Permanent (Joy) didn’t just play the Arts Club Loft — they inhabited it. From the first glint of feedback, the room felt suspended in their orbit: hazy, tense, and electric in equal measure.

The band coasted onto the stage with quiet confidence, and then — a shimmering punch of guitars cracked the air open. The chatter stopped. That rare hush — the one that only arrives when a band has everyone under the same spell — filled the room. Then the sound hit in full, and the silence shattered into primal cheers. It’s a reaction most established acts can only hope to earn.

Their sound floods the space: synths glinting through raw guitar grit, drums landing heavy but never blunt. It’s a mix that feels instinctive — sharp edges wrapped in silk. There’s a rough grace to Permanent (Joy); they trade polish for pulse, emotion for symmetry. The set moved like a heartbeat — surging, collapsing, rebuilding — never static, always alive.

The vocals thread through it all, smooth and unforced, rising into choruses that bloom rather than blast. When the band locks in, it’s less performance, more collective instinct — a sound that breathes. You can see why they’re carving out their own space in the North West circuit: they’re not chasing trends; they’re shaping texture and tone on their own terms.

Between songs, the crowd filled the silence — chanting, swaying shoulder to shoulder in that shared blur of sweat, lager, and belonging. By the time the final chord faded, nobody moved. It didn’t feel like an ending — more like a promise.

Permanent (Joy) left the Loft not just buzzing with noise, but with connection. Every note felt earned, every silence deliberate. A luminous, lived-in performance from a band too young to be jaded, too self-aware to fake sincerity.

Permanent (Joy) aren’t just emerging — they’ve arrived.