At this year’s opening Bootleg night, something worked. By 10pm the line extended 60 odd people up AC/DC Lane, which was real pity for openers Demon Parade, who started their set at the wholly inappropriate time of 8.50pm. I was pretty perturbed by the thought of the psychedelic shoe gazers starting at a time that my grandmother would still be awake. But somehow, like the rest of the night, they didn’t disappoint.

I’ll be the first to admit that I wasn’t a Demon Parade fan initially – I prefer looking at people’s faces rather than my feet. So I don’t know if it’s now that I can finally see their eyes thanks to a few band haircuts, or if they’ve just finally cracked the right balance, but I’ve converted to hell. Their cohesion was fluid, allowing their well written riffs to come forward and leave non-believers nodding in unison. Michael Badger’s distinctive vocals sliced through the general white noise around him, soaring along with his arms in songs like God Says It’s Legal. His guitar tangos with Jarryd Boath ’s as the writhe together on stage, constantly bumper-barred back into place through the thrust of Rob Bryers bass and the shove of Greg Dempster ’s kick-pedal. The fairly recent addition of Whil Dempsey on organ is perhaps the element that has me singing the demon’s praises – he constructs the dimension through which the rest of the band tear a void. His synth may have been placed side stage, but it did not diminish his power. As The Demon Parade would say, All The Cool Kids will be at the show.

Acid rock/neo-psychedelia was the theme of tonight’s proceedings, with Adelaide based Lady Strangelove making a long over-due trip back over here to Melbourne. And with only three weeks til mushroom season folks, hopefully they’ll be spending a lot more time looking for mushies in our neck of the woods. But you don’t need drugs for the Strangelove experience- they are a trip in themselves. Their warped trancey beats infect the room with some sort of virus that causes extreme loss of muscular control, resulting in uncontrollable limb flailing and head banging.

The word on the lips of the crowd around me centred around how much they sounded like The Mars Volta, or how delectable lead singer Brenny Shaw looked. If you could see his face, that is. If you could see ANY of their faces – there was so much hair flying around on that stage that I’m surprised that they didn’t tie themselves into knots. This kind of acted as a metaphor for their sound though – tight, regardless of solos shredded unexpectedly and almost epileptically from guitarist Josh Van Looy. It’s hard to talk about the songs individually, as they are purposefully designed to blend into one another with very little time for rest. This can create a bit of a problem, as it means the set turns into one long, dense trip with no time for recovery. There were a few moments mid set when Damo Satenk ‘sdriving drums and Azz Shaw ’s masterfully simultaneous synth and bass met head on in beautiful synchronicity; but in the end, I wanted a chiropractor and a stiff drink at the end of the set, not a tab.

By half 10, Cherry had the same vibe as a thriving opium den. It was the perfect time for a rejigged Shaman Son to infuse the crowd. Tonight was their live recording, and thus there were video cameras spinning around the already twirling audience. It felt quite voyeuristic; kind of like you were part of some peyote hazed party that you didn’t tell your Mum about. ‘I love you, every one of you! I’ve been thinking about every single one of you a whole a bunch!!’ screamed lead singer Ted Dempsey, his voice as raw as corrugated iron. Their Smashing Pumpkins influenced set was just that: smashing. It centred more around their newer tracks that take advantage of occasional live member Karis Hawkins ’ guitar skills to complement Whil’s already steady rhythms. Jordan Steaks kept his shirt on behind the drums this time, which disappointed many a lass in the crowd, who instead seemed more than happy to give a few shout outs to bassist Rob Webster.

Although I am more familiar with nostalgic Jarvis Jay tracks like Dramatic Antics and We’re Not Related To Those Cretans, neither of which featured, I was more than happy to go with the collective flow, especially loving the utterly contagious opening of We Stare At The Sky, and the more Jimmy Morrisonesque Meltdown. Following two and a half hours of non-stop hardcore psychedelic Bootlegging, the audience was given a White Hearts climax, floating into a rockier set during the comedown. The change was welcomed, and I was more than happy to dance without feeling like I needed some chemical induction like the rest of the audience (reviewing responsibilities make me a Nana, alas).

Shaman Son’s spell comes through best in their live performance, so don’t rely on MySpace, don’t rely on Triple J Unearthed, get off your arses and see a gig. They’ve got the Tuesday residency at The Birmingham this month, so you have four reasons to go – as their lyrics ask ‘Is it guilt/ is it fear/ is it them/ is there no reason why?’. That’s four good reasons, and no excuse not to. I’ll see you at the show. And I’ll make sure that I’m not reviewing next time.

CHECK OUT THE PHOTOS FROM THE SHOW HERE