You could call Led Bib's music "gonzo jazz" or "punk fusion", but it's closer to the riff rock of the Shadows or Sandy Nelson. Drummer-led groups are different, and when the leader writes most of the material, as with Led Bib's Mark Holub, the band can become one big, hammering drum kit. You can imagine Led Bib making an instrumental hit single; Holub's tunes are full of catchy fragments, more effective in short form than when extended.

Led Bib rocks rather than swings, and the five-piece sounds huge, with distorted and/or modulated electric piano and two rasping saxes. There may be echoes of Soft Machine, but this is a band who can match the thrash of the trashiest bar band. New numbers such as Service Stop Saviour and Hollow Ponds hint at their more reflective, soulful side, with Holub's mallets creating a moody soundworld, with Liran Donin's booming bass. But it's never long before they crank up the intensity.

Everything in Led Bib feels like an extension of the drums, from the ultra-tight ensembles to the pummelling ostinati. Like the Who's Keith Moon, Holub lives and breathes each beat, break and power chord, grinning and goofing with unselfconscious delight. By jazz standards, it's a back-to-front band, with the most interesting stuff on the backline while the foreground improv – the horns and Toby McLaren's abrasive keyboards – more about mood and texture.

The Purcell Room is a troublesome venue, and Led Bib do their best to tame its unforgiving acoustics. This music is best suited to the festival, the college refectory or the club.