There’s no entry for “loudest band” in Guinness World Records (they think it’s irresponsible), but My Bloody Valentine’s claim to the title appears deafening. In the 16 years since their last UK tour, the Anglo-Irish quartet’s reputation for playing at tinnitus-inducing decibel levels has come to define them.

Loud they certainly were, but MBV stood out from the noisenik crowd because they beguiled rather than bludgeoned, their woozy waves of guitar fuzz leavened by unearthly, erotically charged harmonies. Their landmark albums, 1988’s Isn’t Anything and 1991’s Loveless, should have cemented them as avant-rock superstars, but instead they simply faded away, leaving only a string of sometimes credulity-stretching tales about their front man, Kevin Shields. (It’s a long story, but google “MBV chinchillas” to get a flavour.)

Now they’re back, with a “greatest hits” tour (they did have one) — and, happy to play to type, they’re giving the audience free earplugs. These proved unnecessary, and let no wusses tell you otherwise. There’s no new material, they look exactly the same as they did in their heyday (so that’s where they’ve been all these years: cryogenic storage) and they still don’t bother with fripperies such as between-song banter. Or moving.

They sound pretty similar, too: like the Tardis taking off, played through a Marshall stack, in an airing cupboard. And that can only be a good thing: many bands have tried, but nobody else makes music this overwhelming, this irresistible.

On their closer, You Made Me Realise, they play the same chord for what must be 20 minutes, and it’s as if time itself is standing still. Some people head for the exit, but most are too blissed out to do anything but sway gently, an ecstatic, punch-drunk expression on their faces. After an hour and a half of noise nirvana, there was really only one thing to say: “Of course, they were much louder in 1991. . . ”

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