Walking the swooping hall into the gig room, The Cooly Hotel is still sparsely occupied. There’s a few knob tighteners on stage and mixed bag of largely unsuitable tunes being piped through front of house. It’s a good two-and-a-half beers before the second support Buick Six take the stage.

With a one-two and a one-two-three the Brisbane three-piece screams into life, literally. The amps onstage and house speakers are audibly straining to spit out anything that even slightly resembles tune, melody or rhythm. Three songs of ear-splitting monotony pass before a well structured break-down shows the first sign of potential listenability. Will a Schumacher-like gear shift from sixth to second, the boys have settled into a groove and tempo that sits nicely with the now attentive crowd.

From here on things continue to improve, the set punctuated with a feeding frenzy of drum rolls, edible bass runs and inescapable guitar hooks. Still though, the guitar screams a little too much during heavy riffing, drowning all the freshly discovered goodness. As the set climaxes, Buick Six have definitely won some hearts, even more swooning would’ve been possible had the sound guy taken out his earplugs before the set was half dusted.

With the addition of another mic stand and doubling of the crowd the piped cringe-hits compilation is faded and Australia’s pessimistic darlings of rock British India finally grace us. Looking as – œtoo young to give a fuck’ as ever, the Melbourne quartet blast into Guillotine’s Run The Red Light and the place explodes. Towards the end of the support set, onlookers were by no means disinterested, but with blood now pumping and sweat beginning to pour, in comparison you’d swear they were asleep before.

As the set continues to build so too does the energy of the room. British India have such a solid swag of punk-rock anthems that with every track you think they’ve just used up their last – œbig one’ and can’t help but wonder what they could be saving as a closer. Every following track trumps the previous. Latest single Vanilla is received like an old friend and live it proves to be far more dynamic than it’s recorded guise. As the band redlines along older releases Tie Up My Hands, Black and White Radio and Russian Roulette join some of the grommets God is Dead…, I Said I’m Sorry, Airport Tags and finally This Dance Is Loaded from Thieves. With unconvincing thank yous, the boys depart leaving a shell-shocked sea of sweaty shirts and heaving chests. Before the throbbing pulse in your head has recovered the stage reignites with a – œnew one’ that peaks and troughs while the foursome, for the first time, look to be enjoying themselves and indulging each other in turns of unashamed limelight bathing before a garage-thrash crescendo.

Arguably Australia’s best rock band after releasing only two albums in as many years, the four Melbourne upstarts have a back catalogue that far more seasoned bands would kill for. Till the day they bring out a – œbest of collection’, seeing them do what they did here tonight will more than tide fans over.