Dave Porter has a question. He wants to know where clouds go. “After they pass by, are they just like people, that go on and then die?” The figurative bit between his teeth, he wonders if small clouds “are lonely, like you and I? Do they just go to rain, or is that a tear from their eye? Sometimes I feel like a small cloud passing by, never knowing where I’m going and never knowing why.”

Sleaford Mods are not just those two sweary guys with a laptop from Nottingham. Their unique mix of acerbic, politically conscious lyrics and lo-fi earworm loops have rightfully earned them a growing and devoted following across the country. Indeed, the audience at Manchester Academy is packed with moody 20-somethings and middle-aged punks. Rather than appearing intimidating, however, the atmosphere is full of camaraderie and childish excitement, as everyone waits for these de facto voices of the disaffected to take to the stage.

First up, though, is Nachthexen, an all-female four piece whose guitar-less new wave takes as much from early synth-pop as it does from Gang of Four et al. It’s easy to see why they’ve been picked as support for Sleaford Mods. There’s something no-nonsense about their music, which lets the monotonously despairing vocals (think The Cure’s first album) soar above them. “Have You Seen The State” perhaps most perfectly unites the hard drums, cosmic keyboard, and guttural bass underneath the singer’s bleak vision. Their new single “Disco Creep” is similarly indebted to synth music. It wouldn’t sound out of place alongside early LCD Soundsystem or the darker side of Bronski Beat.

They’re smiling because Williamson is confronting an important issue head-on

After Nachthexen finish, we’re treated to a playlist of Eighties power ballads, dad-rock, and oddness, seemingly created by someone who’s never heard what the headline band sound like (Joe Esposito’s “You’re the Best”, anyone?), until Sleaford Mods enter to an atmosphere nearer to that of a football stadium than your average gig venue. Singer Jason Williamson greets the audience with a chipper “Awight?”, before beats programmer-cum-nodding dance icon Andrew Fearn, in his trademark snapback, quickly triggers the first track on his laptop. The noodling bassline of “I Feel So Wrong” starts winding its way through the audience, and everyone begins to move.

With the set largely consisting of songs from 2017’s English Tapas, Williamson’s energy is such that he seems to fizz and pop with spit, tics, and fury, strutting around the stage between songs like a peacock. The contrast between the wit of “The angel of the Midlands has flown away, probably south” and the frequent raspberries made into the mic are part of what makes them so much fun live. There are also singalongs a-plenty. From the marching “Army Nights” to the dance-punk tinged “Jolly Fucker”, the crowd is behind Sleaford Mods the whole way.

The band’s’s enduring centrepiece, “Jobseeker”, kicks off the encore and whips the audience into a frenzy. The joy on every face chanting, “I’m a mess, desperately clutching onto a leaflet on depression supplied to me by the NHS”, initially seems odd, until you realise that they’re smiling because Williamson is confronting an important issue head-on. They fly through the driving “Tied Up In Nottz” and finish on the twisted choral demon that is “Tweet Tweet Tweet”. 

The night is best summed up by Williamson himself in one of his pre-song titbits: “I know there’s a lot of fucks and cunts, but really it’s all about love.” It’s comforting to know that there are still bands like Sleaford Mods with something to say that matters.

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Overleaf: Watch Sleaford Mods live on Seattle radio station KEXP

Seeger. A name to strike sparks with almost anyone, whether or not they have an interest in folk music, a catch-all term about which Peggy Seeger and her creative and life partner Ewan MacColl (they didn’t actually marry until a decade before his death) had strong feelings. Pete Seeger, Peggy’s half-brother and the legendary composer of “If I Had a Hammer” and “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?”, was more tolerant.

Committed fans of Emerson, Lake & Palmer are spoiled for choice when they need to feed their passion for prog rock’s most eminent trio. Decent shape original pressings of their albums can be picked up for under £10.

Both Rhode Island’s Downtown Boys, and Washington D.C.’s Priests sit at the centre of today’s feminist punk scene. As stated in a recent Downtown Boys press release, they oppose “the prison-industrial complex, racism, queerphobia, capitalism, fascism, boredom, and all things people use to try to close our minds, eyes and hearts”. This, perhaps, explains why the promoters have listed the night as a “radical double bill”. Having also both released extremely well received albums this year - Cost of Living and Nothing is Natural respectively - they descend on Manchester’s Deaf Institute amid a flurry of hype and expectation.

London-based support act No Home is on stage as I enter, with a sizeable crowd watching the singer thrash at a telecaster and viciously pour her soul into the microphone. She’s a singer-songwriter with real guts. Although she’s not the most polished guitarist, the grit of her performance adds to the sense of catharsis about her music. The highlight of her set is the acapella “Who Cares”, which deals with teenage isolation and ends her performance in a hauntingly beautiful manner.

With their manic female vocalist and smatterings of saxophone, it's almost lazy to mention the obvious X-Ray Spex comparison in regards to five-piece Downtown Boys, but there’s a real musicality and rhythm in their music which they share with their punk predecessors. The growling bass pulls the crowd up by their feet, until the floor is quite literally shaking.

