“Is anybody out there? Hello? Can you hear us?”
In a cavernous secret warehouse, there’s a party underway that would bring Matt Hancock to actual tears. Surrounded by motorbikes, horse-headed dummies, mysterious monoliths, shelves of bizarre bric-a-brac and amps and curtains scrawled with slogans – “STAY NEGATIVE”, “INNATE RASHES”, “IT’S BETTER TO SLEEP WITH A SOBER CANNIBAL THAN A DRUNK CHRISTIAN” – a motley crew of soul kings, bovver boys, rappers, indie heroes, druids and holograms are caught up in some wild midday revelry. It’s a miracle that, in almost 90 minutes, there’s absolutely no appearance whatsoever from Rita Ora.