It's bitter on the streets of London; fingers are threatening to turn black and drop off, exhaling produces big clouds of pseudo-smoke and inhaling means catching chronic pneumonia almost instantaneously. Thankfully, The 100 Club is pretty rammed and consequently nice and toasty, the whole space simmering on a high heat. People have evidently been caught out by the drastic change in climate and there are tons of big swamping jackets drooped over arms - leftover protection, no doubt, from the ice age beyond.

Tonight’s line-up is really very tasty, and Wolf Alice are the first band to perk up and say hello. They’ve been through a number of quasi-peculiar transitions. The early days of down-tempo, sentimental folk-pop existing only as a hazy memory given the fuzzier, grunge-pop party pieces they now produce, but vocalist Ellie Rowsell cements together these various past/present dimensions, and it's her illuminating presence that gives Wolf Alice such whirlwind force. Tonight, their set is wonderfully honed, brimming with eager grins, slamming, sliding rifts, precision beats, catchy, cunning licks and disarming harmonies but all orbit the central, smokey-sweet lead vocal. Ellie is the nucleus of this grunge tinged pop-rock solar system, and boy does it work wonders.

Big Deal are next out the cracker. They play through a shiny new set, the semi-old ‘ 'Distant Neighboured' (opening track from the debut album) allowing a singular pang of nostalgia. Their whole sound has been super-vamped, with drums and bass providing them with whole new pace and pulse. But amongst these crunchier, heavier tones, the vocals are left partially stifled. I begin to miss their lo-fi melancholy and the romantic dialogue of their sweet harmonies. The eerie simplicity of the debut album had a serious charm and this new, brash sound lacks the intimacy so adored in earlier releases.

Finally, Splashh. Their tone is wonderfully nonchalant. Unremitting no-care fuzz that threatens to make every worry fade out, just leaving a big mass of strung-out chords, anthemic, reverb laden vocals and soaring, ethereal synths. It’s light, airy and sweet, kind of like well made meringue. But there's crunch also, a Dinosaur Jnr/My Bloody Valentine evasiveness that distorts the neo-psycadelica, manipulating its woozy charm and channelling something more sinister. There's certainly a formula active here, the same pool jumped into a variety of ways, but it gives the set silky consistency, as each song ebbs in and out, the sound of 'oohs' seemingly ever present. The onomatopoeic value of the word 'Splashh' is pretty poignant, since it's that category of words that best describe their sound. You've got your whooshes, your zips, your clangs, your bangs, all those words your tongue likes to mess about with, they apply. Fun words. Fun music. That's it really.

Given the stupidly short time Splashh have already been together, it's not far-fetched to suggest there's oodles more to come. If you created some graph based on their current output, it would climb pretty must existentially and the return after a year would be astronomical. But we won't apply maths here, instead we'll all just go see them live and whip our heads round til they fall off.