There’s also a curious blend of fun and politics in their set, as there has been across their three LPs. 2017’s Cost of Living, for example, heavily nods to Trump’s Presidency and the fear that it has resulted in. A skanking stage invader has just left when we’re treated to the first of several political speeches, all of which keep the audience captivated. Their music is equally charged, with the passion of singer Victoria Ruiz at its most evident in the attack of “Lips That Bite” or high-point “Somos Chulas (No Somos Pendejas).” By the time the incendiary set closer, “A Wall” finishes, the whole audience is dancing and whooping. Even if just for this moment, I feel like I’m standing in (what No Home described as) a sea of “super-funky ultra-revolutionaries”.

The four members of Priests come on to both roaring cheers and roaring heat. Greeting the crowd with a new song, and then ballsy album cut “Appropriate”, they take a moment to find their feet, but by the time fan-favourite “Jj” pounds in, Priests have the crowd hypnotised. The band move between scratchy feedback and coy melodicism with ease, with magnetic singer Katie Alice Greer swaying like a charmed-snake at the front of the stage. Dressed like a gothic 19^th-Century prince, she’s at her best in the Sonic Youth-tinged “No Big Bang”, almost spitting into the microphone over an oddly catchy one-note bassline. At the end of the set, the audience mill about for a while. No one wants to leave the Deaf Institute and admit the evening’s over.

Priests drummer Daniele Daniele revealed mid-set that Priests feel a special bond with Manchester and, judging from the crowd’s reaction tonight, Manchester also feels a special bond with Priests.

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Overleaf: Watch the video for Priests "Jj"

I have a confession to make. The first time I heard "This Town" – the debut release for Niall Horan's new album – I thought it was Ed Sheeran.

Which gives an indication of the general level of acceptability of Niall’s first solo foray outside of 1D – "This Town" is sure to stick around the airwaves for a while. Overall, Flicker is pretty mainstream in comparison to his fellow Directioners, who’ve opted for stylistic gimmickery (Zayne Malik), faux-rock-kitsch (Harry Styles), or impregnating super-famous celebs (that other one)… Niall has opted for a stalwart’s strategy, capitalising on his baby-faced, boy-next-door image.

It’s a decently crafted album of soft pop, sweet songs and tracks perfect for passive radio play. Mareen Morris brings a bit of gravitas to the Nashville-friendly “Seeing Blind” and “Paper House” has some hummy-strummy nu-folk niceness.“Flicker” is contemplative, flowing and actually quite lovely, the kind of song that carries the album and convinces it has legs. But there’s bad with the good. “She's on the Loose” is a forgettable Eighties pop-bop and “Since We’re Alone” smacks of B-side Jason Donovan on vinyl. “Too Much to Ask” is a snorey ballad you'd expect of a former X-Factor star, although perhaps not one who went on to be part of one of the most successful boybands of all time. “Slow Hands” steps the interest up with a bit of original rhythm and cadence, a strong drum beat underpinning a decent tune - until I realise the lyrics are "sweat dripping down our dirty laundry". Confused pause.

Credit where it's due though, Niall did co-write all of the songs on Flicker – which for the most part are well strung together. It didn't go unnoticed that he was the most musically coherent of all the Directionals, and now he's proving himself to be the true Gary Barlow of his group, only replacing the piano with a guitar.

In a world of gimmicky stylistics or flash in the pan insta-reactives aiming for a quick fix and a rush to download, marketing his easy listening run-of-the-mill appeal to the basic masses is a long-term recipe for success.

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British singer-songwriter Nick Mulvey’s new album, Wake Up Now, is one of the year’s finest. However, there’s a moment on the single “Myela”, a heartfelt Afro-Latin stomper protesting the plight of refugees, which can grate. The song suddenly stops and female backing singers begin a nursery rhyme chant of “I am your neighbour, you are my neighbour”. On record it seems trite; however, in concert at this eye-pleasing, airy Bexhill-on-Sea venue, it’s transformative. Mulvey and his five-piece band use the sequence as a launch pad for a cosmic jam, before settling into a brief snippet of Gary Clail & On-U Sound System’s “Rumours” (“of war”).

The song is one of this concert’s highlights and Mulvey introduces it by deadpanning, understatedly, that “truth is not rampant” in the world in 2017. His music, by contrast, is fervent in its truth-seeking. It seems to be aiming towards a higher purpose and, at its best, achieves elevation. He may look quite ordinary in his jeans, black shirt, beanie hat and dark beard, but his skill with a guitar is revelatory, and his quiet demeanour is belied by moments when the music takes off to somewhere else. In a funny sort of way – and not musically – there’s something of the Grateful Dead about it all, but Mulvey and co. have not yet reached the place where four-hour jams are de rigeur.

