This was the boat that rocked.

A safety warning was given by the ageing captain on what to do should the boat capsize. By now, the Titanic jokes were getting a little old, as was the ironic fact that The Hovercrafts were headlining. But to turn back would mean the walk of shame down the sea of faces in the 300 strong line, and no one was prepared to do that. The ancient double-decker steam powered ferry was going to leave with or without the fearful, and it would seem like a waste of a good pirate costume to not jump on board.

Psychedelic rockers The Process kicked off the night in good steam as the skies opened up and threatened to swallow the boat whole. But we chugged along, and enjoyed a set that would risk sending any viewer to the chiropractor. Lead singer August Skipper danced, or shall we say, convulsed harder than I have seen a front man in a long time. On a whole, the band looked like a bunch of beat poets with an awesome sense of beat. Their control of the rhythm and mood could see one song start as slow psychedelia and turn into acid-trance: The Missionary Position best explained this. Skipper sported a plethora of unnecessary but amusing percussion instruments, including finger cymbals, African beaded balls, a broken tamborine, and a homemade bottle-cap rhythm stick that resembled a giant religious crucifix. The Process unfortunately were also the first to realise the night’s biggest problem: the roof was only just above head height, meaning that the sound got trapped within the first few rows. However, using the low-ceiling to his emphatic advantage, Skipper used it somewhat as a horizontal stripper pole. Note to future fans: stay away from the front row, unless you want a pelvic thrust to the face.

The Good China followed, doing their best tinned-sardine impression on stage. The eight-piece folk-pop band have more collective energy and instruments than all of Canberra’s fireworks put together. On stage, just add flashing tambourine and loud speakers, and they explode into a melody of infectious tunes. Unlike The Process’s somewhat awkward use of random instruments, The Good China managed to play an electric banjo, violin, glockenspiel and egg shakers all in the same song without sounding out of place.

Their sound sits somewhere between old-school Architecture in Helsinki and Arcade Fire, with an innocent Belle and Sebastian story-telling quality. And each member seems to play more instruments than I have fingers. Audience favourites such as 39 Black and All Nothing sent the crowd into a frenzy – so much so that many people left to go onto the surrounding decks so that they could rock out that little bit harder. This resulted in plenty of condensation, and sweaty hands sliding down foggy windows, a la that hot hot scene in Titanic where Rose, clenched in passion, lets her fingertips slide down the glass. And that’s exactly what listening to The Good China feels like. Perhaps see them on a bigger stage though, as not to give your eyes and ears a sensory overload.

The night’s organisers Carnation opened their set with a not so humbling thought: “If this should sink, you guys know how to swim, right?” A couple of slowly bobbing heads started acting a little anxious, glancing nervously towards the city skyline, kilometres and kilometres away, and only barely visible through the stormy tempest. By now, the-little-tug-boat-that-could was floating somewhere in the middle of Port Phillip Bay. However, any nerves were calmed by Carnation’s smooth, transcendent shoe-gaze psychedelia.

Much more subdued than The Process’s set, Carnation showed an graceful cool that only time can bring. It takes a lot of effort to look that effortless. Despite harrowing vocals from Josh Monte, it was clearly lead guitarist Mick Squire that was captaining the Carnation boat. The man must have been born with a pick in his fingers, because no one can possibly look that natural with a guitar. Song by song, they grew on the audience like barnacles until they revealed the pearl that was their final song, 2012. Showing their one and only burst of obvious exertion, they well and truly rocked the boat. By the end, Pete Carnation had upturned the drum kit, and Monte was lying passed out amongst the amps. Style.

Just as the storm kicked up again and the turbulent sea became reflected in the city lights, The Hovercrafts brought us back to the solid safety of classic indie-pop. However, with lead singer Dave McGann sporting a The Brian Jonestown Massacre tee-shirt, I couldn’t help but think that they weren’t being completely true to themselves. Playing the longest set out of the bands, the first seven songs sounded like a slightly less enthusiastic Phoenix, with the youthful attitude of Yves Klein Blue. By now, the left speaker had blown, and everyone was either very drunk or very seasick, the band included.

Their cohesion was excellent, but I couldn’t shake this feeling that there was something that they weren’t giving us. And then the tide came in. With McGann announcing “we’re gonna play one more stupid song. We’re all a little loose, we’re all a little drunk, so sorry”, they rolled into their final tune, Routine Procedure. It was mental. Like The Process and Carnation, psychedelia was where it was at. Suddenly putting those loop pedals and Phil Tucker’s manic drumming to use, they had found their element. And they should stick to it. It’s always such a pity when bands play what they think people will like, not what actually sits best on them. Regardless, they finally got the audience swaying.

As we all disembarked onto the steady footing of the Docklands, phones were being whipped out every which way to rave about the whole experience. As we walked down the dock, I heard one girl yell into her iPhone, “I WAS ON A BOAT MOTHERFUCKER AND YOU BETTER BELIEVE IT!” But this is no Lonely Island: I have a feeling that this won’t be the last floating gig.

CHECK OUT THE PHOTOS FROM THE SHOW HERE