Music alone didn’t take them to this position. That’s not how rock works. After their big double-headlining show at Alexandra Palace in December, I speak on the phone with Jordan about this. “Oli’s an arresting character. He’s one of those better types of frontmen: you can’t put your finger on it, it’s just one of those things you can’t fake. It’s the upbringing, it’s what they’ve been through, it’s circumstance.”

For me, it’s his nihilism. It’s the philosophy at the forefront of his attitude, that allows for an oscillation between love and hate, one that predates influencer culture, shiny aphorisms and most importantly the backlash against positive thinking with regards to mental health. It's in an atheism that possibly contributed to ideas of them being difficult. It’s in those early Drop Dead designs that look almost like the grotesque animals in the popular internet cartoon of the era, Happy Tree Friends. It’s calling other rockstars who do paid meet-and-greets “fucking cockstars” and following up with a tweet saying “I never wish to upset its just Bullshit gets up my nose like a fart in a lift.” It’s always been in the lyrics, even in pop-rock album That’s The Spirit (2015), in cheerleaders chanting “S.P.I.R.I.T” to keep everyone upbeat on “Happy Song” while Oli screams “But if we sing along... maybe we'll forget.” It’s in how he deals with passing moods and keeping addiction at bay: “Sometimes that pull – you know the void? – opens up inside of you. When you feel it, accept it, it’s some sort of cleansing of yourself.” It’s the fact that “there is no point [to life], that’s freeing.”