A light rain blew across our bows as we ran up the steps of the Sydney Opera House for Unkle in concert, supported by a half dozen members of the philharmonic strings orchestra.
If you want a technical account of the evening, I’d stop reading this review immediately. I’m not the guy who knows the names of the songs, and I’m not going to discuss the nuances in their performance. What I will say, however, is that given Ice House died in the early 90’s I am very pleased to have Unkle in my life to fill the cavernous space left by the deceased. If Fat Boy Slim exhumed Ice House’s remains, plucked some DNA and made sweet love to it, you would have Unkle.
The glorious birthchild.
As said I shan’t attempt a technical dissection of any kind (as with all good reviews) however I shall at least try to define the type of music they play. I’m thinking Ballardic Electro. Pretty sure I just made up a new genre. And if ballardic isn’t a word then it should be.
And so back to the evening which is on the chilly side of warm as the crowds file in a cordial manner to assume their position in the theatre-style seating. At this point I wish I’d had more to drink as I hadn’t quite pushed through the sobriety barrier with the four beers I’d put away over the past two hours or so.
Having settled in our seats the group from the UK wasted no time in joining the stage. I guess they were paying by the hour for the venue. A venue which, all things considered, is probably a tad over rated. The Opera House is a lovely-looking bag of tiles, don’t get me wrong. But if you’re singing in a bucket, I don’t care if that bucket has pretty frills and a nice fascinator on the handle... you’re still singing inside a bucket. And the acoustics were suitably mashed up.
Immediately on taking the stage the light show begins. High beams flashed through my retinas at such speed I had an epileptic fit for the sheer convenience of it.
But the twitching wasn’t the worst affliction from the light show. Even worse, you could see everyone sitting, arms folded, and obviously more sober than I. There was more judgement than a courtoom. You could cut the scrutiny with a knife.
If only they could have turned the bastards off; I wouldn’t have been gruesomely aware of ten thousand people staring at me, watching me fidget with the lining of my pockets. I saw a guy standing next to me – which was ballsey, very ballsey –while almost everyone behind him was sitting down, burning into their seats and probably trying not to do anything that brought undue attention to them. Of course, a few others stood every now and then throughout the evening. Stood, burned, sat down. Pity. Stood.... a good bit of the song... lights come on....objection Your Honour and you’re on the stand. Sits down again and discovers a new bit of lint in their pocket. Awesome.
It was like having a party at your parents’ house but your parents are still there. It’s just not ok.
To their credit, Unkle tried their damndest to get the crowd into it, even saying at one point “It’s ok to stand, I promise” but we were having none of it. Having a good time was obviously less important than not looking like a tool.
If this gig were held anywhere else I get the sense it would have gone off. It’s to Unkle’s credit that I enjoyed myself despite the conditions. The band went hard, the songs were great, and I’ll go see them next time they’re in Sydney. Assuming it’s not at the Opera House.
There’s my technical conclusion.
