Last night the inevitable argument raged on social media - as it has for years now - about the BRITs being over-commercialised; criticised for not rewarding indie music blah, blah, blah. Scanning my twitter feed while stuck in traffic on the A40 late last night I saw things like "I'm at a gig, watching real music, drinking beer from a plastic glass. Fuck the BRITs." Congratulations. Once upon a time, you might have been doing that watching the Arctic Monkeys in a small venue and you never know, that band you were watching last night may well one day end up collecting their third Best British Band award.

While the internet at large, and many of my peers, threw stones in the proverbial BRITs glass house, I was in an intimate West London venue watching Real Estate perform an incredibly enjoyable set despite a few technical difficulties (all of which was handled with the kind of professionalism you would expect from a band such as this.)

Opening with some tracks from their upcoming third record, Atlas, the scene was being set for what bassist Alex Bleeker promised would be a cross section of their work since the release of their 2009 eponymous debut, not just a showcase for the new album. Feedback plagued the first half of the gig (it didn't help I was mere meters away from the speaker stack) but thankfully it didn't ruin a few of my favourite numbers, such as 'Green Aisles', 'Municipality' and rather poignantly, 'It's Real'.

The band's dry sense of humour is displayed when, just as it seemed the feedback had been brought under control, guitarist Matt Mondanile breaks a string, prompting a plug of their after-party featuring "some dude called Ducktails", who is of course Mondanile's alias. As Matt frantically tries to tune the guitar borrowed from support band Honeyblood, his bandmates choose to jam rather than try and entertain the crowd with anecdotes or jokes - only broken by some tongue-in-cheek clichés such as "how you doing London?" from Alex.

Again, just as the band find their groove another guitar string goes - this time for frontman Martin Courtney (Honeyblood came to the rescue once more). This heralds the end of the night's technical difficulties, resulting in a beautiful instrumental outro of 'Beach Comber', bringing their main set to a close. It was during this climax, which blissfully lasted forever, that I started to take in the previous hour or so.

The night indeed defined 'real music'; not because it was indie or because people who drink in Tiger Tiger and find James Corden funny haven't heard of it (nor is it a case of clouded judgement due to my affection for the band). It's because it's not perfect that makes it 'real'. If you're going to a show and the music sounds exactly like it does on record, where is the fun in that? You could have saved your entry fee and stayed at home listening to your stereo.

Live music of any description is warts and all. It's flawed, it's emotive and it is indeed real. The fun is watching artists overcome the imperfections, to soldier on through, to continue to entertain a crowd without being phased by difficulties. It's real music, in its purist form; it's why we go to gigs, and it's why bands love playing them. Last night Real Estate unknowingly stuck two fingers up to the commercialism of awards ceremonies, and to those who criticise the music being awarded. This show was about them and their audience having a good time and because of that it wasn't just real, it was perfect.