Cabbage review, The Lexington, London: Some way to go before their voice is fully formed

There are not enough moments to convince

There is a moment tonight during 'It’s Grim up North Korea', a squalid, antagonist of a song that considers how Kim Jong-un’s modus operandi could be co-opted by the north of England, when Cabbage’s self-styled "idiosyncratic, satirical attack in the form of discordant neo post-punk" makes sense.

There are name checks for Dennis Skinner and Raul Moat. There’s despair at working class poverty and police cover ups. And there’s a pained wail from singer Lee Broadbent, stood on the drum riser, arms aloft over an impressively frenzied crash of noise.

It is dissident, surrealist and incendiary, which is precisely everything that Manchester’s newest great hopes Cabbage aspire to. With their anti-Murdoch online rants, outspoken interviews and songs of austerity, class war and, er, "having a wank in a quiche", the five-piece attempt to hold a mirror to Brexit Britain. Don’t like what you see? Well, they’re just telling you how it is.

Except, as this BBC Introducing showcase shows, Cabbage still have some way to go before their voice is fully formed.

Musically, with its desolate sophistication, 'It’s Grim up North Korea' is an outlier. As shown on their recent album of collected EPs Young, Dumb and Full Of… Cabbage’s stock in trade is a boisterous, scuzzy rock that attempts to force their social commentary down your throat and dares you to swallow as much as you can take.

The Manchester lineage is recognisable - there is the dark urgency of the city’s post punk heroes, The Fall’s hostile garage rock - but Cabbage more closely resemble Fat White Family’s northern cousins, if the Fats ever left their squat and switched on BBC news.

Cabbage share the Fats’ proclivity for bad taste, but also, at their best, onstage chaos: opener 'Dissonance' is a clattering fury; 'Uber Capitalist Death Trade' is a thrilling slice of post-punk; the closing 'Kevin' ends with squalling guitars, semi-nakedness, stage invaders and Broadbent with his keyboard above his head like a trophy.

There are just not enough moments that convince. 'Dinner Lady' is a sub-The Fall meander memorable only for its masturbation line, while 'Fickle' stomps far too derivatively. The bouncy 'Necroflat in the Palace' is a paean to the NHS, but beyond the noise offers little insight into its plight other than clichéd politicking.

Perfect for Brexit Britain, then.