If you’d told sixteen year old me that thirty something years later he’d be lacing his dancing shoes up and shuffling and backdropping to The Inciters instead of stage diving and counter clockwise sparing for change, he’d have probably told you to go forth and multiply with a three legged donkey. But even the most hardcore ageing punk rockers can’t subsist solely on a musical diet of buzzsaw guitars and anti-system rhetoric, and this particular past his prime punk as well as screaming along to songs about bringing down the man, has a penchant for late seventies Disco, funk and Northern Soul.

And that’s probably why I’ve been dancing to Bring Back The Weekend for the whole afternoon, and even though I know my middle aged joints and bones are going to hate me for doing so tomorrow, I don’t care. The Inciters, the incredible Southern Californian ten piece powerhouse that are responsible for crafting and creating this record, could have packed out the Wigan Casino night after night, with their adrenaline charged, heart pounding, soul-rific anthems that make you want to rise up, sing-a-long and dance until your feet bleed and your voice becomes naught but a whisper. I’d better stock up on paracetamol and Deep Heat, as I’m going to be hurting tomorrow, but it was worth it, because when the music is this good, it’s a price worth paying and one that I’ll be happy to do so time and time again. Now where’s that donkey… Tim Cundle