They have been called shoegazing revivalists - but tonight, as if to prove the critics wrong, Michael Feerick and his band are looking anywhere but at their feet. The dominant pose is eyes shut, heads back, absorbed in their epic, crashing guitars.

Seeing a band take such pride in their noise is a treat, and a happy sign that Amusement Parks on Fire's transformation from one-man show to proper live concern (until a couple of years ago, it was just Feerick playing in his Nottingham bedroom) is complete. Nevertheless, there is still a sense that it is Feerick who is in charge, his shock-treatment hairdo and flouncy shirt marking him out as a more flamboyant figure than his bandmates, more than ready for the adoration that is starting to come his way.

But the shoegazing tag still holds weight, and there are clear echoes of the early-1990s dreamy, multi-layered art-rock of My Bloody Valentine, Ride et al. APoF's simple, lucid melodies and surging guitars are appealing, but their lack of range soon becomes apparent, and Feerick's tendency to stretch out every word in a keening midatlantic drawl needs reining in.

The sound, too, needs work - tonight it's too noisy altogether. One of the strengths of their new album, Out of the Angeles, is its huge, swooping chord changes - bright and clear, and the foundations of their melodic drive. Here, that's all lost in endless waves of feedback, and a lot of the power of songs such as new single In Flight gets washed out. There's barely a moment all night, even during the sparse between-song banter, when there isn't an almighty squall in the air.

There are thrills to APoF's best moments, but they tend to fade through stylistic repetition, or end up thrashed into oblivion. A tad more melodic variety, a dash less feedback, and things really would be looking up.