Singer/songwriter Alex Chilton (1950 – 2010) was many things to many people. Though he grafted a career from the small labels, the shadow he cast over the world of indie guitar rock was titanic. It was fitting then that the ensemble who turned out on a cold Sunday night in Fitzroy to pay tribute to the Memphis icon were equally eclectic. Young and old, obscure and famous, they came to bear witness to this enigma, the self-effacing genius who influenced acts as diverse as The Replacements, REM and the Lemonheads.

Yah Yahs was the perfect venue for a gathering such as this – with the stage crammed up against the old shopfront windows, there was no backstage to separate caste from caste, and musicians and punters mingled freely. The crowd were of an appreciative kind – it might be a generational comment, but there was no forest of phone cameras pointed at the stage here. Perched at the bar, the line of sight took in Davey Lane and a talented house band ripping into The Replacements’ Alex Chilton , and outside, across the tram wires and high above shopfronts of Smith St, a madman pacing restlessly behind the Victorian windows of his dimly lit flat.

From that sparkling opener, the pace never relented, though the extroverted pop-rock was delicately woven with Chilton’s more fragile moments, such as a gentle rendering of Watch the Sunrise , and Dan Luscombe’s slow-burn treatment of Take Care.

Across all of Big Star’s landscape of longing and regret, perhaps the greatest responsibility lay with the re-telling of Chilton’s signature ballad, Thirteen . It fell to Jordie Lane , alone against the backdrop of the red velvet curtain. How to describe the next four minutes? The room stood in collective, open mouthed, stunned silence as he nailed it –nailed it – and as the last chord rang off they drowned the place in applause. Musos came and went from the small stage, leaving amplifier hum in their wake, one taking up from another, often while the cymbals were still ringing.

The madman in the windows strung a lost boogie round his furniture as Joel Silbersher dedicated his Ballad of El Goodo to Meredith Music Festival’s John Nolan, and then launched into the swerving, rollicking, blistering Daisy Glaze . A louche-looking cat named Tim Rogerstein swept onstage at some point amongst all this, and made a high camp soufflé of Chilton’s What’s Your Sign Girl? This Rogerstein, he was oddly familiar, with his aquiline features and loping gait. FasterLouder caught the following exclusive interview sidestage after his brief appearance:

FL:Your accent: I’m hearing equal parts Ontario and Memphis. Can you place it for us geographically?

TR:Yes. 36,000 feet above sea level.

FL:Why does Chilton matter so much to musicians?

TR:(long, long pause, followed by impish grin) For the pop. The soul. And a whole lotta charm.

Davey Lane , the undisputed engine room of this back catalogue tour, was more reflective. “I’m a massive fan of Chilton’s,” he said over a beer. “Especially the first three Big Star albums (#1 Record (1972), Radio City (1974) and Third/Sister Lovers (1978)). He was a purist – he wasn’t a flashy guitarist, but he was graceful, you know, like er, like George Harrison.”

Right about the time Davey was offering these thoughts, Henry Wagons took the stage, raised a mike stand over his head and appeared to spend several seconds choosing what to do with it. Big man, heavy object, potential disaster; though it ended peacefully enough, if you call a booming recitation of Lost My Job (complete with crazy-eyed Southern Revivalist preacher stare over the top of those glasses) peaceful. Across the road, it seemed that Wagons had stirred something primal in the top-window pacer: from this distance, he appeared to be flogging his couch, or maybe his dog, with a kitchen utensil. Down below, the night was rounded out by raucous contributions from Phil Gionfriddo , Spencer P Jones , Adalita , Kat Spazzy , Chris Altmann and more.

The Replacements captured something universal about crowd reactions to Chilton’s music in their eponymous track. Time after time, as this talented bunch fired off another unforgettable riff, another lyric so enchanting or casually caustic that you greet it first time like it’s an old friend, punters would lean into each other’s shoulders and ask “What’s that song? I’m in love with that song…”

As Ash Naylor sent the faithful out into the night with a seven piece re-working of Thank You Friends , the restless soul in the upstairs flat had slumped exhausted, or sated, against his window sill, fast asleep.

CHECK OUT PHOTOS FROM THE NIGHT HERE