Given that I’ve been (literally) attempting to run my arse off recently, I’ve become accustomed to sweat. But nothing could have prepared me for Grandmaster Flash at the Espy on Australia Day eve. Sweatbox? You got it! I awoke the next morning with an icky feeling in my lungs reminiscent of the old smokers-in-bars days, finally realising my lungs were full of other people’s armpits. Eeuuw. But Grandmaster, you gave great beats, and we danced as if possessed until the end when our shoes were actually sticking to the floor. I didn’t even mind when I found the young dude down the back actually playing all the tunes, and doing the scratching. True!
So just when I thought I couldn’t cope with one more gig/festival/dance-off, I realised the tree is loaded and it’s time to swing into action with the second annual tribute to all things fig. Last year’s began with fig delicacies washed down with champagne, and ended with disco dancing in the lounge room fueled by vodka. Behold, the Festival of the Fig 2010…
{ 2 comments }
Mary 02.01.10 at 2:14 am
I am not convinced that there was someone else playing GMF’s tunes! We need to get to the bottom of this. How can it be?
Oh yes FOF, the last one involved more alchol than figs. Works for me.
Patsyfox 02.01.10 at 3:22 am
It’s true!! I saw it with my own eyes, I was standing right behind him watching him work!
Yes more alcohol than figs it’s true, although this year I’ll be attempting to combine the two in the one delicious moment….
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