As the local alterna-apex of The Melbourne International Jazz Festival, Laughing Clowns had a lot to live up to. The audience quickly packed out the be-gargoyled space, and this 24-year-old writer felt like a babe in the woods, so to speak. Everywhere buzzed groups of balding enthusiasts, decked top-to-toe in stylish jazz-black, telling stories of seeing this band in the 80s, knocking back whisky cokes, trying to outdo each other in reminisce. Wilco guitarist Nels Cline poured his fractured soul out into the mic, one minute cruisy-chilled, the next, angsty-jagged. The carrels were full, soon too would be the floor-space. The stage empty anticipation was building.

As the opening song swung into life, surrealistic images of chalked-up urban drawings cycled onto the screen, one after another, a few seconds at most. The multi-coloured scratchings served to frame the lively music – the instrumental featured a searing saxophone squeal, courtesy of Louise Elliot, front and centre. Her instrument seems to be a kind of herald for their music. The post-mod bass tones of Les Millar countered this to exciting effect.

The be-hatted band – in typical jazz-prog style – may not have looked like much, but every eye and ear in the place was glued to them and their evocative sounds. There’s definitely times when this band swings away from anything like jazz – when it springs off into the nether world of psych-prog-indie oddness, it’s only tether being the prominent sax. Likewise, the band often shy away from playing songs – they are big fans of the improv style, their tunes often extend and twist into new shapes: variations on a theme.

Ed Kuepper’s raspy-throated punk-rock vocals add a pleasing streetwise edge to their sometimes jagged, tumbling, alterna-jazz. This side of his musical heritage shines through, a scraping discordant note in their sound that serves to improve the whole. The beat raises itself through the floor with Collapse Board, and even some of the baldy-heads start bobbing crowd-central. The blurry images of bestial and stellar creatures brings the show to a heady climax, and a psych-jazz freak-out means an exit, stage-left.

Of course, this crowd are going no-where, and insistent yells bring the Clowns back onstage. They wrap up the set with three tracks that take the show down an upbeat road – Ms. Elliot akes up the wooden flute, adding a Pan-ish vibe. The audience prick up their ears – around me smiles proliferate, even a brave dancer or two. I turn around: it’s clear the whole crowd are loving it too, their faces bathed in a stage-lit dream, hypnotised, lured away from everyday banalities, soaking up the vibe. Music can do that.

CHECK OUT THE PHOTOS FROM THE GIG HERE