Technically speaking, I think that counts as assault. I’ve just been shouted at, beaten with bass, drop-kicked with drums, kerb-stomped with keyboards. It hurt a lot. And sounded great. Beautiful messy enormous noise. Tiring, not tiresome. Mark E Smith wandering about a lot, turning knobs on things in a manner that suggests he knows what he’s doing, but not necessarily convincing. Singing/shouting into two microphones at once, alternate ones, other peoples. Having a go on the keyboard himself if he fancied it, hitting the odd cymbal. No respite. For an hour or so. No muses on the wonders of Oxford, no telling us we were a great crowd, just a second or two to allow them to let any feedback out for a moment, then right on with the next track. No encore. Seemingly. Let people leave, put the lights up, put music on, do everything to convince people they are doing, then come back on for one last ten minute workout of noise Ah. The ringing and static has mainly subsided now, drained, but sated, for now.