Dead Meadow / The Cosmic Dead @ O2 ABC, Glasgow, 15 March

The Cosmic Dead are loud. Thick clumps of dense feedback fill the half-lit stage, with bass throbs so potent that it’s barely possible to hear much beyond a tinny rattle from the drum kit positioned at the rear of the stage. Distorted howls squeal from underneath the rubble, while cyclical riffs layer themselves on top of each other, finally climaxing with a squeal of feedback as screeching guitars are left to hang from wires dangling above the stage. A visceral experience, rather than an immediately musical one, but a sock to the gut usually catches your attention more directly a melody in the air. Seriously impressive stuff.

It’s quite the act to follow, but Washington DC’s Dead Meadow are more than up to the task. An opening display of fractured chords grows swiftly into a veritable onslaught of tripped-out wah-wah heat – “There’ll be more singing,” promises guitarist Jason Simon, although no-one’s here for hooky refrains or boozey singalongs. This band’s greatest strength is their ability to turn riffs inside-out; gargantuan psych-rock that locks its repetitive patterns in your cerebellum, only to wrench everything back out, firmly but slowly. Attempting to reassemble the mess is fun but futile.

Even at this sludge-friendly pace, it’s plain to see that these loose-hipped behemoths owe a debt to good ol’-fashioned Southern blues rock: whereas most cosmic explorers plump for the motorik, there’s a sashaying grace to what’s on offer here. It’s best exemplified by their signature number Sleepy Silver Door, a joyous eternity of head-nodding groove and shifting tectonic plates: near-perfection at ear-splitting volume. [Will Fitzpatrick]