Yes, Cherry Bar may be a Melburnian institution, the home of annual aural extravaganza Cherry Rock and a great place to messily showcase some of your more risque dance moves from time to time. But despite the exciting bands I’ve seen there, last Friday night was like stumbling into some totalitarian regime for rock coolsiness.

Sans neck/sleeve tattoos of swallows or spiderwebs, it’s downright difficult to get service, and the venues loveable dingy qualities are somewhat subsumed by the incredible ‘tude that the bar radiates. This sense of manufactured edginess seemed at odds with the night’s lo-fi line-up that includes headliners The Stabs. They’re such a stellar band, I would probably wade through broken glass – let alone brave a few sneering rockabillies – to see them live.

Mother & Father, whose cardigan-wearing lead singer conjured the angry ghost of Kurt Cobain, were actually quite good, if a little bit too close to a Nirvana tribute band for my liking. They seem to be part of the young nouveau grunge scene or the “ghost of grunge past” that has emerged. Then again nostalgia is faintly irritating when you’ve actually lived through it the first time around. On the other hand, Ships Piano – another young band, but with a dash more eccentricity and twisted indie-punk sound – are defiantly doing something different and ultimately succeeding. The venue was a bit of a skeleton crew, but it began to fill up a little more after Ships came on stage.

The Stabs are in a class all of their own; defying musical taxonomy and doing something so visceral and dark yet so damn accessible. It’s no wonder their star has been steadily rising for the past six years. Getting handpicked by Mick Harvey for All Tomorrow’s Parties has surely helped, but they’ve backed it up with sell-out pressings of their albums, a recent national tour with Deaf Wish and an upcoming Taiwanese tour. Impressive.

The set struck me as a controlled waltz into the abyss: disemboweling bass lines, crazed drums and manic, fuzzy guitar. Although you wouldn’t guess it by looking at fresh-faced lead singer/guitarist Brendan Noonan, who presents as your all-round wholesome Aussie guy and is entirely bereft of any rock frontman posturing. It’s therefore curious watching him perform songs such as ‘Split Lips’ and ‘Never Going Home’ with such vitriol, backed by the crazed clashing of drummer Matt Gleeson and waiflike bassist Mark Nelson.

Proving that live music can be an almost religious experience, The Stabs are one of the more genuine, gritty and authentic live acts around Melbourne. Hallelujah, I say. God bless The Stabs.

by Ruth McIver