In a Salford pub jammed with suits sipping their after-work pints, Warmduscher are telling me about the time they were thrown out of one of their own gigs. “This PTSD ex-Marine bouncer tried to box me, saying ‘you and me big boy’,” says guitarist Adam J Harmer – who is not, by anyone’s standards, a big boy. Adam says he’d pissed off the security team at the Butlins gig, who removed the band from the site while fans cheered and shouted their name from nearby chalets.

Frontman Clams Baker Jr then throws in a story about falling out with a bartender at Berghain in Berlin, which ended with the club banning him (possibly because he was shouting out stuff into the crowd like “Who here has been fucked over by this bar? Who is sick of the way they treat you? You guys don't need to take this, fuck these people!"). We’re killing time before the band play a BBC Radio 6 Music live session down the road, and I’m starting to wonder if DJ Marc Riley should be preparing for a ruckus. As it turns out, Warmduscher – a side project of sorts, with members who all play in other bands – rattle through their set like total professionals. But I’ll come to that in a moment.

First, let’s understand some of the basics about this five-piece. People bandy the word “supergroup” around a lot, so consider Warmduscher more of a ragtag collective instead. Clams is also a member of the dirty house outfit Paranoid London. Guitarist Saul Adamczewski notoriously flashes his tooth-missing grin in Fat White Family (“big boy” Adam steps in for Warmduscher when Saul’s not around). Bassist Ben Romans-Hopcraft fronts the soul-rock outfit Childhood and plays bass in Saul’s ostensible solo project Insecure Men. Ex-Fat Whites and current Insecure Men drummer Jack Everett rounds the band off with Paranoid London’s Quinn Whalley on all things electronic.

Together, they sound like a mutant hybrid of Butthole Surfers and Funkadelic. This translates to a wild live show where guitars buzz like pneumatic drills over melodic lines varying from soul-pop to discordant mayhem. To get a sense of how a band who rarely rehearse and often get kicked out of their own gigs operate, I’ve tagged along with them for a day in Salford, in Greater Manchester. They go from the pub to their radio session to a gig later that evening, buzzing on acid all the while (which it takes me a minute to realise). Along the way, we find the time to talk about the new material you’ll soon be able to hear on their upcoming album, Whale City, and what particular itch this band scratches for musicians who already clearly have other creative outlets.

It all started for Warmduscher almost by accident. They formed spontaneously for a New Years Eve party in 2014 for a laugh but kept the party going. Their improvised debut album, Khaki Tears, followed in 2015. The best way to describe it would be sounding like a group locked in a pitch-black basement while gorging on homemade speed for a weekend, making music to capture their increasingly diminished mental state. Guitars twitch, electronics sputter and Clams sings in a style probably not far off from a kidnap victim’s attempts to shout through duct tape.