Enmore Theatre, January 16
Hey you. Yeah you with the sceptical look and the curled lip of disdain - a word in your shell-like.
If you've resisted til now. If you've been thinking there's been some collective abandonment of sense – she can't sing; she talks about matters so banal they probably aspire to be merely quotidian; it's all a bit of a loose indie rock thing that doesn't even have the energy to be slack.
Hell, even if you didn't mind Avant Gardener but figured a re-adjustment was due and the hoopla would die down to something manageable. Forgedaboutit. Courtney Barnett still has it. Got more of it actually. Going further still.
This was a gig to reaffirm just how exciting Barnett, and the Barnett Three, with drummer Dave Mudie and bass player Andrew "Bones" Sloane, are in close quarters and full volume.
Coming on to David Bowie's Suffragette City, departing to the sounds of his Let's Dance, which had most of the room doing just that long after the trio had left the stage, and not exactly overwhelming us with witty banter ("We're going to do another song" being pretty standard on-stage fare), this was still all about what the marketing folks might call their USPs.
(Assuming, of course, that marketing folk were ever allowed within shouting distance of the stylist-free Barnett.)
Courtney Barnett with band members Dave Mudie (left) and Andrew "Bones" Sloane at the Age Music Awards in 2015. Photo: Martin Philbey
Those unique propositions would feature things such as Sloane's counterpoint vocals and loose-as manner belying his comfortable way of following and leading the guitar lines in the way of all classic three-piece bands.
And Mudie's ability to look like John Bonham with beard and long hair under a yokel farmer floppy hat, but play with as much swing as force so that Nobody Really Cares If You Don't Go to the Party (coming across more than ever as a re-urposed Let It All Hang Out by the Hombres) just grooved like a motherdancer.
Not to mention Barnett's reasserted guitar playing, which may not have the same guile as former fourth member of the Three, Dan Luscombe, but can chase, catch and kill just as effectively. And her singing which remakes droll in her own image. And her compellingly precise storytelling. And the way Debbie Downer has become a mass singalong, Pedestrian At Best a wild burst of kinetic energy and several moments through the night juxtaposed Daddy Cool and Nirvana.
And ... and ... and, well, I could go on, but instead suggest you take Mr Bowie's advice: don't fight it, instead let's dance to the song they're playing on the radio.