Last night I went to another planet.

You know those Rocky Horror movies where everybody goes in costume, and they sing along and have a great time, and the rest of us think it's really kinda creepy?
Welcome to the world of the blue-rinse showtunes set. I'm talkin' bout Clem Bastow Live At The Arts Centre (cafe) !!!



It's all part of the Melbourne International Arts Festival, where you go to Cafe Vic (which is a bigger venue than most bands I know have ever played in their lives!), grab your songbook, and sing...well...showtunes.

Now I hate showtunes at the best of times, but even I had to admit this was a good time. And Clem loves them too, so much so I have serious doubts as to whether she even needed a songbook. Nerd.


Clem getting warmed up, with vibrating ben-wa balls.

It was a pretty nice setup, and I looked more than a little out of place wearing ripped jeans and a faded Dangerfield tee with a big skull on it, but I only got about 50 dirty looks, so I got off lightly.
Clem took great pleasure in pointing out the Liza Minelli/Mariah wannabe with one finger in her ear, just like rival cheerleaders backstage at the Miss Alabama pageant.
Clem's outfit was black (slimming), with just enough cleavage to keep her boyfriend nervous. Oh, and bright yellow shoes, with a shiny pink handbag (It looked like a giant labia minora, and it made me very thirsty).

Only Clem could get away with this kind of melange. If you or I tried it, it would be a major faux-pas, setting off all the alarms at Fashionista World Headquarters in Milan.


The setup.

There was a guy and a girl to help you along vocally, and a pianist. I asked Clem all of their names, and then immediately forgot them. This is why me having a Blog is just plain wrong. I think the pianists name was Michael, but don't quote me on that. Musical theatre people are scary. All those little sideways glances and smirks...

Anyway, after a few warmup numbers with crowd participation (I dropped a kickin' glissando), it was time for Clem's solo. This is where everything fell apart.
Out of nowhere, some nerdy girl who's every waking moment had been a precursor to this very second, ran up to the podium and bum rushed the show!
Clem, being a laydee, didn't flinch, but I'm sure I heard murmurs of discontent from the cheap seats (mainly from me, actually). let's refer to this girl henceforth as 'she who cannot be named for legal purposes'.


Clem and 'she who cannot be named for legal purposes'.

Apparently, Clem sang a Sondheim tune, but I wouldn't know one if it jumped up and bit me in the ass.


Clizem drizops tha rizeal dizeal...note booby shadow hotness.

Thing was, she was really good!
She was like the Avril Lavigne of the blue-rinse showtunes set!
She breezed in with her spunky band member boyfriend (The Hovercrafts), like she'd been waving her hands in the air and generally not caring all evening, and was now here to tear the roof off this muthafucka and represent for hot blonde V8 Grid- Girls and Ralph models everywhere. Strong, clear enunciation, solid notes, with just the right touch of vibrato at the end. She'd kick ass in Church yo.
The Church of Satan, that is.


...and the crowd goes wild!!!


I was heavily distracted by this cake.

Anyway, the moral of this story is "don't be a music wanker".
I had to leave early to go to work, but I'm sorely tempted to go again next week or tomorrow or whenever they have another one (if they have one), and join in properly.

Fun!

It also inspired me to rip off the concept- I am heavily pregnant with other peoples ideas!!!
How mega-yay would it be to do the same thing, but singing Acca Dacca songs???!

Oh wait, that's karaoke, right?

Damn.


This is knifey, from 'the internet'.