We descend from the grime of Oxford Street into the brightly lit and mirrored entrance to Sydney’s spring lamb of music venues: Oxford Art Factory. On the wall a larger-than-life image of Iggy Pop is currently in residence, and dividing the smaller bar area from the live performance space is a glass box illuminated with a light installation. It’s the right environment for the Sydney pit-stop of Damn Arms’ national tour in support of the new album, The Live Artex. It’s a space that conjures (and not accidentally) images of 60’s era New York bohemia (as if the word – œfactory’ in the name, didn’t already give that away).

First to take the stage is a quartet of jauntily dressed young males who go by the moniker of The Holidays. It’s a fitting name, as songs are infused with a concentrated dose of summer. Their set seems the soundtrack to a day, decades ago, spent lazing on Vespa scooters by Brighton pier. Their sound is reminiscent of contemporary acts such as Franz Ferdinand in their pop sensibility and nod toward Cool Britannia. However, the similarities end there, with The Holidays, devoid vocally of the nonchalance of Alex Kapranos. Instead, front man Simon’s vocals possess a sweet, breezy lilt perfectly fitting with the band’s blend of pop and rock.

Second act, Plug in City is described by one audience member as, “Damn Arms but more mainstream.” Indeed, what comes across at times is a poor man’s version of synth-laden danceable indie rock, but a comparison to label-mates Van She is probably more apt. In fact, it doesn’t surprise me to find that the band is on the Modular label. From the fan-base in attendance tonight, to the (what some may argue, overdone) ironic 80’s shtick, this band is the epitome of Modular. Nevertheless, they’re able to pull a decent crowd, who sway to music that seems perpetually stuck in second gear, watching (through fringe obscured eyes) a front man who delivers a lackadaisical performance, drawling with mic-stand in hand and producing a cow bell at times. Musically, songs are reminiscent of Hot Chip in the monotonous vocals and repetition. It’s music that hides any semblance of emotion behind a veneer of depthless trendiness: a set that chugs away to a backing tape urging you to surrender your brain and to sway listlessly.

After what seems a fair while, a sizeable pool of audience members has amassed and Damn Arms begin their set of jagged indie dance punk, Australia’s answer to Bloc Party and Moving Units. Unlike Plug in City, Damn Arms introduce an energy and intelligence to their performance. New material appears, nestled amongst old and fits seamlessly. Thirty Six shifts from yelped vocals to alien sounding utterances. They play, The Not So Progressive Punks, a tune which sees a departure from simply disco shuffle drum beats and boasts a breakdown, where band members demand accompanying spirit fingers. Crowd favourite Test Pattern receives a rowdy greeting from the audience who stomp in puddles of spilt drink and move epileptically. One audience member remarks on the absence of bassist/vocalist’s hair, to which he explains, “I looked like a hippie…I fucking hate hippies.” And the music says as much too. There’s no whimsy or purple haze here. Instead, a performance that delivers sharp, cynical, danceable tunes. How postmodern.