Live Review: Main Street Brats, Sulphur Lights, Big Bongin' Baby, Occults

One of the first disgustingly hot summer days has turned into the kind of heavy, sweat-drenched night that only Brisbane can provide, and The Waiting Room's aircon is working overtime on the good-sized crowd that has gathered for tonight's openers Occults. Bass seeps through the floorboards and under your skin as the band wade through their set of sinister rock'n'roll. This is music to get mired in, with guttural, vaguely demonic vocals from Sam McKenzie (though he could be singing about all kinds of puppies and flowers, who could tell under all that reverb) and guitar that rumbles and squeals at all the right moments; we're off to a hell of a start.

Things stall slightly with Big Bongin' Baby, whose lead singer Gutterball Pete looks like Keith Richards if he'd done ten times more drugs, coupled with a bassist who looks like Bruce Springsteen if he was a greaser and a drummer who looks like your uncle Dave. As guitars feedback mercilessly, the sound guy shrugs and their glam-inspired '70s rock'n'roll veers more and more into hot mess territory, with plenty of out of time covers and snarly between-song banter. But everyone's having fun and the band push through like only people who stopped giving a fuck a long time ago can.

Sulphur Lights arrive well-and-truly ready to blow the dust off the joint. This is their first show in over six months and, in this case, absence has made the heart grow meaner because Daniel Dunn is spitting out lyrics like someone who hasn't had his grievances aired for far too long. It's surf punk without the sun, mixed with the soundtrack to the world's most bloodthirsty Western; jarring nicely with the fairy lights that frame the stage, and the huge smiles on the audience's faces. It's a fast and frantic set that leaves you barely enough time to breathe, here's hoping there's not so long until their next one.

Bassists of the world get scared, 'cause Main Street Brats are the second band in a row to prove that you're largely superfluous. This is their album launch and they're clearly not gonna let some young punks blow them off the stage, as they rip through their heavily old-school rock set. This is the kind of music you want to play in the background of a montage of all your best nights out, hedonistic, rollicking and a heap of fun. Both vocalists/guitarists attack these stroppy, confident tunes with admirable amounts of swagger, but it's Hannah Tilbrook's brash, gutsy voice that really stands out here, and elevates these songs above being very good copies of music we've heard plenty of times before.