Baybeats 2006

I have a lot of catching up to do on my blogging. I've been too busy having too much fun, which has obviously ended now that I'm back down under for the second semester. Meh.

One of the more memorable events was Baybeats with Miss C, where the infamous Tiramisu were playing. Remember when the lead singer wore the giant dead anemone on his head? And the yodeling song became an unofficial ironic anthem for The Honeytrappers? Well, he was back, and nuttier than ever. We watched West Grand Boulevard play (I was impressed by the standard of their performance even though lead singer Daphne's voice is a bit too kiddy for my liking. You can hear their music here.) and we agreed that damnit, we should be up here receiving adulation from the crowd, not those kids. Lick my stiletto boots, cretins!

But, Tiramisu. Oh my god. We thought it couldn't get any better than "Dooooo your little DAAAAAAANCE!!", but we were so, so wrong.

Instead of the dead sea urchin/dildo headpiece, it was a shaggy blonde wig. Or so I thought. Later, watching his frenetic flailing and lolling head, I concluded that it was hair that was actually attached to his scalp (I can't bring myself to call it his 'natural' hair, that seems like too much of a misnomer.) Accompanying the hair were skin-tight avocado-colored capris. Somewhere in the heartlands, said The Boy, was an auntie running around half-naked. And the capris were paired with a hot pink sequined vest and a fuchsia feather boa. And heels. Oh yeah. You heard me.

You know, the guy can actually sing. He's got a nice growly sort of voice. But you're so distracted by the wtf antics that you can't remember what the hell he sang. I have no recollection of any of the songs he sang at all. All I remember is the flailing, as though his feather boa was eating him dick-first, the spirited high-kicking (which resulted in the sudden liberation of one high heel, which sailed into the audience, much to their amusement), and the flailing which looked a little like an electrocuted octopus. There was also the random twitching, the alarmingly feminine vogue-ing, the my-crotch-is-on-FIRE strutting and my real alarm that he was going to grab his hapless bassist and start humping him from behind like a mad dog. Miss C and I nearly couldn't stand from the laughing. And every now and then we’d break out and say "Dooo your little DAAAAAAAANCE!" and crack up all over again.

Sadly, Miss J missed the fun once again, this time because she was busy being hit on, as usual.

I would have liked to watch Love Me Butch, and to have come back Sunday to watch Electrico, One Buck Short and Furniture perform, but life intervened. Le sigh. Maybe next year.


Good times.