Live Review: World's End Press, Retiree, Alex Cameron

It's a shame that there must be all of seven people at OAF for Alex Cameron opening proceedings. With David Byrne's silhouette, the Thin White Duke's trousers, and Ian Curtis' commanding baritone (not to mention dance moves) the performance was an altogether unique musical experience, like watching American Psycho's Patrick Bateman doing karaoke with a drummer that probably used to roadie for KISS and a guy in a trucker cap playing saxophone;­ seriously weird, truly excellent.

Sydney's own Retiree were up next and garner a more sizeable crowd. Sadly that doesn't detract from the fact that they were unfathomably awful. With at least one synth each, a drum machine, guitars, bass, tambourine, cowbell and a couple of vocal microphones for good measure, Retiree seemed determined to throw everything into the mix in the hope that something good would emerge from the other side. In reality what emerged was a confusing mish-mash of cheap keyboard effects, non-existent beats and vocals bereft of melody or power. At times it felt like each individual member of the four-piece had set their synth to “Celestial Choir” or “Panpipe Moods” and had just started randomly hammering away, more in an attempt to be heard over their bandmates rather than for any musical reason. On the plus side at least they stood as a stark point of comparison for how great tonight's headliners are.

World's End Press commanded the stage with an intensity and sense of purpose that belies a band still in relative infancy. They were focused and so tight you could almost literally bounce a dime off them. Things really kicked off around the third song in, To Send Our Love, when everybody had had a chance to warm-up and whip their dancing shoes out – not least the bassist who cut some mean disco karate moves. This is a lesson in how unbridled enthusiasm for the music naturally spills over and affects the crowd. By the halfway point the rhythm section threatened to punch a hole in the back wall of the Oxford Art Factory and no one was left unmoved. Lead singer John Parkinson put down his guitar to take the microphone for the song everybody had been waiting for, Drag Me Home. It had a polish that only comes with having been played thousands of times, yet doesn't suffer for it. Ultimately World's End Press's brand of highly danceable, four-to-the-floor house jams are not going to revolutionise the world of music, but with songs this joyously fun and infectious, who cares?