claired blog on Absolute Radio

INXS in Zagreb

claired — Tue, 05 Jun 2007 19:14:00 +0100

I hope it's okay to post a link to my other blog - it's a bit of a novel (shocking for me, I know)...

http://blog.myspace.com/seemstodisappear

Boy on Fire

claired — Fri, 30 Mar 2007 17:02:00 +0100

Boy on Fire

The Brisbane concert was in fact the only one that I'd had any intention of going to. A friend of mine from Vancouver (well, she's Welsh, but I know her from Vancouver) was living in Brisbane at the time I originally planned the trip. By the time I booked and paid for the trip she was living in Perth and by the time I actually got to Australia she was back in Canada which made visiting her in Australia a bit challenging, but the important thing was I had a ticket for the INXS concert in Brisbane. And, happily, the entire Cairns-Townsville crowd were going to be there, all very happy and excited to be celebrating the birthday of a man we've never met nor are particularly likely to. And we'd be celebrating this bum-in-cake anniversary at an out door concert in the Botanical Gardens. In the pissing down rain.

It is curiously prophetic that I noted only a few days previously in this very blog that I had risked "life or at least sandals" to make it to the front of the barrier for the Kuranda concert - or maybe I am just tragically aware of my own clutziness - because those very sandals were sadly sacrificed at the mud-bath that was Glaston-bane. Not to make it to the front, but to return to our crew - near enough to the front - with alcoholic sustenance. Had I known that Kirk was going to be pouring out champagne for the crowd a short while later, I might not have bothered and would still be in possession of my funky Sienna Miller-like shoes. In all fairness, I can't blame Kirk entirely (or to be really fair, at all) because it was no one's fault but my own that I chose to run from the bar kiosk at the top of the grassy steepness back down to the stage area where us die-hards had jealously guarded our spots for the previous four hours. I didn't do too badly - I managed to get a good three quarters of the way down, dashing gaily, before I tripped and skidded - mud-skied, really - for around four or five feet… sadly not bringing my sandals along for the trip. They were thong-like, with an ankle strap, and somehow as I skied through the mud, both of the bits that attach the strap to the base of the shoe (through my toes) snapped at the same time so that I shot forward with what was left of my shoes trailing pathetically behind. I didn't, incidentally, spill a drop of the drinks, but I had no time to pat myself on the back (and I most certainly would have spilled the drinks if I had) because I had to figure out how I was going to walk the rest of the way with my entirely useless shoes. The answer, I discovered with entertaining trial and error, was to step by flinging each leg forward with such force that the soles of the shoes swung up to meet the soles of my feet and then stamping down quickly before they swang back again. The effect - if you will forgive my momentary political incorrectness - was of a drunken, enthusiastic Gestapo. I managed to lop-sidedly goose-step, thinking to myself how intimidatingly cool I was and if only JD could see me now he'd probably faint with lust, back to our crew where the girls cheerfully accepted their drinks and erected a feet-fort of bags to create a safe space for me to remain barefoot without risking sacrificing my toes to an enthusiastic mosher.

The show itself, predictably enough, was great; it had an edgier vibe than the slick, tight, on-fire-ness of Kuranda and Townsville - more of a sense of abandon, as if at any moment they might go "fuck it, let's play some Chumbawumba" or set their hair on fire or something. That's an appropriate thought, as it happens. At the beginning of the encore, they very sweetly brought out a birthday cake for JD, and we all sang Happy Birthday. It was actually the third time we'd sang it, but the during the first two he'd had his ear piece thingy in so I don't think he heard. He looked genuinely touched, almost overwhelmed - there is an interesting dichotomy about JD, incidentally: he morphs from sex god into little boy lost - and, thankfully, back again - in seconds, and as he looked lost for words and hugged all of the guys, we turned to one another with "aww, bless him" looks. But I digress - seconds later JD, with clearly more important things on his mind than remembering to blow out candles before sticking his arse on them, jumped on the cake. Luckily, Andrew had a water bottle handy (song writing genius, the only human who can make the harmonica sexy and fire warden!) and, well, I've always said that JD has a smoking arse…

Bless him.

