Like any self-respecting jazz-thrash-rock-latin-noise band from the dark underbelly of New York, Gutbucket have a peerless way with a song title. "This one's called Monkey-Bacon," announces twitchy saxophonist Ken Thompson, shortly after the band have spluttered to the end of a piece entitled Put Down Your Duck. Other gems include Polka of Doom and Punk As a Rumble-Dink, all from the album Dry Humping the American Dream - the title of which the band have not been allowed to mention on US radio.

Fortunately, Gutbucket's gleeful subversion goes well beyond song titles. Their influences extend far and wide, allowing them to set Ornette Coleman-esque saxophone hollers against live drum'n'bass rhythms, and squalling Pixies guitars behind ponderous electric double-bass bowing. Tonight, they begin with a blast of crisp Meters-style funk, lethally booby-trapped with stop-start passages, superimposed rhythms and flurries of manic acceleration.

From here on it's fizzes and bangs all the way, bolstered with a bit of good-natured clowning. Bassist Eric Rockwin appears to have written all the maddest tunes; a piece of his entitled Underbidder begins with gunshot snare rolls before turning into a sludgy homage to King Crimson, complete with terrifying swathes of guitar and saxophone . The prog-rock influences don't end there: a composition called Thrusp boasts a hypnotically creeping guitar riff and an atmosphere of sustained menace that recalls the unscrewing of the Martian cylinder in Jeff Wayne's War of the Worlds. This is not standard jazz territory.

The Seattle grunge model of quiet/loud/quiet/loud haunts several of the later pieces, and some of the more tangled forays into free jazz prove a little samey. Still, there is something smart, sleek and assured about Gutbucket, and when they begin firing on all cylinders it makes for an exhilarating, intelligently performed racket.