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Who’d have thought it? A bunch of preppy boys from the West blow into Canberra and pull the biggest crowd seen at the ANU since they found swine flu on campus. Perhaps Stanhope put something in Canberra’s water during the week, because it turned out the few Territorians who didn’t cram into the ANU Bar were all out getting loose at other fine Civic establishments.

Preceding the music itself was the getting into the venue. ANU shows have been known to generate – œn-shaped’ queues, even – œm-shaped’ queues, but the line that greeted the less punctual to this one was horrific – it seemed to spell out, “fuck it’s cold; is it really worth it?” Luckily the FasterLouder handshake spared one shivering denim-squeezer the long wait, so it was quickly and coyly inside to catch Steve Parkin. Steve’s set didn’t do much to set him apart from any other overly-earnest singer/songwriter, but musically he ticked the boxes, reflecting plenty of time spent on the Perth/Freo scene. Whacking a capo the sixth fret to sing his closing lullaby showed some tenacity and earned warm applause.

When Bob Evans and band clocked on soon after it was the beer queue causing problems. Unfortunately not even the gravitas of FL can get one to the bar any quicker, and so the opening couple of songs including Pasha Bulker had to be heard from among the other frustrated thirsties. The Evans set was comprehensive, taking in such tracks as Don’t Walk Alone, Someone So Much and Nowhere Without You. It also included such lyrics as “I believe in making love” and “we get around in hand-me-downs”. If only there was more to them all than meets the eye…

It’s pretty bland stuff, the Bob Evans show. Middle of the road, overly-literal songs sung with too much nose and not enough throat, accompanied by a band who are technically great but pretty uninspiring. This comment doesn’t reflect much consultation with the crowd, who on the whole seemed to love singing and clapping along. It’s more a reaction from someone who overcame such traumas as first drink, first kiss and first slap to the soundtrack of early Jebediah; wondering who this Elton John on opium character Bob Evans is and what he did with Kevin Mitchell.

Come Esky time and the place was chockers. People of all ages, shapes and sizes welcomed first, Foreign Land then the title track of the new record, Inshalla. “We are Eskimo Joe!” Kav Temperly proudly exclaimed; “Here for your non-stop pleasure!”. Sure enough, the five of them worked bloody hard in the 90 minutes that followed to nail a beaut show. The formula’s fool-proof: as soon as the crowd starts to waiver while listening to your new songs, throw down an old hit and they’ll be back in a flash. And this is how it went; with about two-thirds of the (recently platinum according to Kav) Inshalla album on the set list, mixed with favourites from the previous three.

The new sound is a good one, and it’s clear the fellas are having lots of fun as they swap instruments and stage positions. The bass guitar is the floozy in this scenario, getting shared between Temperly, Joel Quartermain and Stu MacLeod. Childhood Behaviour and Losing My Mind were standout songs, probably because they were the simplest. The weaker moments in the new Inshalla tracks seemed to come in the form of some cheesy lyrics and some vague, bordering on lost, melodies.

Black Fingernails, Red Wine brought the house down to close the main set and ensure demand for an encore. The encore was much the same as what went before it, but distraction came in the form of some dude, draped over the front wall of the booth and staring intently at the sound technician. Hard to tell whether he was in love, inebriated, or reviewing the show for Pitchfork. Either way he made an approving nod to endorse the mix, which had indeed been superb given the number of bodies in the room.

All goes to show it’s worth it to bands who bother with Canberra on a Saturday night. Although Eskimo Joe are on the record as having reined in most excesses of the rock’n’roll lifestyle, they can certainly inspire the rest of us to do our worst.

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