Tequila, beers, beards and balladeers, the official launch for The Gin Club’s much lauded 2 CD opus Junk has brought their dishevelled marauding pack of faithful followers, including The Drones’ Gareth Liddiard & Mike Noga in their respective solo guises, out into the autumn chill en masse. Murmurs are that this will be a sell out (“You sold out dude” being leveraged at an understandably happy Ben Salter near the bar) and by the number of indie kids rolling up to the venue, it probably is.

Due to the safety concerns presented by The Globe’s steep carpeted stairs, punters are only permitted, very graciously, to dribble down into the subterranean bar area like animals boarding the arc (two-by-two) as recently formed Brisbane locals At Sea start their set. It’s hard to hear them from the end of the slow-moving, ever-growing queue outside, however echos of bluesy grrl noise waft up every now and then amongst the rhubarb rhubarb frothing and bubbling below.

Several drinks later Gareth Liddiard sits alone on stage, just himself and his guitar under the spotlight, disco globe silently spinning. It’s warm and calming to be in his lilting vocal embrace. Numerous references to musical similarities with Tom Waits, particularly in lyrical phrasing, are given further validity on experiencing this solo performance. The gentle slope of the carpeted cinema floor provides a perfect vantage for the seated lo-fi-appreciative crowd. Between songs such as I’m Mine and Careful As You Go, Liddiard offers up syrupy cheek about the end of the world, having his tubes tied (not), Heinz baked beans and “not fucking it up”. Although the opening bars of Shark Fin Blues signature riff are unmistakable even when given the acoustic treatment, not everyone grasped on quickly, Salter issuing a – œshut up’ to some mates still talking away in the crowd. As witnessed on a couple of occasions, this was the track people had been waiting to hear and as some of the crowd arose, all clambered to their feet when it finished, regardless if the set wasn’t.

In sharp juxtaposition to his Drones cohort, Mike Noga & The Gentlemen of Fortune erupt onto the stage, a little bit of swamp, a little bit of rock and a whole lot of fantastic banter. Suited and booted with a couple of ring-master tashes thrown in, the band swig and swagger their way through a alt-country-rock set that gets people moving. A dynamic Melbournian of noted talent and versatility, Noga announces that there are “fifteen people on tour; very tired. Can you tell?” From the energy and drive in the set, the answer should have been a unanimous “ah, no.” Highlight is track Turn Your Light on Me Again, filling the stage with musician’s musicians all having a rollicking good time. Noga & his Gentlemen certainly prove themselves an appropriate forerunner to the eclectic chorus of rustic ballads and shanties to come.

“Who stole our bottle of tequila?” Never one to mince words, well, not without putting them to song, Salter laments the disappearance of some of the band’s back stage stock, with a forcable request to the crowd. The ode to the MIA mescale is reprised a number of times during the early part of the set. This is clearly an important part of the after show celebrations that are sure to be as legendary as the gigs where band members intermittently came and went from the stage; the set list determined by who was available at what times to play which instruments, in between their other commitments in other bands in other venues. “Not famous yet, just awesome,” he offers, finishing a final tune of his guitar. And so the set begins.

Tonight everyone in the lineup arrives and leaves the stage at the same time and the new tracks from Junk prevail. Cellist Bridget Lewis is aurally mesmerising both vocally and musically in delivery of the title track, while the blues ridden melodies and harmonies of Ten Paces Away compound into a crescendo of woes, as though a soulful bunch of fallen angels have gathered to console each other through song. Typically Rogersesk lines as spied in Something’s Rotten (later confirmed as the track Tim Rogers collaborated on) and tales are told through An Horse and All Your Men . Of course, there are a few old favourites thrown in and Scott Regan fronts the mic for Wylde Bitch as the stage fills with all players; it is crowded, jovial and comforting. These people aren’t just a band, they’re family.

Once again a night with The Gin Club was like being in their rehearsal room when they’re jamming and we’re all there to hang out, drink and sing along. Due to licensing, the bar is closed earlier than expected and the set is surprisingly cut short. It doesn’t matter though, cos it’s a fuckin’ laugh and a whole heap of rock n roll …and we’re just lucky enough to have joined in the fun before they go from being just awesome to truly famous.