Last nights Interpol concert was fantastic. The sound was good, for once Festy wasn’t so hot I want to rip my own skin off, and the “Concert Wine” wasn’t too bad. It was a damn sight better than the alternative, VB in a can.
The highlight of the night for me was Slow Hands. It had so much energy live, and was just a heap of fun.
The lowlight, song wise I would have to say was The Lighthouse. It just felt overblown to me. But it was a magnificent concert, all in all. Apart from the woman in front of us who asked us to “Go outside if we were going to talk so loudly” Well, love; it wasn’t your lounge room. It was a concert. And we weren’t exactly yelling in your ear. Jebus. Some people are so intolerant.
Another low/highlight was waiting for a tram on Latrobe Street, having only the vaguest idea where Dudley Street was, and watching the Restaurant trams rattle past. For some reason John took agin them, and when we finally conceded defeat and hopped in a cab, at least once through the journey, I heard him mutter at them as we drove past.
But back to the concert. I didn’t catch Youth Group, by design. I could think of nothing worse than watching them play, frankly. So we cheerfully missed the warm up act, and made it inside, after we finally located the door and got asked by a very sharp Security Guard whether I had anything in my pockets. I didn’t have any pockets. Obviously, Festy is where Brain Surgeons go to die.
Anyway, the night was great. Interpol were fantastic, I bothered no one with my singing, but oddly someone with my much quieter talking, and there was a quasi-celebrity spotting in Mick Molloy, who was in line in front of us. For anyone interested, he still hasn’t had a shave.
Anyway, off home now to recover from the late night. I felt very old getting up this morning. One late night and early morning, and I’m ever so-slightly knackered.
But it was worth it, every second.
Bleeding arse and a snot bubble
43 minutes ago