CHECK OUT THE PHOTOS FROM THE SHOW HERE.

Remember the first time The Mars Volta toured Australia back in 2004? Of course you do. They just released De-Loused in the Comatorium to critical acclaim, their live shows were talked about for weeks on end and it seemed that the – œpsych-prog-space-call-it-what-you-will’ genre were theirs for the taking.

Cedric Bixler-Zavala still had punk attitude from that other band he was in – so climbing the lighting rigs, crawling around of the floor and jumping off speaker stacks was the norm. Omar Rodriguez-Lopez had that Soul Train-inspired afro and could shimmy with the best of them, while not missing a single strum.

These days, however, things have changed. Cedric has become subdued in his live performances. Last night at the Hordern he barely moved. He did the mic stand toss every now and then and gyrated his hips with the ferocity of Grandma after one egg-nog too many on Christmas Day. Has The Mars Volta’s reputation as a blistering live band finally been deflated? It would appear so.

Playing to a half-full venue is tough, especially somewhere as cavernous as the Hordern Pavilion. Kicking off proceedings was Son Et Lumiere, which segued into Intertiatic Esp, the opening tracks from their debut album. Quite a few tracks off the first two albums were played – much to my delight, as every album after that seems progressively pompous and self-indulgent. Roulette Dares, Eriatarka, Cicatriz Esp, L’via L’Viaquez and The Widow were a few of the good ones.

But of course nothing is ever as simple as playing a track at normal length in the Mars Volta world where songs are called Miranda That Ghost Just Isn’t Holy Anymore: Pour Another Icepick and the guitarists’ solo albums are called Xenophanes and Cryptomnesia. Listening to a fifteen-minute track off an album is quite a feat. Having to sit through the live experience where it’s stretched out to thirty minutes is another beast entirely.

Instead of having an interesting freak-out in the middle, it comes across as guitar-tuning and effect-twiddling on the organ, which isn’t interesting or entertaining. Twenty minutes of – œspace jamming’ later, nothing still happens. It’s downright bland, and at this stage in their ever-increasing catalogue and decreasing fan-base they need to keep things fresh. Even the kid in the Dream Theater shirt standing next to me was Facebooking from his iPhone every so often. A true prog fan being bored by this show!? Say it ain’t so.

It wasn’t all bad though. The drummer, Thomas Pridgen, is a tub-thumping, skin-hitting behemoth, and by far the most interesting person to watch on stage. Cedric barely addressed the crowd, not even a “We’re Mudvayne” joke. The only time he took time out from his tea-sipping between songs to speak to the punters was to dedicate the show to Jeremy Ward, friend and one-time band member who OD’d a few years before and largely inspired Frances The Mute.

Fans seeing the band for the first time would no doubt have been enthralled, but for the rest of us there was a big piece missing. Was it perhaps soul? Were they just having an off night? Either way, they need to take their live schtick back to basics. Just ask that kid in the Dream Theater shirt.