Performer arrogance mars great night out.

Tonight I was encouraged by friends to attend a CD launch by a Sydney country blues band at the Camelot Lounge in Marrickville. Why it’s in Marrickville, I don’t understand, as it is 100 metres from Sydenham station, but we’ll let that pass. Transport links good, venue great, food and service very good. The support act, a guy called Luke Escombe, was witty, artistic and seriously fun. His piece on East Germany, Lipsi Blues, is probably the most intelligent take on that sad era that I have ever heard.

Luke Escombe

The main act, the Green Mohair Suits, is a cult act among inner-city spinsters, a status largely deserved, I must say. However, my decision to continue to listen to cracker music after the US election result was severely tested. The band was playing a pretty smooth set at reasonably high volume. My friends, who are fairly devoted to the band, had booked a table right at the front, so we were sitting near the stage. At a certain point, my mate makes a joke that two of the band are like John and Paul from the Beatles. Presciently as it turns out, because the next song, a piece by band bad boy Canadian Brian Campeau, sounds like it was written by George Harrison. Which I say to Mike at the volume required to be heard over an amplified band. After the song, Campeau has a dummy spit and complains that he could hear what I said. Naturally I tried to laugh it off by saying that he got to hear what I said for free. To which he replies that I should leave. Which I did.

I had spent $20 entry and $70 at the bar. How come this preening princess gets to ruin my night and the night of all the people I was with? I could understand it if he was doing something other than playing derivative american music to a well-heeled audience. But I suppose that’s what you get for patronising pretentious pseudo-popular bourgeois culture.


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