that's what you want for an opening act. Whether there is a future to their careers is another matter but for now, they are the perfect soundtrack for beer-swilling and socialising.

From the off it is obvious that we are all merely extras in the Justin Hawkins show. He exerts his command early doors as he brings opening number ‘Black Shuck’ to a shuddering halt to decree that we should all put our phones away and live in the moment. We almost all concur with his wishes, and he goes as far as confiscating the phone off a hapless young thing up front who makes the mistake of attempting to evade his orders. From that point onwards he keeps a tight grip on the show being the linchpin that keeps everything flowing. He banters with the audience, he banters with his roadies, he even banters with the photographers in the pit and our very own Johann has his second flirtatious encounter with a front person this week. 

For all his façade of rampant ego, there is a lot of genuine humility at play here. During the evening he talks openly on numerous occasions about how he sabotaged the band's burgeoning career by taking all of the drugs all the time and his relationship with his younger brother now borders on reverential respect. Essentially this is a man who has been to the bottom and now takes nothing for granted. He is full of the joyfulness of redemption, living out a second chapter that he never thought he would get the chance to have.

The warmth that emulates from the relations on stage overspills into the auditorium. This is not a band going through the motions, this is an act savouring every moment because they know from bitter experience that it could be the last. Justin makes a big thing about the fact that it is Dan's birthday and there is a relaxed playfulness at show that is only possible when bandmates truly let down their guard and understand each other's fragility and vulnerability.

The set is a perfectly well-oiled slick precision engineered machine. The Darkness are quite frankly the most entertaining act currently treading the boards in this country and they know how to make gig number six on a nine-show run feel like the most special event ever. They are acutely aware of what their audience wants and therefore everything (bar the covers) comes from the debut album and/or its numerous reissues.

The adulation that each track receives is quite staggering. It is obvious that for those gathered here tonight, these songs soundtracked momentous occasions in their collective lives; University, first marriages, and those stuttering initial steps into adulthood. Tonight is about the unashamed elation of familiarity. We are a communal safe zone and words of every song are sung back to the band with gusto and heartfelt nostalgia. 

The Darkness are astounding not just because they're still here but because they have escaped the gravity pull of novelty act and cemented themselves as a veritable British institution. As the silk kimonos worn during the encore testify, they understand the ludicrous nature of it all and revel in the absurdity.

It is very rare to witness a crowd and a band so at one and comfortable with each other. The days of heady teenage reverence are long gone. Instead, it's been replaced by a healthy symbiotic relationship where each needs each other in the same equal measure. The Darkness are born to perform and we are here to be entertained. Never has a transactional bond been so eminently enjoyable.

Check the “In The Flesh” page for more photos!
The Darkness, Bad Nerves