Sticky Fingers @ Metro Theatre

Four consecutive sold-out Sticky Fingers shows at the Metro mean a rotating cast of talented support acts, but unfortunately tonight the lottery gives us Lyall Moloney. It’d be unfair to pick on a support were he anything short of blatantly irritating and borderline offensive, but that’s exactly (and only) what this shirtless gimmick offers. Affecting the white-boy Jamaican accent that’s apparently and inconceivably been deemed acceptable to good taste in certain circles – where? Why? – Moloney somehow manages to play his simplistic oomp-chaka-oomp-chaka guitar parts out of time with a generic dub backing track. He holds the crowd’s attention until about his second chorus.

Bring on Sticky Fingers, then, who open the doors to a ‘Land Of Pleasure’ with that title track from their second album. Between selections from this outstanding 2014 release and its 2013 predecessor, Caress Your Soul, the StiFi boys have the venue throbbing with enthusiasm from their youthful fans. The five-piece made its name on an urban-Sydney-flavoured style of neo-reggae, but Dylan Frost and friends’ talents aren’t just limited to that – sometimes they channel The Stone Roses, while this evening’s version of the swaying ‘These Girls’ doubles as a chance for Seamus Coyle to launch into his best ’70s glam rock solo. ‘Gold Snafu’ – one of the year’s best singles, period – sees the first two or three crowd-surfers of the night hurled around the mosh pit.

There’s a long reggae breakdown through the middle of the set, helped along by Jimmy Young from Bootleg Rascal on guitar, though Moloney is back to yammer his way all over ‘Velvet Skies’. The expansive ‘Just For You’ is a highlight, while ‘Liquorlip Loaded Gun’ is the night’s biggest chorus until the closing ‘Australia Street’, which barely requires Frost to sing at all.

Grounded by Paddy Cornwall’s insistent basslines, Sticky Fingers have some properly good songs (‘Gold Snafu’ in particular), but are rarely remarkable. They don’t have to be. These guys seem to capture the times better than anyone else on the scene right now, especially when it comes to connecting with a certain segment of Sydney’s and Australia’s music-loving youth. Regularly tonight, Frost leans back on his guitar and into an invisible groove, as if everything about selling out the Metro four times in a row is completely normal; as if every band does it. If Sticky Fingers stay this cool, Australia won’t be able to contain them.