The wild, party atmosphere was most certainly felt in the crowd too - rather than a load of strangers who happened to buy tickets for the same show, it really felt like a garden party of almost 10,000 where drinks were passed around and our mates played some tunes. It was one of those gigs, where, as the crowd streams out afterwards, you randomly turn to the people you are stumbling next too, start chatting about what you thought of it or the last time you saw the band, and end up drinking 'till dawn. Actually, most INXS gigs are like that - whatever else you can say about us X heads (it is difficult to make clear in text, but I say that ironically - honest!) we are certainly sociable - and Brisbane was no exception. After a brief trip to a late night Target to procure some $5 shoes, the Cairns-Townsville crew, plus a multitude of stragglers (basically anyone we gathered from the crowd or passed on the pavement wearing an INXS t shirt) convened in a bar where we bullied the DJ into playing all INXS - and when he finally rebelled and played some other, random, pointless music, gathered in a corner and proceeded to warble a medley covering the entire 30 year back catalogue. It is possibly somewhat astounding that out of the entire crowd, not one of us could hold a tune. It was, most certainly "not roit", but it was fun. I believe that we toasted the birthday boy. I know that we toasted Tim's pornstache and Kirk's taste in shoes - although I don't know why - and I know that as the lights went on and the bouncers tried to persuade us to go home I was sitting on the floor with the other Jonette (the one who'd been given the other drum stick by Tony back in Townsville) deeply discussing the wonderous, splendorous, gorgeousness that is Jon Farriss.

The Ville Called Town

claired — Wed, 28 Mar 2007 15:33:00 +0100

The morning after the Townsville concert, I woke up - okay that isn't strictly true, I didn't go to bed, so I should say when the sun rose after the Townsville concert - I realized that this was it, I was on my own. I had spent the first couple of days in Cairns alone, but as I'd been staying in a hostel, in one place, it wasn't quite the solitude as I was facing now. I was just about to point my car in the direction of 'south' with no real idea of what I might find until nearly 1500 kilometres later in Brisbane.

I am getting a bit ahead of myself here: let's rewind briefly to the previous morning. Just as we were about to leave the hotel in Cairns, I noticed a local paper in the lobby, so picked it up to have a scan through for a review of the previous night. There was one, glowing just as it should have been… however I couldn't help but notice that the headline read "First Show Takes Fans to the Limit." Chuckling indulgently to myself, I wondered what on earth those crazy INXS fans were up to now and read on… they'd flown in from London to Kuranda for the gig, it seemed. How craz -- hold on a moment, something about that sounded just a touch familiar. (May I point out at this juncture that, unlike in North America, Australian newspapers don't feel the need to specify that London is in England, as opposed to, say, Kazakhstan.) Reassuring myself that I hadn't flown from London specifically to Kuranda, therefore it was entirely different and not at all bonkers, we set off for Townsville (see? I flew in to go to Townsville too… )

I had high hopes for Townsville, for two reasons (well, two reasons plus INXS were going to be there.) One, I love the name. During my snorkelling trip on the Barrier Reef, the guide (a Brit) had pointed out that if a creature or plant looks like something, you'll generally find that that is its name - the Box Jellyfish or the Stone Fish, for example. Nowhere is this gloriously Australian literalness more evident than in "Townsville" - do they have, I wondered, "Road Street" or "Trees Forest"? The second reason I was keen on Townsville came about on a train from Euston to Milton Keynes a few months ago. Please don't ask me what I was doing on a train from Euston to Milton Keynes, because then I will have to admit that I was on my way to a Take That concert (which was entirely brilliant, by the way.) My sister, her friend, and I were discussing my impending Australia trip, rather loudly it seemed, because all of a sudden a girl popped her head over our row of seats and asked which one of us was going to Australia. Slightly apprehensively, I raised my hand which probably wasn't necessary. Immediately, she grinned and handed me a piece of paper with her email address on it - she came from Townsville, it transpired, and if I had any questions or needed help while I was in the area, I was to email her. So you can understand why I was keen to see a place that raised such a ridiculously, randomly nice person. And had a slightly ridiculous name.

