Live Review: You Am I

As a refreshingly mature crowd filed casually into the Astor Theatre on this Sunday evening, many had already had their first taste of You Am I in the shape of the quaffable Brew Am I. Being sold on tap at a neighboring pub, it no doubt accompanied numerous musings on shows past; after all, this was a celebration of two albums that were profoundly influential on their release over 15 years ago. The Hi Fi Daily Double tour, which was sweeping round the country and took in two performances in Perth, centred on complete recreations of Hi Fi Way and Hourly, Daily, recorded in 1995 and 1996 respectively. For most here tonight, who were significantly longer in the tooth and slightly larger in the girth than when they first heard these incredible albums, it was a dream pairing, an opportunity to satisfy a yearning that had long been forgotten.

Dressed to the nines and accompanied by a cellist, Tim Rogers kicked things off with the younger of the two albums in the shape of the delicate, plaintive title track. It was a slightly clumsy start that wasn't helped by a sound mix that didn't showcase the subtleties of the few instruments involved. In fact, it was a trend that was repeated throughout the opening set, with the exception being the beautiful Please Don't Ask Me To Smile, a tender examination of childhood uncertainties given life by Rogers' exceptional turns of phrase. Drummer Rusty Hopkinson brought verve to Mr. Milk and Good Mornin' and his idiosyncratic facial contortions were about the only thing that drew attention away from Rogers' energetic performance. There was a pervading sense, however, that this was an album to simply get through before the higher octane assault of Hi Fi Way, a feeling only exacerbated by the myriad guitar changes that both Rogers and Davey Lane went through.

A 20-minute break saw a change of outfits and output from the band as they launched into Ain't Gone And Open, and the shift in vigour was palpable. It may have had something to do with Rogers' earlier admission that, by this stage, he would no longer be sober, but it was mostly due to the fact that the tracks simply have greater muscle. Their punchiness is invigorating and the melodies are unforgettable, but beneath it all lies Rogers' vivid observations on his own shortcomings and his portrayals of Australian life. He expressed his gratitude more than once at being able to live his life on the stage, and you almost got the feeling, as the wonderful How Much Is Enough waited in the wings, that this was a swansong of sorts. But, of course, it wasn't, and they came back for more, a blistering encore that culminated in an explosive rendition of Berlin Chair. It was a brilliant moment, one that saw the crowd unleash whatever reserves of energy they had left; by that stage, You Am I, and especially Rogers, were out on their feet.