Live Review: Ball Park Music, Loon Lake, Major Leagues

For such a young act, locals Major Leagues acquit themselves remarkably well. With a sound seemingly pitched halfway between '90s trends like shoegaze and grunge and their modern equivalents, their work isn't treated unanimously well by the acoustics of The Tivoli (massive guitars turning to mush in certain areas of the venue) but performances are tight and, with the occasional exception, songs are strong.

Loon Lake, by contrast, are rubbish. Admittedly well-received by the capacity crowd, the Melbournites' set is nevertheless a (competently performed) blend of indie-rock cliché and lowest-common-denominator songwriting – sounding not unlike your average pub-rock band trying to break into the Pitchfork set. In fairness to them, they are solid live performers. Unfortunately, their horrendously banal songcraft proves their undoing.

Regardless, tonight belongs to Ball Park Music who, a year after having released their debut album Happiness And Surrounding Suburbs, have managed to sell out The Tivoli on the back of freshly released follow-up Museum. From the beginning of their set, it's clear the locals have transitioned into a whole other arena of accomplishment. They take to the stage in a storm of lighting and a tongue-in-cheek KISS theatrical announcement. Not undeservedly, either. If nothing else, Ball Park Music's performance tonight is an exemplary showcase for just how much they have going for them as a band – from stupidly precise musicianship (drummer Daniel Hanson a particular standout) to an ungodly number of great songs. When the band start to churn through singles like It's Nice to Be Alive, iFly and Surrender in the set's latter half, it's hard not to be astounded.

Still, in a reversal of Loon Lake's fortunes, something is definitely missing in their delivery. For all the spectacle and celebration of a sold-out hometown show, Ball Park's performance feels oddly workmanlike. When Fencesitter opens their set, there's a weird lack of energy and the band never overcome it. Frontman Sam Cromack, in particular, just seems to be sleepwalking. Even his inevitable crowd surf feels faintly calculated.

No one in the crowd seems to mind and, frankly, the band's material is good enough to forgive worse. It's just weird to see a band of such personality deliver such an impersonal performance.