The drive there threw up another surprise about Australia. I had imagined this road trip to be not unlike a North American road trip, in that I would spend most of my time on the vast highways that streak across the country at speed. The kind of highways that are so much an entity unto themselves that you observe the landscape and communities that you pass from a distance - almost as though there is an invisible protective tube around the road, outside of which Technicolor two dimensional images play just for the distraction of the driver. In order to actually experience the area through which you are passing, you have to exit the highway and enter the scenery - a bit like in Mary Poppins when they jump into Bert's drawings. In Australia however, you are right in and amongst the supercalafragilisticness of all the surroundings have to offer the entire time. The Bruce Highway in Northern Queensland isn't what I'd term a highway at all, but a road - two lanes, often bumpy and potholed, riddled with roundabouts and little towns; often you get stuck behind a tractor without a straight enough stretch to overtake for tens of kilometres - and this is the main, indeed the only, road going south through the State. The tropical, rainforest feeling of Cairns melts away pretty quickly and the vegetation around the road is the sort of desperate, only-just green that suggests it is nothing more than a brief drought away from drying up entirely. My Australian friend pointed out to us the scorched remains of banana plantations following a bush fire last summer, and, as we passed through the little town of Ingram, tarpaulins where roofs should be were testament to a recent, devastating, cyclone. Tough place.

The Townsville concert, as I have already said, was incredible. Years as an INXS fan: 23. Flight to Australia: 10600 miles and much, much money. Reading about myself in a Cairns newspaper: slightly mortifying. Finally catching my first drumstick: priceless. Actually, that's a lie - I didn't catch it at all. I probably couldn't catch a drum kit if it was thrown at me, so the stick was given to me by the brilliant Tony, the bloke in charge of protecting INXS from, err, people like me. Oddly enough, he also - equally deliberately - gave a drum stick to one of the Melbourne Girls - probably the only Jon fan in that crowd to rival me. When she and I realized this, hours and many vodkas later that night, we became a little frightened. How exactly, does Tony look out over a sea of 5000 faces and know exactly who to specifically hand the drum sticks to? We think he's magic.

I might have danced around with my drum stick for the rest of the night. I may have used it like a magic wand to futilely command slightly disconcerted people in the casino to dance. It is possible that I threatened the girl who tried to wrench it off me that I'd brain her with it if she didn't let go ("… and in other news this evening, the police have revealed that the murder weapon was inscribed with the name J Farriss…") It is not beyond the realms of possibility that at 8am the following morning, when my friend and I emerged from the lifts in the hotel - admittedly looking somewhat the worse for wear following an ill advised ice fight in the wee hours - I was still clutching my drum stick leading the receptionist to stare with a look that was definitely primarily disapproving, but unquestionably tinged with curiosity.

So, armed with a stonking hangover and a drum stick, I headed south.

A novel about the Queensland gigs last August: Part II

claired — Wed, 28 Mar 2007 15:32:00 +0100

The one thought my scrambled and spent brain could manage as we wound our way back down the mountain was that there was no way that Townsville could compete. That was it; that was the INXS performance and I while I was thrilled at the thought of getting to do it all over again the following night, I wondered if it might take fractionally away from the ultimate-ness of Kuranda to see a second show which just couldn't possibly be on the same level. INXS, I owe you an apology for that fleeting thought - Townsville was all of the above, and more. In a more normal, small arena setting, I realized that a part of the energy of the night before must have actually escaped above to the stars, but in Townsville, it hit the ceiling, bounced back down and exploded in the crowd. I can't honestly remember when I was last in the midst of such a rabid, sweaty, captivated crowd; being bashed about from all directions almost like being battered around by the sea after wiping out following a tragic attempt at surfing; threatening to drown the band out with our roars - not that they weren't up to the challenge of competing with us; and again all being 100% in the palm of one very capable Canadian hand. Had JD chosen to mildly suggest we all stand on our heads and do an upside down frog dance wearing only one shoe, the stampede that would have ensued would have threatened to bring the Townsville Entertainment Centre to a pathetic pile of rubble. Despite partaking in a beverage or two at the casino across the road before the show, we still managed to make it back in time to hit the barrier - so poor Kirk had to put up with my goofy grin right in front of him for a second night running

