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Posts Tagged ‘glastonbury’

We do have previous, you know

LA Theatre – Sea of Dreams – NYE 2005/6

Ever get the feeling some things just ain’t meant to be?

Seven years, three months and 18 days after he had failed to make it to High on 303 to celebrate his 25th birthday at the then newly-opened 303 in Northcote’s High Street thanks to a miserable, tired girlfriend (not his), Bruce rocked up there again, this time with Fran and friends in tow.

For the first time in years, they were missing Glastonbury’s muddy delights so were looking to compensate with a night of burlesque, led by the Voodoo Trash Dolls and their promise of, amongst other things, angle grinders… Fran had even pulled out the stops, creating a hairstyle not witnessed since she and Bruce sparked a cross-dressing high five frenzy in Glastonbury’s Chapel of Love and Loathing exactly one year earlier.

Glstonbury cross-dressing

Cross-dressing in wellies, an underrated look

The 303 was busy, a mix of freaks and hip Melburnians spilling out onto the street so, while Fran slotted into the queue for the bar, Bruce and Will approached the doorman, only to discover that in the world of burlesque having a drawn on comedy moustache gives you immediate authority. And, it would seem, an air of condescension…

“We’re full already,” said his mouth, distracting us at last from the ridiculous ‘tache.

“There’s only four of us,” said Bruce. “And we’ve travelled across the city to be here.”

“Sorry, but there’s a strict venue limit,” said Mr Moustache, casting his eyes up and down us.

“But my wife’s got really tarted up for the night,” said Bruce, realising he and Fran really should swap roles. “Well, maybe not tarted up by your standards,” he added.

“Look,” said the man, “I’m not being prejudiced, but…”

He didn’t need to continue. His broken sentence had hit his message home hard: we weren’t freaky enough. Yes, Will had been too lazy to change out of tracksuit bottoms and comfortable fleece top. Yes, Bruce’s jacket looked like it had been stolen from a binman. Yes, Fran wasn’t there to glam things up. But, did he really have to be so hurtful? Could a drawn on moustache cause so much pain?

“I can’t believe he said that,” said Will as we headed next door to the Northcote Social Club for a consolatory drink.

“It’s going to gnaw away at us all night,” said Bruce.

Four hours later, Bruce and Fran bid the others good night…

“Next time,” said Will indignantly as he climbed from the cab, “I’m going to wear a dress.”

‘Next time,’ thought Bruce, ‘I’m going to get into that fucking club.’

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“There’s a band called the Shitty Beatles playing at the Espy on Saturday night,” said Fran.

We like our Beatles, be they original or fake, so why not give shitty a shot too? It would at least offer us the chance to massacre Hey Jude for a third time. First, there was the yellathon to Paul McCartney’s set at Glastonbury 2004. And Fran will never outlive the shame of the night she was dragged onstage by a Valencian foursome performing at Benidorm’s Talk of the Town. She eschewed the offer of printed songwords, stating: “I don’t need those” in the foolishly dismissive manner of someone who has confused confidence with six double vodka red bulls, only to forget the words in front of 150 mildly inebriated, grey-haired holidaymakers.

A quick check on MySpace revealed the Shitty Beatles to be a Portland, Oregon, band who specialised in uproarious, but not particularly tuneful Beatles covers. Like they were when the were kids in Hamburg, the website proclaimed. You know, before they were good. It seemed a little strange that they would be headlining a Saturday night in the front room at the Espy, especially with a MySpace page that had been visited less than 3,000 times, but hey ho, could be a laugh.

11.30pm on Saturday, we headed down there just as the band before them were finishing. Band members made their way on and off stage assembling their kit and doing their soundcheck.

The real Shitty Beatles

“They don’t look anything like the guys on the MySpace site,” I said to Fran. “Amazing that they’ve been able to bring such a large crew with them to play free shows.”

Half an hour later they started. It wasn’t the Shitty Beatles. It was an emo band from Mornington playing under a pseudonym referencing Wayne’s World as they unveiled new material, God damn it. At least their female fan who filled us in on this detail was able to give us some tips on where to go on the Peninsula…

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