It's always interesting when you talk to bands and ask them about their experiences playing in London and elsewhere in the country. Invariably they get very animated when talking about the crowds' reactions when they visit far flung towns. People there aren't as spoilt for choice, so when a touring band appears they throw themselves into having fun.

In London, we are blessed with a wide choice of things to see and do. The unfortunate side effect of this is that London crowds tend to be less enthusiastic. Some people don't come out for the music or to have a good time but just to be seen out.

This is no reflection on the good promoters of Club Motherfucker. I had my first Club Mofo experience in Brighton during the recent Ladyfest, a DIY non-profit event that showcases female musicians. That night had a great atmosphere with a lot of drinking and dancing. So I had high expectations when attending my first Club Mofo in London.

Although the crowd were limpid, the acts on stage were anything but. The night's proceedings kicked off with the Venom Seeds, a garage punk trio with a kimono clad lead singer. Her urgent high-pitched vocals played off wonderfully against the raw sinister guitar. Beauty and the beast rolled into one package.

Speaking of packages, the following act Michael J Coxx boasted some sort of groinal pouch that looked like the kind of thing cricketers wear to protect their fertility. Clad in an ensemble of shirt, tie and tights, he provoked mirth before he'd even opened his mouth. If you can imagine Peaches in the body of Jarvis Cocker, you'd be getting near. Coxx's filthy mouthed white man rap certainly amused.

The next act is a kind of supergroup made up of two London-based acts, Comanechi and Todd. Akiko from Comanechi is normally to be seen behind a set of drums while singing. In her new band Pre, she's up at the font clad only in her t-shirt and knickers. When she comes on, the men at the front start moving in strange angles trying to catch a glimpse of her lingerie.

When she comes on at first, she seems a little vulnerable in her minimal clothing. Then she starts singing and this noise comes out. I would describe Pre's sound as having few redeeming qualities but bloody good fun nonetheless. Raw doesn't quite capture it -- still growing might be a better description.

The night is rounded off by Brixton rapper Marvin The Martian, a last-minute replacement for an act that cancelled. He rises to the occasion marvellously, with his British take on hip-hop eschewing the usual gangsta cliches. It's a mellow and good-hearted way to end proceedings.

Once the live acts end, there are DJs playing records but I can't survive until 3am so end up leaving. As I walk home, I reflect on the gulf between the Brighton and London crowds. People joke that Brighton is now a suburb of London -- they call it Zone 7. But I guess that it's still holding onto it's distinctive nature -- for now anyway.

But as gig nights in London go, Club Mofo had enough fun and originality going on to ensure I'll be making a return visit.