Yay! The dry season’s here; cool nights and crisp, windy mornings. After a few months of sauna-like Darwin weather you tend to forget how pleasant it is not to be always bathed in sweat.
Friday was officially the last day of the wet season and, as if to commemorate its passing, the evening was warm, still and balmy. “B” and I strolled into “The Groove” at Nightcliff to have a leisurely dinner and listen to American self-styled “virtuoso musician and slide guitarist” Bob Brozman. The night got off to a less than auspicious start, however, when we were both ostentatiously snubbed by a Queenly Presence with adoring new boyfriend in tow. I can’t help feeling that we’re all getting way too old to play characters in a Sex and the City-style soap opera gone troppo.
The music was a tad disappointing too. Brozman is certainly a technical virtuoso, but most of his playing has all the feeling and soul of a karaoke tape. And it wasn’t improved for this armadillo by his continual and inane anti-Bush diatribe between songs. Cracker barrel philosophy for ageing brain-damaged lefties: “If you want to know what’s really happening, just follow the money.” Deep! What sort of obtuse narcissism makes some performers think their audience gives a rat’s arse about their political opinions?
I’m really looking forward to hearing John Butler Trio though. They’re performing on the lawns at Mindil Beach Casino in a couple of weeks. That’s the other thing about the dry season: you actually begin getting some good live entertainment after months of wet season hibernation. But you can’t escape the leftie bullshit with Butler either. The ads for their concert announce that $1.00 from the price of every ticket will be donated to the Refugee Action Coalition. If I didn’t love their music so much, I’d be tempted to freeload and sit on the beach and listen to avoid having my money donated to a bunch of wankers I wouldn’t give the time of day.