Tim Rogers completes his final windmill, thanks the audience one more time and takes a bow with his collected band members. His voice is coarse, touchingly faint like there’s very little left in the tank, but full of love for the crowd that he has cheekily goaded all night long. The house lights soon come up while the crowd – confident for at least a few seconds that You Am I will return for another encore – shuffle out onto Flinders Street with beaming eyes and new classic memories. Some true diehards are mentally crossing off lists of ‘things to do before death’, others are lapping up the merchandise. There are the staple t-shirts of new and reprinted designs, along with lush repackaging of the band’s first three albums, those being a tie-in to the current tour where they play two of those early albums in their entirety. And elsewhere, a limited edition beer – Brew Am I – can be found at boutique bottle shops and pubs. Someone in YAI’s camp has just read up on branding synergy, it would seem. It may have taken them over two decades, but the business of You Am I is booming.
But we’ve gotten way ahead of ourselves, let’s rewind to the start of the show. The only of four Melbourne gigs not to sell out, Sunday’s crowd is afforded a sliver more breathing room – or what Rogers would consider to prime real estate dancing space – and the mood is noticeably low key. Perhaps it’s down to the end of the weekend, or the biting rain outside, or the possibility that more than a few in the audience have already seen the band three times this week, but the opening chords of Hourly Daily (both the song and the album) are met with just above the minimum of enthusiasm. Rogers’ voice sounds strained and cold – he’s had a big week, after all – but the cello and keys pick up the slack. Or maybe the crowd hold back because they’re saving their freak-out for the one-two punch of Good Mornin’ and Mr Milk, which bloom amidst the twin guitars and Rusty’s rolling tom drums. It doesn’t take much longer for the band to lock in – rounded out by the stolid Andy Kent on bass, doing his reliable-as-ever John Entwistle impersonation – and only slightly more time to present their claim as one of the best live band of the ’90s. Lord, even the lo-fi projections look like they were stole from an episode of Recovery, making the nostalgia trip complete. Rogers is aware of the album’s criticisms over its length, forming one of many self-deprecating banter moments that pepper the night. And yeah, you could probably lose a few tracks and no one would cry foul. But if this isn’t your favourite You Am I album, there are still enough favourite tracks to keep the momentum going. To say the album still sounds fresh would be a tough pill, because at its 1996 release it already sounded like a respectful, suburban Australian approximation of The Who, The Kinks and The Rolling Stones (both in their pure pop and more conceptual configurations). But tonight the performances still pack plenty of punch, the tales remain relevant and the choruses are made from a titanium alloy.
In contrast to the more Baroque leanings of Hourly Daily (with additional keyboards, cello, saxophone and trumpet), Hi Fi Way is stripped back for a punchier sound, and at times Lane retreats to leave the stage to the long-lasting trio of Rogers, Hopkinson and Kent. I’ll admit that I’ve listened to Hourly Daily more, but Hi Fi Way has the big rock moves, the raucous swagger and the economy to make it a more obvious choice to close the night. That lift in energy comes in handy to counter-balance Rogers’ increasingly confusing banter. At around the two hour mark of the evening, his lascivious comments of sexual prowess shift from charming to grating, but you can forgive a lot after a dual guitar solo or the chorus of Purple Sneakers. Two whole albums played with a short intermission would be accepted by most as good value, but they return once more for a smattering of deep cuts and the regular tour favourite cover of Young Man Blues, allowing for one final prayer at the altar of Pete Townshend. The band’s last album, 2010’s self-titled release, received some of the most consistently positive reviews of their career. You Am I is now in the rare and enviable position of being nostalgia-bathed elder statesmen while also producing quality new material. Ignoring the trough of a few mid-2000 releases, don’t bet against them doing a similar set in twenty years to celebrate the fortieth anniversary of their first album. They’ll be like the Stones, but hirsute enough to conceal their leathery faces.
BY MITCH ALEXANDER
Pic by Charles Newbury
LOVED: The memories. Oh guys, the memories.
HATED: Nothing. Can we write that?
DRANK: Not Brew Am I, for some reason.
