Live Review: You Am I Present The Majesty Of Tap

Eleven. Hello, Cleveland. None more black. Sexist, not sexy. Stonehenge...

As in-jokes that have seeped into the mainstream consciousness, quotes from This Is Spinal Tap are probably up there with old Monty Python gags and The Simpsons references.

A lot of bands have probably thought about honouring the Tap musically - likely after ingesting a few beverages, or perhaps less commercially available substances. But kudos to You Am I, for they would be one of the very few who'd remember the conversation the next day - and what's more, actually follow through. It seems they're in a fairly freewheelin' mood at the moment: a couple of gigs with the Gurus here, playing backing band to '60s icon PP Arnold there.

A couple of wheezes from the smoke machines and they were among us. "Hello, er, Sydney!" Tonight I'm Gonna Rock You Tonight was a natural overture and later reappeared to close the night - these are the traditions, people. The whole conceit would have probably worn off far quicker if the songs of the Tap catalogue weren't such terrifically constructed bits of music - as pastiche or homage to a bunch of styles. As Tim Rogers put it as they went through a couple of songs that very obviously 'honoured' The Kinks of the mid-1960s: "Ray Davies probably should have sued them as quickly as (Tap co-creator) Harry Shearer is gonna sue us..."

The thing is, You Am I's tribute came with affection and they fit the roles maybe a little too well - right down to the eye make-up. Rogers' big-gesture theatricality has more than a dollop of David St Hubbins' sprawling ego. Davey Lane really is a music geek who finds something to love in just about any era of the rock music. There's probably a Nigel Tufnel amplifier than goes to 11 in his lounge-room next to that mandolin and very fetching leopard skin vest/shirt that he sported. As the "lukewarm water" between the "fire and ice", Andy Kent's taciturn nature channels Derek Smalls neatly. And perched behind a perfectly grandiose drum kit - disappointingly lacking double kick-drums, but with Chinese gong I don't recall actually being used - Rusty Hopkinson was all those skinsmen The Tap used up, right down to suffering a 'bizarre lighting accident' toward the end.

Yes, this truly is The Majesty Of Rock. Kind of. There are bits of comic by-play as they 'restore' the reputation of the band. "That band - not this band," Rogers clarified, repeatedly. This band in fact managed to go from the near-skiffle of Gimme Some Money, through the cod-metal of Rock 'N' Roll Nightmare, Rock And Roll Creation and Heavy Duty (sensing a theme, customers?), to "The perfect mix of making love... and agriculture" (Funky) Sex Farm and obvious crowd favourite, Big Bottom. That our boys manage these stylistic shifts straight up and live is actually just a bit impressive. Although you're probably too busy cackling as a 'correctly' proportioned nine-inch Stonehenge was lowered to the stage, with suitable reverence.

So, was the joke stretched out too long? Yeah, probably. But everyone's gone home laughing, so you can't really begrudge it. The patron saint of quality footwear would have blessed this gathering. Or, as Rogers closed the evening: "You've been great, good night Adelaide!"

Of course he did.