This was always going to be a big gig. Despite cancelling his Q&A session at the Opera House due to exhaustion, rumours persisted that Kill Bill director Quentin Tarantino would make an appearance at Japanese trio The 5.6.7.8s’ Sydney gig. After all, he had put them in one of his films – surely a plus one on the door wouldn’t be too much to ask?

But the Annandale’s patrons – and with 400 payers, the venerable institution was absolutely heaving – were disappointed; the world’s most successful fanboy was nowhere to be seen. In which case, he was the loser of the night: part from missing a sold-out performance by the headliners, he also missed out on one of the best-conceived local acts going – The Booby Traps.

On stage first, The Booby Traps warmed the place up with their knife-sharp take on miniskirt rock. The set tonight saw them approach their tunes with more enthusiasm than ever before; from the last couple of gigs the band’s played, it seems they’re slowly getting more au fait with playing live. Certainly, lead singer Carrie’s voice tonight seemed to be pushing edges of strength that’d previously been a little more hidden away. What the quintet would benefit from, however, is a little of what The 5.6.7.8s have in abundance: a lack of selfconsciousness. Just rip it up and go! As good as these bearers of the Alice band rock flame are, if they all tore it up as much as their drummer Michelle did, they’d be an unstoppable combo, fuelled only by attitude and hairspray. Some of the band look slightly uncomfortable in the lights, but surely a look at the grins wreathed around the crowd should overcome any feelings of uncertainty? These guys are good – they just have to start believing it.

The Holy Soul put in their usual set of angsty, we’d-really-like-to-be-Joy-Division rock for the punters. Having stepped into a support slot at the Annandale often in recent months, the band appear comfortable playing on-stage – perhaps a little too comfortable. Indeed, the set seemed to be marked by a sense of the average – occasionally even plunging into the mundane. Sure, the songs the band plays have angst hard-coded into them, but they still reek of the quick study. Rather than being changed by the pain inherent in some of the tunes, it seemed a large part of the audience was left unmoved; for all the grinding onwards, for all the throbbed veins in the neck, there was no real emotion communicated. Perhaps it’s easy criticism, but it seems that The Holy Soul mount the stage with nothing to say; that’s why some of their tunes seem to have all the appeal and apparent plan of a seagull looking for a place to land. Certainly, tonight’s lacklustre performance gave no indication of the talent that’s been experienced at other gigs – their support slot for Bob Log III, for example, where they were revelatory – or the ocean of hype that currently surrounds them.

A hint, too: the cover of Swampland will, invariably, have ex-Scientists knocking on your door. And not with bouquets. Drop it and concentrate on your own stuff. It’s said – reportedly attributed to Count Basie, a man who moved in a circuit where trading of tunes was much more common than today – that nobody should cover a tune unless they can make their own mark on it. It’s just not happening here.

Finally, it was showtime. The three first ladies of beach-blanket axe-wrangling took the stage to a thunderous reception. And why the hell not? For the next hour-and-a-bit, they cranked out some hell-for-leather tunes that sounded like perfect ‘50s pop from Mars. Kill Bill-featured tunes I’m Blue and I Walk Like Jayne Mansfield made an appearance in a set packed with tasty, disposable numbers that always rested one notch below a snarl.

Formulaic? Sure. But the appeal of The 5.6.7.8s lies in the fact that they’re so passionate about what they’re doing. Their performance was marked by the fact that the trio seemed to be having just as good a time as the audience were. They’re purveyors of great party songs: you know when the chord changes are coming, you know how the guitar solo will sound, and you know, somehow, when the backing ooh-oohs will sink in. But it doesn’t matter because it’s so good natured; something that’s important and often overlooked in performance. They’re having FUN! On stage! Unthinkable!

Despite the fact that they’ve been together for almost 20 years, The 5.6.7.8s’ appeal – live, at least – rests on the fact that their playing exhibits a naive charm. You get the sense – despite the obvious ability of the band on their respective instruments – that there’s a chance of it all going horribly wrong, that they only just picked up their respective axes last week. But it never fails, and never falters. Light and fluffy but with an iron hand on the tiller, The 5.6.7.8s destroyed the Annandale tonight – and did it with sweetness and a smile.

The end of the night saw the inimitable Jay Katz spinning the finest in chi-chi tunes – as he’d been doing all evening between sets. Tentatively, as the Annandale cleared, The 5.6.7.8s came onto the dance floor and proceeded to groove the night away – shyly, then with real release – with those lucky enough to be still sticking around. It seemed fair – the crowd had been moving non-stop while they were on stage; now it was time for the hardest-working beehive-worshipping babes in rock to get their own back.