The Whipped Cream Chargers set the standards for a night of ear-piecing noise. They’ve been doing the live circuit for about a year or so and they seemed to know what they were doing by now. Taking nods to the masters of dreamy drugged out pop like The Brian Johnston Massacre and Spaceman 3, they have a huge swampy sound with six members on stage - including a guy on synth helping produce the controlled chaos. It was also good to see a lead singer who actually didn’t play an instrument on stage. Bring back the standard front man I say, and let him sing like a madman!

Apparently, the band have just finished recording their debut record with David Akerman from Dead Farmers, a good choice in my opinion, since Dead Farmers know how to fuck with ear drums.

Next up were a band called The Maladies who I’d never seen before, but as soon as they finished I wanted to see them again. They were kinda soul-garage flavoured, but not in the higher vocal range Royal Headache sense. Rather, the lead singer kinda sounded like a white James Brown. He was tiny too, yet had bigger lungs than most over-sized African Americans.

Next up were the interstate and Australian favourites The Stabs. Travelling across from Melbourne for the night, The Stabs are a band who rarely disappoints and if or when they do, you can usually forgive them. They were brutal as always with their surfy-flavoured swamp rock, with Roland S. Howard style lead lines and murmured vocal deliveries. Their latest record Deadwood is another prime example of modern Australiana. Go and get it, or see them live – they will re-ignite the inner patriot in you.

The Holy Soul and The Stabs are the ultimate double grindhouse flick Sydney needed on a Thursday night, and when the once Penrith based pirates took the stage, the crowd cheered and threw their non-existent popcorn in their direction. The long overdue Damn You, Ra was worth the wait, and they sound like a band whose been playing together for a long time. It's tight as nails while still remaining sloppy as shit after a heavy night on the booze.

Lead singer Trent commands the microphone like its an old friend at the bar, and it feels like he should be pointing at the crowd like he’s got something important to say. Sam Worrad on the bass even sneaks in a few vocal tracks of his own; he’s looking more like a mountain man by the day! That’s what’s good about The Holy Soul, good primal energy rolling down a hill of colonial slavery. And that’s why weeknights in a capital city will never let you down. Neither did the majority of the bands on tonight’s line up.