Praise the lord I have been converted. I was once was lost but I have seen the light. I felt the power. I felt the glory, and I am proud to say that I have embraced the power of The Church.

Well sort of… all jokes aside, The Church are somewhat of a musical institution and their set to a sold out Corner band room was visceral, thought provoking experience from a band well and truly at the top of their game.

Over the 30 years and 23 albums since the release of Of Skins And Heart in 1981, The Church have shaped and reshaped the style and sound of Australian pop music. Their influence can be gauged when listening to bands such as Astreetlightsong, the Sydney three piece who have been supporting them on their national tour. The epic sweep of the jagged, minor key pop of these cumbersomely named youngsters is reminiscent of The Church at their most emotional, and while they have a marked preponderance for hackneyed rock star bravado (over the top front man moves, a drummer wearing sunglasses inside), they showed enough to suggest that they could be a band to watch in the future.

For bands with a devoted, multi-generational fan base, and a back catalogue as strong as The Church’s, gigs like these can resemble a victory lap. The band saunters out, plays a few old favourites and accepts the preordained adulation of the audience. They are an opportunity for fond remembrance on the part of the band and the audience, for their halcyon days; a time when the waistline was trimmer, the hairline was thicker. The Church are not into that.

From behind a curtain they began with a brooding squall of guitar which exploded into the cathartic attack of Tantalised from the 1986 classic Heyday. It was The Church at its best; simple, confident and devastatingly emotive. The cryptic, semi- brilliant lyricism of frontman Steve Kilbey is still just as sharp, as is the spiralling interplay of guitarists of Peter Koppes and Marty Wilson-Piper.

Unlike the other great bands of their vintage, such as The Cure or the The Bats, The Church’s new material is actually good. The playfully titled Untitled #23 was released this year, and it ranks as one of their strongest. Their transformation of their C86, jangle pop aesthetic for a lusher, more contemplative brand of psych-pop has produced some amazing music. The swirling melodicism of Happenstance and the fiery glow of Deadman’s Hand are just as thrilling live as they are on record, and are symptomatic of a band whose creativity and obvious musicianship is still running strong after almost three decades at the top.

There were multiple highlights during their marathon two hour set, and double encore, such as the unexpected but decidedly wonderful cover of The Smashing Pumpkin’s Disarm. But the biggest cheers were reserved for The Church’s two biggest and most well known hits, which closed out the night. So much has been written about Under The Milky Way and Reptile, the two lead tracks from 1988’s Starfish that there is scarcely any need to state just how good they are. The former is a simple acoustic ballad, built around Kilbey’s winsome, restrained vocals, and Wilson-Piper’s strident 12-string strumming and is possibly the best Australian penned pop song. Ever.

After dozens of requests throughout the set, Reptile well and truly lived up to its name. With its sharply snaking bass line and venomous guitar hook, it is The Church at its most threatening, and was the perfect way to finish.

Though it was thoroughly enjoyable for the duration, the set was notable for the absence of several of their biggest songs, such as An Unguarded Moment and I’m Almost With You which did not sit well with a few of the mainly middle aged punters in the band room. When questioned as to why they weren’t playing what everyone expected Kilbey turned to the crowd and said, “we’re just being The Church”, and after thirty years at the top of the musical tree, I for one am thankful that The Church just keep on being The Church.