Like dawn slowly unfolding itself across a field of corn, the Manchester music scene is beginning to awaken from its enforced hibernation. Parklife returned last weekend, the arena spluttered back into life Friday night just gone with Stockport “finest” The Blossoms and on the way in I pass a fully functioning Apollo (Dodie. No, me neither). Here at the Academy complex (basically the students union) it very much business as usual. The students are back and the cheap(er) beer of the main bar is being lapped up by packs of Wagons t-shirt adorned aging rockers, determined to prove to the young whippersnappers that they don’t have a monopoly on having a good time. Upstairs in Academy 2 we may never reach capacity (there are still many for whom indoor crowds are just a step too far), but there is a real feeling of normality about this evening. The trepidation and unsurety that has been evident at shows so far, is absent. This is a crowd comfortable with being back in the room and ready to enjoy themselves.

Opener Chris Catalyst is the cult musician’s cult musician. He has had stints in everyone from Ugly Kid Joe to Sisters of Mercy, but is probably best known (well to his small, but faithful fanbase) for being the leader of self-sufficient power-poppers The Eureka Machine. Tonight, he comes across as an affable and engaging lad. He apologies for being from the wrong side of the Pennines (Leeds) and makes numerous references to how chuffed he is that we choose to wander in early and catch his set. There is a small but vocal group of Eureka Machine devotees upfront, but for the main this is unacquainted crowd respectful, but not reverential.

Musically it’s bright, sumptuous power-pop, reminiscent in places of Cheap Trick and the late great Jellyfish. The only variant into other pastures are the tracks aired from his recently released record “Kaleidoscopes” (an album he evidently is well chuffed with). They have an almost Devin Townsend feel to them, a comparison that makes perfect sense when Chris speaks with great passion about being awestruck seeing Heavy Devy in this very room back in August. He takes a well-received (well by the faithful) dip into The Eureka Machine back catalogue, before he concludes with a version of Bowie’s ‘Boys Keep Swinging’ that sounds like The Jam covering the Thin White Duke. Overall, this is proof (if we ever needed it), that once you peak below the mainstream there is a whole host of highly talented musicians equally desperate and delighted to get back to their day jobs.

There is something magical about Massive Wagons, but it takes a few tracks for me to put my finger on what it is. In this glut of new wave of classic rock acts there are other bands that have a similar stage presence to the Wagons and there are others that have a similar treasure trove of memorable tracks. However, there is nobody like the Wagons, there is nobody that has captured the collective imagination like the Wagons and there is no-one that connects with an audience like the Wagons. It is halfway through the Bon Scott-esque Hero that is finally dawns on me what the elusive ingredient is. What they offer us is the closest thing we will get to seeing AC/DC, Quo, Halen, or Queen in a small sweaty room. They are classic rock personified; rock n’ roll dreams do indeed come true.

It is indeed a case of disparate parts coming together to equal so much more as a whole. Frontman Baz channels the spirit (and the tache) of Freddie Mercury, if Freddie’s idea of a good night was a pie and a pint at the Pub on China Street. He is like a hyper-active alley cat, twirling his mike stand and high kicking like he is auditioning for a martial arts pic.  Adam Thistlethwaite and Stevie Holl provide a twin guitar artillery burst that many thought had long gone out of fashion, gleefully trading licks like they were back in the rehearsal room. To top it all, there is a weighty rhythm section, keeping everything grounded and groovy. Together these three components combine into a potent mix that feeds on the power of every great rock band ever.

The beauty of the Wagons is this is not a backward looking cover band derivatively mining the past (though we do get ‘I Fought the Law’, ‘She Does it Right’ and a wonderful ‘Surrender’ sandwiched in the middle of ‘Bangin in Your Stereo’). They capture the excitement of seeing the greats in their prime, because they themselves are firing on all four cylinders. They may be fuelled by the legends of a bygone era, but they very much their own band, carving their own path. At the heart of this are the songs. They have managed to decipher those secret ingredients that made Freddie, Diamond Dave and Francis and Rick such great songwriters. A dollop of playfulness, a scoop of sing-along ability and pinch of self-deprecation. The Wagons have this in spades. From the unifying opener 'In It Together’, through the comically self-aware ‘Pressure’ to the lunacy of ‘The Curry Song’ and glorious hero-worship of finale ‘Back to the Stacks’. They have an arsenal of tracks that transform a bunch of people stood in the same room into a baying mob of raised voices.

This is their magic, the ability to channel every great rock show and plop you in the middle of it. Every Wagons show is Queen at Wembley Stadium, Quo at Milton Keynes or Halen supporting Sabbath in ’78. Every show feels extraordinary and special, every show is the eye of rock n’roll hurricane. Tonight, is no different. Tonight, is a high octatriene caldron of highly choreographed rock theatre. Slick and beautifully staged, but possessing enough raw energy to give that impression of spontaneity. Basically, every audience will swear that they have witnessed the best Wagons show ever and every audience will be right. Tonight, was wonderful, tonight was magical, and tonight was un-toppable. But the magic of the Wagons, is so will tomorrow’s show.