The Coogee Bay Hotel is apparently the largest hotel in Australia. I wouldn’t argue with the claim; it’s bloody huge. Walking in is like entering a ski resort when there’s no snow. There’s a large courtyard with heaters and umbrellas and drunken retards. There’s a ‘classy bar’ with soft lighting and clean lines and red hues and so on. There’s a run-of-the-mill ‘pub-next-door’ area, where wood dominates the space and alcoholics hold the bar up. And there’s also the band room, which used to be called Selina’s.

And it’s not a bad band room at all. It’s a nice, big, plain space with exceptionally good sound, and two tiers so as to accomodate as many foot-stomping, fun-loving Coogee goons as possible. It’s the perfect place for the rock, and a fantastic place for the roll.

Peabody were first up and they delivered totally serviceable tunes with admirable enthusiasm. The Coogee Bay Hotel is the kind of place where the men stand and stomp their feet arthymically whilst holding a beer, and the women dance spastically. Peabody provided a totally appropriate soundtrack to these dances of musical desire.

The punters were set for Spiderbait. And fuck, Spiderbait delivered. Watching Kram slap the skins is Keith Moon reincarnated with the voice of maniacal voodoo shaman and, significantly, no serious dependence on alcohol for basic functioning. Kram is all hair, sweat and energy as he enthusiastically pounds the shit out of his drum set. Whilst Kram may be the centrepiece, Damian Whitty on guitar can lay down some nut-wrenching riffs, and Janet English on a bass twice her size delivers a mean rhythm (as well as the occasional vocal). The appropriately titled Four On The Floor was a good live song as you could ask for, with it’s outrageously rock riff and its thumping drumbeat. Calypso provided a chance for the audience to warm up their vocal cords, and Black Betty sent the crowd in to a justifiably bombastic frenzy, with Kram standing above his kit, pumping the kick drum and demanding the audience sing along. And sing along they did, as feverous cries of ‘bam ba lam!’ shook the room. Then, after an hour of ‘Bait-rock, it was over. So the crowd got back to drinking.

Then it was time for the Hoodoo Gurus. Now, I’ll plead obviously unjustifiable ignorance when it comes to the Gurus. My knowledge extends further than their That’s My Team - sorry, What’s My Scene - song, but not much further. Their performance proved just how terrible my ignorance is, as they tore up the stage.  They’ve been been around the traps longer than I’ve been alive (literally), and yet despite their age – or perhaps because of it - they delivered fiery, crazy-man rock ‘n’ roll for the eager punters. With most of the members decked out like men half their age, you’d be hard-pressed to guess that this is a band that started in 1981. The Gurus are much like the 80 year-old Chinese bloke who does tai chi in a nearby park – he’s getting on a bit, but his love of life has kept him young. He also claims cabbage is important to stay young, but I’m not sure about the Gurus’ eating habits so I’ll make no assumptions.

The crowd was obviously full of big fans of the Hoodoo stylings, with many a 35 year-old blonde woman swaying rhythmically around their beer-gutted worse halves. When songs like What’s My Scene and 1000 Miles Away cranked up, the punters bounced up and down, chanting along like they were being paid to do so.

The real revelation of the Hoodoo Gurus’ show was how relevant their music is today. Their performance and their tunes and their energy could stand up to any of the current purveyors of ‘the new rock.’ They’re a 20+ year-old band, and they’re still so hot right now. Impressive? Very!