Läther filled the Osmond Terrace Function Centre with their sold-out show, Absurdity is the Only Reality, and the audience was as diverse as the back catalogue of Frank Zappa's music that this extraordinary Adelaide band draw upon.

Plenty of grey hair, of course, some above, and some below the expectant smiles of long-time Zappa fans, but there was a good smattering of considerably younger people who would not have been so much as a twinkle in their parents' eyes, when Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention played their first gig, under that name, in Pomona, on May the 9th 1965.

Now I am rather well known, or is that infamous, for my utter disdain for 'Tribute Bands' and their attempts to mimic and profit from the earlier work of others, but this particular ensemble is not a tribute band in any sense of the term, in my opinion. Just as a string quartet cannot be labelled a Haydn or Shostakovich tribute band, irrespective of their chosen repertoire, neither can Läther be seen as a Zappa tribute band.

Both ensembles select material that interests them, and often focus upon the compositions of a single composer for the bulk of their repertoire, because they love the music, or because they feel that the music is not being played often enough or, in Läther's case, because the music is insanely difficult, therefore extremely challenging, and more than a little mad.

The band's opening gambit was a short section of Purple Lagoon/Approximate, a piece that would be reprised late in the second set. The impact of this complex, poly-rhythmic, head-first dive into the deep end, was a perfect choice to batter, bewilder, and totally delight the expectant audience, and was greeted with as much enthusiasm as a five-course banquet to a starving person. It has been a long time between drinks.

Bandleader Tim Hogan's Ibanez double cut-away spat out notes with such precision and fury, that I was reminded of earlier Zappa 'Stunt Guitarists', such as Mike Keneally, Steve Vai, and Adrian Belew, all the while he quietly conducted the rest of this incredible group of musicians with a simple raise of his eyebrows or a silent nod.

Frank Zappa, like many other composers, would write parts in his works that he himself could not actually play, and these sections would be given to players of unusually high capacity, hence Zappa's term, 'Stunt Guitarist'.

The term applies, without doubt, to Hogan himself, as he performed 'without a net', that is to say, he did not rely on a score to act as a mnemonic or to sight-read live. By contrast, the rest of the band had the written music before them that they would often glance at, and sometimes play from directly in real-time. My analogy to the imaginary classical string quartet was amplified.

Virtuosic solos were not limited to Hogan, however, for during the piece Imaginary Diseases, both trombone player, Gareth Davis, and keyboardist, David Goodwin, took extended solos of extreme difficulty and complexity, with an apparent ease that spoke clearly of incredible skill. It is to me, a test of the respect level within a band such as this to watch the actions of the non-playing members when the soloing spotlight is turned onto one player.

As Davis began his wonderfully melodic solo, Hogan, sax player, Dave Saunders, and tuned percussionist, Ryan Simm, literally took themselves off the side of the low stage in order to allow the audience to focus on the featured player without any distraction, and they stayed there, stationary and silent, while Goodwin's keyboard solo took over from Davis.

Goodwin's Nord Lead keyboard started with a Fender Rhodes-esque electric piano sound but, as his often chord-based solo continued, he began manipulating the oscillator and modulator controls on his instrument, creating sounds that Frank Zappa could only have dreamt of.

The needlepoint precision of both drummer, Jarrad Payne, and bassist, Jez Martin, stitched an understated but supportive backdrop, for each of the widely diverse solos, of such subtlety and transparency that it was like a green-screen for the individual players to project whatever image they cared to upon it.

It was an object lesson in the symbiotic process between truly professional musicians performing live in ensemble, of 'less equals more', an unfortunately rare skill that requires not only an absolute expertise in playing one's instrument, and a deep understanding of the music, but also an equally deep respect for the work of one's peers.

In the piece, Carolina Hardcore Ecstasy, Ryan Simm, on vibraphone, clearly demonstrated his great skill on this particularly tricky instrument, but also his careful study of the playing of Ruth Underwood, Zappa's favoured tuned percussionist who eventually became mentor, and one could venture to say teacher, to his band.

A hugely underestimated player and composer in her own right, Underwood was Frank Zappa's interpreter, often translating his complex and often chaotic visions into playable works. When Zappa presented the score of Black Page to the band, it was Underwood who went through the intensely complex piece with the other band members in order to allow them a way into the dense and confusing structure of the work.

Simm's unison playing with Hogan's guitar and Gerry Masi's (I'll get to him later) vocals were so accurate and perfectly timed that it almost sounded like a guitar effect that Hogan had added to his playing.

This is not just a question of playing in time, because most of these pieces leap around like a frog on a hotplate, there's simply no way to just count the 'hit points', they have to be either felt, after long practice to gain sufficient familiarity, sight read in real-time, or communicated between the musicians themselves, live. Simm did all three simultaneously while also channeling the spirit of Ruth Underwood. I said to this tall, bearded, and rather imposing man after the show, "I'm going to call you Ruth from now on!" Rather than punching me in the face, he replied, "I would be honoured."

In Pound for a Brown, the alto saxophonist, Dave Saunders, was given the opportunity to solo, an opportunity he grabbed with both hands, as he launched into a solo that was more than just melodically sound and innovative, he also demonstrated his superb control of tone. It sounded more like a vocal rendition of an instrumental piece, as he coaxed his single reed to mimic a singing voice, moving between diaphragm and open throat, as he wrung every available emotion from each individual note.

When he joined the guitar, trombone, vocal, and vibraphone in the all but arrhythmic, unison phrases, so reminiscent of 'old school' Zappa, his precision was faultless. His sax barked out the notes with a staccato impatience that would have stood out like the legendary body parts on a terrier, had he been a microsecond off in his timing, but he never was.

Amongst these seven virtuosic instrumental players, there was an earthing link, a connecting force attempting to offer us some sense of this hailstorm of notes, ebbing and flowing as if tossed by an unpredictable wind. It was the unique voice of Gerry Masi.

Masi's voice leaped from the grumbling lows of a benevolent tenor saxophone, to a pitch that would prick the ears of every dog within twenty kilometres, in a fluent and fluid portamento that even Goodwin's synthesiser would not match. His enunciation was clear and clean, such that, even during the machine gun staccato that Zappa's vocal lines demand, every syllable was available to the listener.

An audience member said to me after the show, "I've never been able to hear all the words to these incredible stories before".

Masi's physical stage presence matched his vocal accomplishments, as he dominated the stage during his solos and, just as with every other member of the band, he was shown due deference by his peers as he did so.

If Frank Zappa was still alive, and still performing live, Gerry Masi would be his vocalist, David Goodwin would be his keyboard player, Jez Martin would be on bass, Jarrad Payne would play drums, Dave Saunders would hold the alto role, Gareth Davis would be the 'bone'" player, Ryan Simm would be on vibes (but probably not in a bikini top as Ruth always was), and Tim Hogan would be Zappa's 'Stunt Guitarist' of choice.

This was an unforgettable show.