Stuart Macbeth retrieves his Viking helmet, pops a couple of Aspirin, and pays tribute to the hard-rocking groove machine that is The Mighty Redox

“The last thing I remember about last night on Cowley Road,” I explained to a friend of mine, “was seeing you fall into a taxi, dressed as a Viking.”

He had lost all memory of the later part of the evening. We spent it well. At an album launch by The Mighty Redox, at the Black Swan on Crown Street.

Led by Sue Smith and Phil Freizinger, this fashion abandoned foursome were formed out of the ruins of Oxford band Tin Tin Tin in 1995. In their 21st century guise they’ve done a lot. They’ve stormed hippy festivals. They’ve destroyed private parties. But what they do best is pub rock. The kind of pub rock you won’t find featured in any ordinary newspaper.

I’ve been to pub gigs before. I’ve been to pub gigs where Rolling Stones tribute acts swig from inflatable plastic champagne bottles. I’ve been to pub gigs where featherweight employees of large breweries stage scrawny open mic nights.

 The latter is done in the hope they’ll drive wan, unpaid, tree hugging folk through the door to ply their wares. But even at 11pm at the Black Swan, dismantled by noise and dressed as Vikings, The Mighty Redox sideshow still drives rusty nails into the decorated pub doorway of every single gastropub hell.

Is this pub rock at its best? Possibly. Take for instance when Phil plays new song Bangra Beat on his beaten up electric guitar. The Wilko Johnson of Oxford, in a tatty Irish Boozer. But never knock it. Go and see Slash or Eric Clapton or someone at the O2 or Royal Albert Hall, and compare.

You are never going to get the intimacy of a pub rock gig. You are never going to get the in-your-face uncertainty of a deranged pensioner wielding the neck of their instrument underneath your chin. Phil remains threatening - the  musical equivalent of an eviction notice from the council.

You will never get Sue standing by her man, axing a tambourine and squealing like Yoko Ono’s louche younger sister. It all happens two feet away from your last remaining shred of decency.

You won’t get their amazing bass player Sandro Crucioli picking up the pieces on bass as he thumps through numbers such as Sands of Mars and Sugar Down. And you certainly won’t be close enough to hear the natural thump of Rick Nash’s drums. Rick, without any resort to overdubs, sounds like Jaki Liebezeit from Can.

Age is immaterial. This is a band who actually go for it. In a movement deserted by groups such as Dr Feelgood, Ducks Deluxe and Ace, they still whack guitars back to their rock and roll origins with East Oxford style. Albeit a style that also keeps an allotment in its spare time. But take away the compost. Bring me more of this.

Their original material is rhythmically excellent, guitar driven, on spot. On the downside, their lyrics are appallingly cheery. I have trouble forgiving the artwork on their new CD, Blue Skies Sunshine. It is without doubt the worst album artwork I have ever seen.

 But none of this should put you off the next Might Redox gig. Get stuck in. All you need is a hot room. A loud PA. Four nutters. And some Vikings.

You’ll be happy until you taxi drops you off, and the neighbours see your helmet flashing under the suburban street lamp.