The set runs through most of the new album, dips into his first album, and even includes an unreleased song called “The Doing Is Done” which effectively combines drone harmonics with an African chant aesthetic. His sound is very WOMAD, a stew of global styles, built around his voracious appetite for learning new guitar techniques from across the world. His band is there every step of the way, notably his wife Isadora on ukulele and backing vocals, his multi-instrumentalist sidesman Frederico Bruno, and, most visual of all (including the frontman!), the striking, blond-maned valkyrie Fifi Dewey on synth and scorching electric guitar solos.

The band leaves the stage to allow for a rather tentative campfire-style audience sing-along to Mulvey’s most recognisable song, “Cucurucu”, which he has to restart due to a cough, but is there to add texture to quiet beautiful songs such as “We Are Never Apart” and the new album’s stunning meditation on death, “When the Body Is Gone”. They don’t play one of Mulvey’s most popuar older songs, "Nitrous”, but they get away with it because there’s enough potency to keep everyone happy in new songs such as “Unconditional” and the encore-opening, enthneogenic ballad “Infinite Trees” ("Seems to me a galaxy is calling us/Calling us on and on/Calling us into its infinity”).

If I had a quibble, it would be that there’s sometimes a solemnity which adds occasional unfunky weight when this band make music that's elastic, wide-eyed and lighter than air. This could just be because it’s the last night of the tour and, in any case, it’s nit-picking. It’s a great gig, and it climaxes with the second best song of this year, “Mountain to Move”, so we’re sent off onto the wildly windswept seafront singing its ecstatic chorus, “Wake up now!”, an anthem for our times.

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Overleaf: watch the video for Nick Mulvey "Mountain to Move"

80 Aching Orphans ought to be hard work. A four-CD, 80-track, 274-minute overview chronicling 45 years of one of pop’s most wilful bands should be a challenging listen. The Residents have never made records which are straightforward or were meant to be, and have never made records conforming to prevailing trends.

Before they even step on stage The Pretenders win me to their side. An announcement prior to their appearance tells the audience, “The Pretenders request you keep your phone in your pocket.” Brilliantly, these aren’t idle words. As the gig progresses security quietly but firmly approach anyone with their phone out and asks them to desist. A few songs into the set, Chrissie Hynde has just begun a stripped-down take on her 1986 hit “Hymn to Her”, accompanied only by Welsh keyboard-player Carwyn Ellis, when she stops short. “Would everyone rather watch you take pictures than me sing?” she asks an unwise soul at the front who has disobeyed her request.

As a fan of gigs as communal events, rather than of everyone being partly somewhere else, partly concerned with informing the world they were at said gig, this anti-phone stuff is pleasing. But there’s much more to The Pretenders than a Luddite rock’nroll statement. Their performance emanates a sense of having a good time, boasting much cheeky interplay, fronted by a woman who still regards the concert as a spontaneous display of energy.

Chrissie Hynde has led The Pretenders, on and off, in various guises, for almost 40 years. Behind her on stage, surrounded by Perspex screens, is Martin Chambers, distinctively mutton-chopped, white hair slicked back, an amazing drummer and the sole other member from the classic late Seventies line-up which was decimated by drug deaths. Hynde wears a glittery pink jacket, tight jeans, studded belt, and a Pretenders tee-shirt, a svelte presence wielding an equally glittery guitar, her hair shaggy, punky, her features dominated by measured kohl eyes.

The set, which kicks off with the title track from last year’s Alone album, is peppered with most of the hits – a double punch of “Back on the Chain Gang” and “Talk of the Town” fires things up nicely – but the band seem to enjoy themselves most on numbers that settle into a punk-skiffle rhythm then turn into a jam, as on “Thumbelina” which blossoms into an astounding take on “Middle of the Road”. This grows faster and faster, with guitarist James Walbourne soloing at boggling speed and ferocity, playing off against Chambers' provocative drum patterns.

Hynde is in jovial form – dismissing her phone ban later in the set as a crabby whim. She tells anecdotes, notably about a failed play for the male lead in the video for “I’ll Stand by You”. She asks the crowd at one point, since this is Brighton, why haven’t they made her a gay icon like Madonna. Her singing voice is fine, as it ever was, retaining her trademark combination of softness and steel, which comes to the fore on “Stop You Sobbing”.

However, as she says after twangy Lynch-ian slowie “Let’s Get Lost”, “This is getting too serious, we came to rock’n’roll.” And they surely do in their two encores, notably on 2002 chugger “Break up the Concrete” and bass-led debut album closer “Mystery Achievement”, before eventually giving in to crowd pleas at the last and cheerfully striding through their only chart-topper, “Brass in Pocket”. They gather, arms around each other, and wave at us, thanking us at the very end. It’s a regular concert ritual, of course, but The Pretenders on stage tonight really do seem to be in the flush of something fresh, which is invigorating to witness.

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Overleaf: 37-minute set of The Pretenders live in 2016

One New Year’s Eve in the 1970s, hot young session musicians Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards were assured by Grace Jones that they could penetrate the inner sanctum of Studio 54 by dropping her name at the door. A doorman thought otherwise and invited them to "fuck off". Making alternative arrangements, they bought a couple of bottles of Dom Perignon – “rock’n’roll mouthwash”, in Rodgers’ phrase – and went home to jam.