A week after the terribly self-righteous Live Earth concert, Sydney is righteously rocked for rock’s sake. And isn’t it just FINE??

My friends and I arrived at the Gaelic in Sydney’s inner core on a cold and blessedly rain-free Black Friday night, encountering a predominantly male crowd already well-amped on beer, four months at sea (more, anon), and prospects of a close encounter with Victoria’s finest exponents of pub rock, Airbourne. The first support, Smithtown Riot, must have done a good job of warming up the room, but I’m sorry to say I missed them. I blame the excellent $7 Steak (no conditions!) served at Mansions Hotel in Kings Cross, a steak which delayed me beyond my dedicated kick-off hour. Sorry, Smithtown Riot. You sound ace on your MySpace site, and I’ll make sure to catch you next time you play. I promise.

Australia’s Navy had apparently brought some of its brave lads home in the last 24 hours, and a good portion of them were out on the town carving it up. Greetings go out to Superman, Sweet Tim and the Muscle Boy who swept me off my feet, literally, hoisting me high above the beer-puddled floor. I love the smell of testosterone in the evening! Yep, this was a crowd well and truly ready for Airbourne’s special talents. But before the main course comes the appetiser, and tonight that was Sydney’s own Nobody’s Fool.

Eh. They LOOK like the real thing. The singer’s got a shaggy mane of golden hair a la Robert Plant, tight leather gear a la Jim Morrison, an uber-spikey guitar a la Satan. The lead guitarist had all the shredding solos and a veritable carcrash of Skid Row styley sound. The dummer double-tapped (you know what I mean) like the metal demon he presumably is. Somehow though, I just didn’t buy it. They didn’t do anything wrong per se, they’ve got the right sounds, they’ve certainly got the look nailed, but… Rock should feel like a long slow rough one on a bourbon-soaked studio couch scattered with dead cigarette butts and anonymous phone numbers (or is that just me projecting my fantasies?) – it should leave you feeling satisfied and kinda dirty, like you wouldn’t want your mama to know what you’d been up to. Nobody’s Fool felt more like a quick fumble up the back of the school bus circa year 9, uniforms firmly buttoned, to the sound of The Radiators’ Gimme Head ringing through tinny speakers. Fun, certainly. Better than a poke in the eye with a burnt stick, for sure. But it DOES leave one panting for more, doesn’t it?

Which leads me, Ladies and Gentlemen, to AIRBOURNE. These guys are the real deal that Nobody’s Fool and numberless other live bands aspire to be. They’ve been written off by so many august bods as just an AC/DC cover band, or the new Spinal Tap, or simply a joke. I guess it’s easy to see how the long hair, naked torsos, and blinding white flashing stage lights could lead to that opinion. Likewise hearing song titles like Too Much, Too Young, Too Fast (“I’m gonna drink it up, while it lasts”), Cheap Wine, and Girls In Black... dead easy to scoff and turn up one’s nose, right? But check your indie-cool at the door if you can and prepare to be impressed, ‘cause these guys put 100% into what they do, and that’s providing every single member of the crowd with a night of start-to-finish, nary-an-inch-to-spare solid rock ‘n’ roll. That room was FIRING.

I’ve been to the Gaelic on nights when a half-dozen people showed up, and I’ve been there when it was so packed you couldn’t breathe in the overheated and fetid atmosphere (they need better aircon in summer, they really do). But I’ve never seen a Gaelic crowd go off like these guys did for Airbourne. You could just tell that this was a band who love what they’re doing, they do a damn great job of it, and the crowd loves being a part of it all, fists pumping in the air, beer and cups and ice flying through the flash and pulse of the lights, bodies uplifted on a moshing sea of rapt smiles. This wasn’t just another gig, it was an EVENT.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s wonderful to have music and concerts and people that support saving the whales or the ozone layer or the galaxy. We need that. But we also need music that makes us dance and shout ourselves hoarse and spill beer over ourselves and the people around us. We need music that celebrates rock for its own sake, without the need to teach us a lesson or make us feel guilty. We need rock ‘n’ roll purely and simply because it makes us feel GOOD. We need Airbourne, ‘cause they remind us why we all have a copy of Back In Black up the back of our incredibly cool indie record collection, and they remind us why we shouldn’t be the least bit ashamed of it.