The Northcote Social Club looks like a place that your grandmother frequented in the 70s when men's top lips were bristling with mustaches and beer could be bought for under a dollar. Textured floral wallpaper, shag carpeting and red velvet curtains greet you walking into the band room. I was half expecting to see a seniors bingo game in progress. Despite the antiquated decor, the beer prices had their origins very much in the present. But what of the bands accompanying The Beards on their 100 Beard Tour of Australia? Beards are pretty 70s, right?

Billed in the smallest print, The Stiffys are like Death From Above 1979 on the beach. Dressed as naughty sailors in full uniform with only a bass and half a drum kit between them (no cymbals either - just an old cooking pot in its stead), they belted out fuzzy jaunts about, well, erections. Not the construction variety – the penile kind. Even though the crowd was beginning to heat up, ditties about the “P-P-P-Penis” and arena rock variations on the word “Stiffies!” garnered chuckles at first before catching on to full blown laughter by the time “Sexy Sailor Mel” arrived on stage with tambourine in hand (avoiding the overwhelming subtext in the nick of time, no less.) The heat rose much like the tendency of their chosen topic does in the boudoir (or not-so-boudoir), prompting vocal removal of their chest “modesty patches,” invariably due to their insistence on sipping beers between each song. They thanked us for “trying hard,” all of their banter delivered in an innocent, childlike deadpan – by the time they lay down the funky rocker “I’m Really Good at Sex (Because I’m Always Doing It)” their premise felt less ridiculous and singalongs to their simple ditties about stiffies, penises and April O’Neil (the fearless reporter from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) broke out across the room.

The parade of hirsute heroes ran thick at the Social Club on Friday night when Gay Paris, arrived, a Melbourne by way of Tennessee swamp rock combo all covered in bristly manes. Lead by WH Monks, aping a bizarro Southern wizard preaching hellfire, brimstone and the danger of ex-wives clad in purple cape and leopard print leggings, armed with a voice as gravelly and pitch as Tom Waits walking down a dusty highway. Guitarist Ol’ Blacktooth Marks laid down house rockin’ Chicago blues, sizzling licks all seemingly fuelled by moonshine, buckshot and squirrel barbecue. Punk rockers (bearded or not) reveled in the meaty hooks barreled out by these faux-Good Ole Boys, tearing up the joint by kicking over stage monitors during their smooth, fluid punk-rock breakdowns and chicken-fried shuffle. They promised “old school, pimped-out hillbilly shit” as they supplicated to the Devil for heretical strength, delivering it in spades. Wailing like no tomorrow, Johann Beardraven strutted out with sax in hand for the last verse of “My First Wife? She was a Fox Queen.” As their last riff tore across the room, they all embraced; the night was quickly evolving into a celebration of all things manly, sweaty and hairy.

The place was packed to capacity – it was like wading in a sea beards. A lack of testosterone was no excuse for not wearing a beard, with girls fashioning improvised beards in spirit. Johann and company burst on stage, proudly declaring they’d signed up 60 men to grow beards in quest for 100 beards. One unfortunate beardless soul was pulled up on stage and made an example of – “This is NOT how to do it,” Johann passionately bellowed as the audience booed in condemnation. A man with a flowing, sage-like beard was championed by all as our flush-cheeked, clean-shaven boy slinked off in embarrassment. The launched headlong into “I’m In the Mood for Beards,” a classic 70s style rocker driven by herniated vocals untrammeled by Johan’s pugnacious ability to grow a mighty beard. Of course, after every song came a proud announcement; that the next song was indeed “about beards.” Dance number “You Need A Beard” was a true delight and the keyboard was busted out for “It’s Beard Time,” a song about a dumping a girlfriend for suggesting a beard trim. The band’s command of a diverse range of genres was only more astonishing as Johann busted out a one-handed organ solo in “No Beard, No Good” while simultaneously drinking a Corona. We waved our hands in unison to the crowd-favorite “If Your Dad Hasn’t Got A Beard, You’ve Got Too Mums” reveled in a sweet a capella harmony of “Beards Across Australia Unite!” and the old timey bush folk ballad “A Beard Is Better Than Having a Woman.” As if the premise couldn’t get any more hilarious, the bluesy “Grow a Beard or You’ll Be Dead” recounted all the possible fatal beardless ends one could possibly have, followed up by a lengthy kazoo solo. (Spoiler: Growing a beard renders you invulnerable to death.)

The highlight of the set was undoubtedly the debut of their new single, “You Should Consider Having Sex With a Bearded Man” channeling “Jump” by Van Halen as the band made violent love to their instruments…and of course running fingers through their beards as they meticulously described the sexual pull of a “bushy beard with a hint of grey.” Jumping briefly off stage to return for a rousing rendition of “She Left Me for a Beardless Man” infused with a smokin’ hot guitar solo courtesy of Facey McStubblington and Beardraven’s leather-lunged vocals. Slim Pickens of Gay Paris returned for a spell, playing bass while Nathaniel Beard sipped on beer. Winding up with some more beard love, the Beards are a genuinely fun live experience to behold that’ll grow some real hair on your chin.