Live Review: The The

As we sit and gaze at The The's instrument set-up - with theatrical, scene-setting music amplifying our excitement - we suddenly wonder whether the band will ever arrive on stage. When their black-clad forms eventually appear, it's to whoops and hands clapping gratefully above heads. They perform opener, Global Eyes, in silhouette and we see the kinks in the bottom of guitarist Barrie Cadogan's hairdo and the tips of Matt Johnson's protruding ears, their outlines sharp against the stark white cyc. 

Stage fills are then added in to illuminate Johnson and co's faces, and Sweet Bird Of Truth at song two is instant gratification: "This is your captain calling/(With an urgent warning)". James Eller's bass is as dependable as a healthy heartbeat. Johnson's vocal is as arresting as ever. He's a lyrical master, rhyming "naming" with "maiming", and Johnson's speaking voice rivals that of David Attenborough - nature-doco voice overs/talking books in his future, perhaps? He's also a svelte lead singer who certainly wears a large belt buckle well. After observing how much Melbourne has changed since this band's last visit almost 30 years ago, Johnson then aptly introduces Heartland, which he tells us was written about London's high-rise evolution. DC Collard impressively tinkles those ivories during this one and often his melodica playing replaces harmonica tonight (a slight disappointment since we hanker for the more brash harmonica sounds). 

Whether pounding with mallets or thwacking with sticks, Earl Harvin's drumming knocks our socks off. Vintage footage of a young, angsty Johnson on the back screen makes us smile nostalgically before this suddenly makes us feel old ourselves. There are few guitarists who could ever even dream of standing in Johnny Marr's suave shoes, but word has it Marr himself recommended Cadogan as the only possible option and we're ever so glad he did. 

This Is The Day follows This Is The Night and we're transported back to carefree afternoons with nothing to do except watch planes flying overhead, piercing the bright blue sky. Johnson's lyrics are so evocative and poetic. The song's tinkling, nursery-rhyme melody gives way for melodica (still wish it were harmonica). A few in the crowd try to show off with their knowledge of the pre-chorus clapping pattern. "This is the day/When things will surely change/This is the day/When things fall into place" - more hopeful urban observation than life affirmation, you'll be happy to know that these lyrics made it onto tote bags, which are available for purchase at the merch desk. Then a few songs (including Bugle Boy) fall a bit flat and mess with the show's overall pacing. 

Instantly recognisable, Infected burrows its way into our collective muscle memory and fishes out retro dance moves. That pummelling beat and syncopated percussion! This chorus is the stuff of cementing university crushes by singing lyrics on the D-floor to reel in your 'prey' ("I can't give you up/'Til I've got more than enough"). And don't get me started on, "Nurse me into sickness/Nurse me back to health" - that's somehow simultaneously alluring and toxic, but 100% genius. It occurs to us that Hunters & Collectors and Midnight Oil would definitely place The The high up on their list of influences. Phone bans in gigs are welcome, although a couple of punters still can't help themselves and film some (shit) footage. 

Collard casually (and mysteriously) wanders from band member to band member, placing a hand on each as he leans in to whisper, seeming to disclose some important information (or is he just being a shit-stirrer?). What follows is the undisputed standout of this evening's entire performance: Collard's phalanges flying all over the piano keyboard for an extended solo during Uncertain Smile, which leaves us powerless. (Was he warning his bandmates he was about to steal the show?) Collard's vibe is so effortlessly cool, sitting back there and hiding behind dark shades, but his speed and precision on this instrument is unparalleled and we're truly in awe. This song's carefree, shiny guitar riff is pure, unbridled joy.

And then the jubilant atmosphere inside the theatre is completely flattened during closer Lonely Planet thanks to a front-row (over)enthusiast who clambers up onto the stage, wanders over to Johnson and kisses him on the cheek. Johnson desperately looks into the wings in search of help/security while gesturing with his thumb like a hitchhiker (as in, 'Get. Her. Off!'). He momentarily stops playing guitar and singing. After this incident, Johnson's demeanour reads: Get me outta here.