Sydney Festival 2010 - First Night

Tonight I went to the free first night of the Sydney Festival, along with tens of thousands of Sydneysiders and tourists; the night when the CBD is closed to all traffic and becomes "an epic theatre of music, spectacle and surprise" - according to the website. It's the time when Sydney blows a giant raspberry, raises its skirt and wiggles its bottom at Melbourne as if to say "I'm not just about gastropubs and harbour views, I can 'do culture' just as well as you". I have to admit to being a little sceptical of such a claim as I boarded a packed bus for the city, joined the longest queue I've ever been in for some Asian food in Hyde Park and found the city awash with Irish backpackers, drunken teenagers, bogans and sunburnt Mancunians.


I abandoned any plans to see Al Green, the soul singer, who was to perform in the Domain and which was rammed by 9pm, so I contented myself with some ethnic drumming and dancing that was taking place on the balcony of Parliament House, and, on the next building along (though less exciting and foot-tappingly catchy) a 20 strong band of bagpipe players and drummers wailing their way through, I think, Amazing Grace amongst other things - but I can't be sure. The city's skyscrappers were bathed in patterned, rhythmic light shows, whilst bats swooped between the palm and fig tree canopies of the parks. The mass of humanity only increased the stickiness and closeness of the night - as I type this, at about midnight, the temperature gauge reads 31 degrees. I walked down to one of the central plazas, where there was some chap who called himself "MC Zulu" and who was apparently "from Panama via Chicago" (whatever that means). He saw it necessary to wear sunglasses throughout his routine, which consisted of holding a megaphone in one hand, a microphone in the other, and shouting in to either one (I don't think it mattered which) words that I could only make out ended in "ation" to a hip-hop reggae beat. There were lots of people of all ages standing around pretending to enjoy it.


But all was not lost - the highlight of the evening was Big Voodoo Daddy Band, an American 10 piece rock'n roll combo who wore pinstripe suits and trillby hats, and whose lead vocalist was a fat version of Ricky Pointing who mostly sang "hi-di-hi-di-hi-di-hi" when he wasn't re-hashing Jungle Book. It was really great stuff though - and the audience was older (so I felt more at home) and there were some spectacular dancers. The plaza was rammed with people, and there were little circles dotted around as people watched others dance - clearly a number of people had taken the instruction on the website to "bring out your dancing shoes" literally - some of the guys with gelled back hair and braces, and the girls with pig tails and bright red lipstick, were wearing proper dance / tap shoes - some of them were mesmeric and amazing to watch, and I felt a twinge of jealousy and wished that I had the skill to dance like that - it looked so much fun. 


So having gourged on "culture" (I gave the performance of Hamlet in German with English subtitles a miss - I mean, what's the point in that? Where's the iambic pentameter?),  I've taken myself off home, and am now preparing to lie in a pool of my own sweat in an undoubtedly futile quest to get some sleep....