Late opening doors, list confusion, a surplus of photographers and the distraction of a political meltdown happening down in Westminster, all mean that I only catch the dying seconds of Auraboros. What I do see is simultaneously chaotic and cathartic. They are a blur of kinetic energy, hurling fistfuls of distorted metalcore into the crowd. Very much one to put on my "need to arrive earlier" list.

Pintglass are the architect and leading proponent of “Gezzercore”. For those unfamiliar with “Gezzercore”, it's all that toxic masculinity that metal has been trying to dispense with for the last two decades, wrapped up and personified into a single band. Essentially it makes Five Finger Death Punch look like a bunch of millennial snowflakes. One of my problems with the whole thing (and to be honest as a Guardian-reading metrosexual I have many) is that I just can't tell whether this is satirical post-modern irony at play or whether this is actually a genuine bona fide attempt to reinvigorate laddism within metal.

The members of the band all have pedigree within a wide variety of well-regarded hard-core and death metal acts, so maybe this is a wink wink nudge nudge novelty act of a side project. If this is meant to be humorous, they have clearly forgotten to add the humour. They are all dressed in hi-vis jackets adorned with the Pintglass logo and spend a good chunk of the set eulogising on the virtues of labourers and Sparkies. It's all shout-outs of "Stella”, “Geezers” and “tooled up” but essentially it is spectacularly devoid of anything that actually could be remotely funny. More worryingly, if this actually is serious, then this is an avenue of metal that I really want to have no part of. I thought we'd gone beyond the need to brag about vicious intent and to promote and laud random acts of violence. It feels crass, it feels inappropriate, and it feels ill-thought-out.

Musically it is simple and repetitive and brings nothing new to the party. The whole thing seems to revolve around the gimmick (whether it is meant to be for comic intent or not) and little thought seems to be given to how it actually sounds. There is some fusion stuff going on here (bits of hip-hop filter in every now and again) but it's just not interesting enough to help me climb out of my just utter disdain for the concept that they are flogging. The thirty or so hi-vis jacket-draped disciples on the floor spend the set gleefully kicking the living shit out of each other. Obviously they see something I can't. And that's fine. If Pintglass speak to you in a way that other bands don't, then I am chuffed for you mate. Personally, I found them to have no redeeming features whatsoever.

Vulvodynia are the South African crown princes of Slam. They meticulously combine Slam’s feral anarchism, with a level of intricate technicality. Live they are the last word in ordered chaos, a swirling pit of razor-sharp riffs and disordered song structures. With six of them on stage, it often looks like it's all going to fall apart in a melee of broken guitar necks and fractured limbs,  but somehow, they manage to not only stay on the right side of pandemonium, but make exquisite noises in the process.

Initially, the sound is murky, meaning that we lose the fact that there are three technically virtuoso guitarists simultaneously unleashing hell onto their instruments. It takes a while for the constituent parts to become clear in the mix, but once it does the sheer complexity of their tracks becomes clear. For some Slam is puerile and simplistic, but in Vulvodynia’s hands, they have turned it into something much more intricate and layered. For all the technical dexterity though they haven't lost Slam’s essential component, and that is its utter intensity. This is extreme metal taken is to its most vital and its most vigorous. The pit has become a convulsing maelstrom of bodies, all hardwired to the cacophony of sound coming from the stage.

It's all-consuming and unrelenting and essentially the aural equivalent of sticking your head into a blender. Vulvodynia have been locked away in South Africa for the last two and a half years and the blistering pace at which they approach tonight's show seems to be a direct response to that. Pulverising crowds with a merciless stream of unyielding noise is in their blood and they don’t want to be divorced from it again. There are no barriers and no security, therefore audience and band soon merge in as one. The fact that there isn't a pressed-in throng at the front should put stage divers off, but it doesn't. Dedicated and valiant volunteers still throw themselves off stage in the vain hope that somebody will catch them (which in the most part they do).

This is what adoring bands is all about, not standing in some soulless stadium watching them perform on stage half a mile away from you. True adoration is having the sweat from their hair fall into your eyes as they scream the lyrics into your face. This is music at its most vital, this is music at its most alive. Vulvodynia are absolutely stunning tonight because they are completely consumed by what they are doing. There is passion, there is turmoil and there is an utter joy at being alive. These are the moments that we live for.