Just kidding! Franz Ferdinand are so hot right now it hurts. Indeed, it’s so hot in the Academy that by the time FF flounce on stage several yelping boys and girls are moist with excitement. FF give us a pop-tastic ‘Take Me Out’, a throbbing ‘Darts Of Pleasure’, and a song about boy-sex called ‘Michael’. To some, FF are fucking brilliant, to others, especially the Funeral For A Friend fans hanging off the balcony and throwing beer at the punters below, FF are fucking awful.

Now, The Von Bondies aren’t awful but by God they are a mess! Frontman Jason Stollsteimer stumbles on stage, sporting a terrific shiner and for the rest of the set he and his cohorts will mumble through songs, forget words and drop bum notes all over the place. Yet this makes for an almost great rough-and-ready set, featuring a snarling ‘It Came From Japan’ and a rock-tastic ‘C’mon, C’mon’. Sadly, much of the Birmingham crowd are too busy discussing FF to notice. Ah, fuck ‘em!

Yet The Rapture get everyone’s attention, sparking off a sea of crowd surfing bodies who are either trying to escape a lamentable ‘Open Up Your Heart’ or be carried away by the disco rush of ‘Sister Saviour’. Most are going mental to the New York foursome but some can’t tell if this is the best thing to happen to dance music since Acid House or a load of coke-addled nonsense.

It's unlikely that Funeral For A Friend will ever have a dance direction to their music and at times seem to have no direction at all. Despite the rapturous reception afforded them by their loyal fans, every song sounds exactly the same; a situation not helped by a rubbish PA which buries Matt Davies’ vocals under a sea of sludge. Now don’t get me wrong, there’s no doubting Funeral’s commitment, energy, work ethic, blahblahblah but it seems to be a bit too predictable. Ah what the fuck do I know – the Funeral faithful lap it up and the resultant mosh pit during ‘Bullet Proof Theory’ is a sight to behold.

Tonight belongs, it seems, to Franz Ferdinand (although The Rapture run them close). They're a band who will set the nation (or at the very least its art school class rooms) all of a quiver - whether you like it or not.