It’s really, really hard not to like Gomez. I make it sound like I’m trying to do just that, but I’m not, cubs honour. They just don’t have an angle for the hardened cynic to grab onto. Sure, they seem a little smug when playing to a bunch of (smug) 20/30 somethings salivating at the prospect of locking eyes with the dreamy Tom Grey or sharing a knowing laugh with the witty Ian Ball, but wouldn’t you be after six critically acclaimed albums and approximately a billion live performances? And sure they, like most of their alt-pop brethren and sisters, have recently dipped their toes in the molasses of U2 power pop, but that doesn’t detract from a remarkable catalogue of truly unique material that has moved the masses. They serenaded a lively bunch at ANU on Saturday and brought Sydney upstarts Parades along for the ride and proved that after 10 years in the business they’ve still got it.

Parades recently garnered the prying eyes and ears of Triple J’s Unearthed talent program, and an opening slot for Gomez certainly cements the industry’s faith in their abilities. What is immediately obvious is how technically slick and airtight they are, and their economical execution is very impressive. They wandered onto the stage and cut straight to the chase with their new single Hunters. Bec Shave’s pretty, uncomplicated voice is very similar to Yuki Chikudate from Brooklyn shoegaze outfit Asobi Seksu, and her soft oohs and ahhs managed to cut through the conversations between the two guitars easily. The music itself doesn’t boldly forge new territory really; moody English drama queens Editors have been stomping their feet like this for quite some time now. What elevates Parades is the way the band is structured and the musical dynamics that result. There’ll be no guitar hierarchy nonsense here, dear readers. Both Daniel Cunningham and Tim Jenkins hover over the top end of the fret board and weave in and out of each other, like swallows happily diving around for bugs. Explosions in the Sky does similar things, albeit on a significantly grander cinematic scale. Debut single Dead Nationale was a killer, a post punk slow boiler full of stuttering drums all wrapped up in a scale exercise before dumping a healthy consignment of chunky riffs in our lap towards the end.

Drummer Jonathan Boulet was great, mechanically pushing the set along like a piston, and bore more than a passing resemblance to !!!’s Paul Quattrone (insofar as sound was concerned, let’s not fuss over who’s got better hair). Michael Scarpin’s bass rumbled along underneath like the cantankerous bulldog from an old Looney Tunes episode, while the guitars snapped and bounced along beside him. The vocals were clean, the harmonies all worked well and the sound mix was absolutely top notch (a benefit no doubt when touring with a top billing international act). This is a band that deserves more than a cursory glance, so if you get the opportunity to see them, part with some clams and do it.

Gomez has been performing and recording since the mid 90’s, so surely by now an hour and a half set becomes increasingly difficult to programme. Such depth in their back catalogue would simultaneously almost guarantee a great show, allowing the band to assemble a genuine Greatest Hits package, right? I’d love to say the show was a complete success, I really would, I don’t want to be the bad guy, but the fact of the matter was that it was merely good with moments of greatness. The positive spin on this (as if it really needs one) is that it was all down to a matter of taste. You see, it’s a textbook example of “their old stuff is better than their new stuff”. A matter of taste.

The mob was settled with fresh beers after the support, muttering away about the tall guy in front (“He’s not as short as he thinks he is, he’s ruined my frakking weekend!”) or how good the last album was or how much better it would’ve been to see them in Sydney (urgh..). The band casually filled the stage (and I mean filled – the five members crammed as much paraphernalia into the tiny space as they could) amid the obligatory whistles and pithy wit (“you rock!”) and nonchalantly waved a greeting. They chose to open with How We Operate, and Ben Ottewell’s lone, sandy voice shot out like that mythical assassin’s bullet made of ice, completely silencing everyone and changing the tone completely.

They cast the net wide, playing a great range of songs from all their records. Streamdriver showed off their current penchant for minor chord power ballads and it flattened the mood perceptibly. Originally these guys were Britpop’s answer to alt-country, so they work best when stringing together DIY blues jams like Get Myself Arrested. You can see how much they enjoy it as well, swaggering across the stage throwing solos at each other like water on a hot day. C’mon, they even smiled more during these songs! They almost dropped the ball on Tijuana Lady though, feeding what should be a sweet (if slightly sardonic) number protein supplements, turning it into a frothing weirdo by the end of it. A warm rendition of See The World brought it all back though, and Ottewell’s marvellous voice again sat us all down and ruffled our hair. Devil Will Ride closed out the show brilliantly, swelling and rocking out and had shoes shuffling and fingers waving around everywhere.

Despite Gomez’ recent output being slightly pedestrian, their musicianship cannot be denied, and the simple fact that they’re still touring their socks off and cutting records isn’t lost on both their loyal followers and the casual listener alike. I’ll certainly be there next time.