Dan Condon: Why We Should Celebrate You Am I

I was invited to my school reunion a couple of days ago. It's not often I'm interested in celebrating milestones in any form; birthdays and anniversaries are fine, but who can be bothered with the song and dance?

Not long before that invitation, I was invited to see You Am I – something I've done perhaps 25 times over the past ten to 15 years – as they looked back and celebrated 20 years since the release of their debut album.

It's curious timing for me, I've often claimed You Am I are one of the things that got me through the last couple of years of life at a boarding school that was largely at odds to everything I stood for (though cigarettes and the vicious concoction of instant coffee granules and Coca-Cola were probably just as important, in hindsight).

Tim Rogers' cherishing of the mundane, his hopeless – though never quite desperate – tales of woe in love and life and the heady mix of self-deprecation and overwrought cockiness all struck a chord. As did the loud, aggressive but pop-driven and danceable music that stood beside his lyrics just as strongly.

Here are five gems from their first five records that show us why this band ought to be treasured.

ADAM'S RIBS

Every time I eat is a slate away from every photo that I emulate.

It's a simplistic take on the loaded topic of eating disorders; it's hard to know if a young Tim Rogers was looking to say something about an issue that affected him, or whether he was just looking for a topic to write a song about, but it's a dead simple song that paints a pretty stark picture.

Always a favourite of mine from the band's middling debut Sound As Ever (I couldn't speak about Berlin Chair again) thanks to the simple chord progression, Rogers' lethargic vocal and the way it swings like hell. Unfortunately it's also a song that I had to stop listening to for a number of years thanks to the subject matter hitting a little too close to home, but I see more power in it now than I ever did before.

PURPLE SNEAKERS

I don't hate, I just feel better when no one else is around.

I don't know why this song is so meaningful to me seeing as I couldn't even begin to tell you what the fuck Rogers is talking about for the most part. I guess the connection to this one is purely musical. The mellotron in the background is unmistakable, the chorus is so impassioned and it seems to plod along at the perfect pace for staring into the depths of your beer or swaying your lighter back and forth.

I can't be sure, but this might have been the first You Am I song I ever heard; it floored me as a very young man on a freezing winter morning in the mid-1990s and it often still does, when I least expect it.

IF WE CAN'T GET IT TOGETHER

We might as well do it next week; 'cause we've met everybody that we're ever gonna meet.

This is where I send people to start with You Am I; if you can't like this song then you're going to struggle with the pervading essence of this band. Possibly the band's finest ever song, it seems to speak of self-inflicted pressure and being somewhat ill-at-ease with a growing responsibility and the burden of “settling down”.

The lyrics are genius, the guitar solo is a belter and, even though it feels like it shouldn't, each piece of it seems to come together seamlessly.

WHAT I DON'T KNOW 'BOUT YOU

Do you remember the gear I first saw you in, eating Mexican in '92? In between your folks and a birthday toast, it was black from your fringe to your shoes

It's at this point in the band's career that things get really frustrating. Yes, the record debuted at number one in Australia (again), but the band were barely picking up any international attention and with the songs that were being written, they deserved to have a solid shot at crossover success Stateside.

Have you ever heard a love song quite like What I Don't Know 'Bout You? Without listening to a single line of the lyrics you should still be grinning ear-to-ear, such is the charm of it's chiming guitars and irresistably sweet chorus hook. But when you do hear the lyrics, you realise that this isn't packed with the usual sappy sentiment, this is a real song with a real story that we can actually relate to.

SUGAR

Sugar I'm a mess, but it's where I want to be; I want to burn out with a smile that cuts right through my teeth.

New member, new label, Rogers has a new wife (and daughter) and the three years between albums could well have seen the band shifting their priorities somewhat. But as soon as the first verse of Judge Roy, the opening track of 2001's Dress Me Slowly, it is blindingly obvious that this remains one of the truly great rock bands.

Sugar is one of the record's numerous ballads (Damage obviously being the biggest of the lot) and, while it's further evidence of the band - and notably Rogers - maturing, there's still a very appealing kind of juvenile innocence in his lyrics.

Every record after #4 cops a pretty tough time in certain circles, generally unfairly. The rollicking roots rock of Deliverance, the very, very spirited (read: angry) Convicts are brilliant and there are moments on their two most recent records that sound like nothing they've ever done before.

But these forthcoming shows are a chance for us to celebrate what made us fall in love with You Am I (they play Hi Fi Way and Hourly, Daily in full on their forthcoming tour) and, even if it's just for a night or two, look back at where we were and why we came to treasure this band.

I'm not yet sure if I'll go to my school reunion, but I won't miss celebrating 20 years of You Am I. Rogers' brilliant songs, held down by the tightest loose rhythm section in rock'n'roll and the perennial “new guy” who has been in the band since the turn of the millennium mixed with a thousand beers, a gallon of sweat and one very raw throat. It's going to be special.

God bless the fuckin' lot of us.