The Commonwealth Rocks the Empire - 12 October 2006

claired — Tue, 27 Mar 2007 09:38:00 +0100

I would describe the overall attitude of the British INXS fans, diehard and casual alike, before this show as… pragmatic. Which is an odd word to use for rock fans but somehow apt. Essentially, people seem to have been thinking that while they'd prefer to see Michael Hutchence, as that isn't an option then INXS is better than no INXS so here they were. Which I can understand and think is fair enough really. To me, anyone who says that a band begin and end with their frontman displays a shallow understanding of rock music and the dynamics of a band. Michael Hutchence was a phenomenal frontman, one of the best that ever lived, but he was also one sixth of a phenomenal band and that band is still around. Having said that though, it is inevitable that a great frontman does… set the tone, for want of a clearer phrase, particularly for a live performance. With that in mind, one of the things I have adored watching develop over the past year is not simply INXS with some bloke ably standing in for Michael, but a fully evolved and newly reinvigorated band that exists proudly within the legacy yet is exciting in and of itself too. One of the London Reviews - the Evening Standard - mentioned JD's "likeable weirdness" which does hit the nail on the head a bit - there is a real playful, slighty (maybe even more than slightly) bonkers, enthusiasm to him that is clearly infectious and creates a brilliantly fun abandon on stage. It isn't better than the shows with Michael, of course it's not, but neither is it worse, it is unique and fantastic and all in all, hats off to the Canadian weirdo. I have most definitely become a JD fan this year, and while of course I would jump at the chance to somehow see them with Michael in concert again, even if that was an option I would still chose to see the JD-ified INXS too. And it seems that as of Thursday night, plenty of British fans agree with me.

Just about every time I see INXS, I figure that I was incredibly lucky to be at a special concert where they are somehow especially on fire, one of those once in a life time phenomenal shows in which the band hit the climax of their genius. Then I see them again, think the same thing, and slowly realize that it's no one off fluke but just the way INXS play, every night. Shepherds Bush was absolutely no exception but for me what really made this gig was the crowd. The atmosphere was out of this world. From the opening, err, twiddle (the technical musical term, I believe) of harmonica on Suicide Blonde the crowd went bonkers and didn't regain sanity until probably some time Friday afternoon. There were a lot of blokes in the crowd, the most I've seen in a while (at an INXS concert that is, I don't mean to suggest that I live in a nunnery or anything) so possibly somewhat fuelled by sheer testosterone there was an absolute wild ferocity to the screaming, stomping and singing along that seemed to take even the band by surprise. The Shepherds Bush Empire started life, I believe, as a music hall, so it has four tiers - the floor in front of the stage, then three balconies stretching upwards. During Mystify, I turned around to see a couple of thousand people, the top level must have been a good two and a half storeys above the stage, each and every one with their hands above their heads clapping along. At times the place just about rattled with the vibrations of the dancing and stomping.

My sister, who has taken the chronic piss out of my INXS obsession for years and had finally agreed to come along to her first concert, was right at the forefront of the rabble bellowing at Tim during Never Tear Us Apart - although later on the tube she asked why we were bullying him so, surely it is up to him when he plays the fucking riff? When finally, an emotional band dragged themselves onstage and the lights went up, there was an almost palpable air of utter stunnedness, a loud, unspoken "holy fuck. That was INXS, then."