THIS is what Ireland's young people get up to on Friday nights while their parents are watching The Later Late Show.
Dressed as if it were July (outside it was bucketing down, inside it was freezing) and hopping continuously to a monotone beat that is the underlying, hypnotic appeal of dance music, the assembled, non-capacity crowd alternate between fluid undulations and knee-jerk reactions to Irish D.J. Mark Kavanagh's extremely good selection of robo-pop.
It's music, Jim, but not as we know it.
In actual fact, an event such as this is the realisation of (1970s German group) Kraftwerk's distopian philosophy of there being no more need for human, emotional interaction, but rather the clinical uninvolvement of strictly-functional music for an automated generation.
What Kraftwerk hadn't accounted for was the emergence of Irvine Welsh as its spoke person. Dispassionate isn't the word for it.
Faithless, on the other hand, are a complete reversion of the principles behind mechanical virtually mindless music. This London outfit provide an essential antidote: rhythmic flow, Gospel-tinged pop ballads, deft rap workouts, and instantly likeable (if forgettable) rave anthems.
Curiously, though, the combination of the two forms worked, the warmth of one seeping into the chill of the other.
A good night out in front of the big speakers, then?
Surprisingly, yes.
