The Living End are a band of rare and positively freakish talents. When Chris Cheney whips out his white Falcon guitar it’s the beginning of a magic show. No rabbits, no hats and thankfully no sequined ladies. But a magic show nonetheless.

Starting with the magicians themselves. There’s fashion-defying Living End frontperson Chris (no-one else could possibly get away with wearing torn black jeans and white built-up shoes simultaneously). Gravity-defying Scott Owen laughs in the face of natural forces for extended periods whilst pounding a magnificent upright bass. And then there’s drummer Andy Strachan who combines deadly surfer-boy charm with equally lethal precise drumming.

Indeed The Living End is the sort of outfit you’d like to mark as a heritage item. Eight years into their illustrious career and they have become a band whose music has become a quintessential part of Australia musical culture.

“It’s good to be here”, says Cheney in a brief pause in the band’s frenetic set. The crowd response is equally welcoming. “Yeaaaaaaah!”, scream a venue-full of happy moshers. Later the cries of “I love you” can be heard between choruses. When a front-row bandit, hollers “we want more rawk”, The Living End are happy to deliver. Indeed, this is a band which just keeps on giving. Half an hour into their mammoth showcase and the same determined energy accompanies The Living End’s playing as attended their opening numbers. This is an outfit who has conquered the world stage (including a recent triumphant tour of America with other Aussie outfits Jet and The Vines) and yet has never forgotten how important remains their home-town following. Even after three successful albums this is a band whose music and performance vitality have lost none of their youthful edge.

“You’re a good-looking audience”, frontperson Chris Cheney croons. Chris’ taste in crowds is unrefined. He likes the band’s fans straight-up, no-nonsense and full of sweaty passion for rebellion. And this crowd is more than willing to respond to Chris’ encouraging banter. As The Living End plough through their veritable litany of angsty anthems, moshers young and old are more than happy to form a chorus of dissidence united against all of their leader’s pet hates (corporate greed, misguided government; oppression of any description). As Chris angles his head around the mic during West End Riot and yells “Riot! Riot!”, The Palace looks as if it might do exactly that.

But The Living End isn’t merely an angry punk outfit out to wreak havoc on corrupt institutions. Prisoners Of Society they are not. Blessed with first-class instrumental dexterity and a finely-tuned sense of entertainment, it is hard to believe that the band’s members have barely left their twenties. The tightest of outfits, the band are proof that serious musical prodigy and commercial success are not mutually exclusive concepts. This is a band which proves time and again that there is not substitute for hard-fought-and-won performance class. Celebrating the recent release of their Singles Collection CD and DVD, they rocked their way through the plethora of hits which have made them household names since the release of their first material in 1997. Older staples Roll On, Second Solution and Carry Me Home were intertwined with the newer magic of songs such as Tabloid Magazine.

Loved and secure as they may be, the band has never lost sight of the bigger picture. Whilst they may have made it, this is a band which is acutely aware of the pressing need for more funding to finance the next generation of fledgling rockers. “We’re all about sport in this country”, says Chris shaking his head (and before punting a bottle ironically into the crowd). “Why aren’t we financing the Arts? What about the music?” Chris’ tirade goes on to include a lament on the reality facing the Palace itself. “They want to knock this place down, ya know”, Chris informs a mortified audience. “That’s right, they’re trying to get rid of our venues. We need these venues.”

And indeed it would be terrible if gigs like this were to be a thing of the past. Ably supported by 70s rock-revivalists Dallas Crane (who with their leather jackets and dressed-down hair-dos are the very epitome of classic rock gods) and raucous locals British India, this is the sort of night out which would be sorely missed.

After a blistering handful and encores, The Living End march triumphantly offstage. This is a band who deserve every fortune which comes there way and then some. For The Living End there are, as ever, only new beginnings.