Drill rap has had a short but dramatic life in Britain since it journeyed via YouTube from the south side of Chicago to London’s council estates a few years ago. Even 12 months ago, few in the industry had heard of the genre; this spring, it exploded into prime-time news bulletins and tabloid headlines as civilised society’s new bete noire, the alleged cause of a surge in youth violence.

For a genre beholden to metronomic beats, nihilistic lyrics and expressionless, dead-eyed flows, drill is not naturally built for live shows. But Brixton’s Skengdo x AM have pulled off an impressive transformation into an animated, party-starting double act – despite AM keeping his balaclava on for the entire 90-minute show.

The chaotic mosh pits and dancehall-style rewinds only abate halfway through, when a minute’s silence is held – with house lights off and phone torches raised like candles – in memory of “the brothers who couldn’t make it”. The pair mostly succeed in hushing an excitable young crowd. It’s a strange moment of connection between the grim reality of youth violence and the rap music demonised for it, and a reminder for the overwhelmingly teenage, mostly white crowd that drill’s themes didn’t come from nowhere.

The silence ends with applause, and the duo launch into Mansa Musa – first a raucous, crowd-led a capella version, then the real thing. When AM takes the mic for the deep-voiced hook on Macaroni – a romantic homage to a gun, not the pasta shape – the crowd are chanting along again. “Father forgive me, because I ain’t holy,” he raps understatedly.

They steam through an impressive range of hits from the last two years. Crash and Attempted 1.0 stand out – and it’s surreal seeing this much joy for a singalong in which the key line is about being stabbed below the knee. But by this point a 15-strong crew are on stage, Skengdo’s shirt is off and he’s spraying champagne over the audience like a F1 driver. Maybe drill is party music after all.