Ethan Switch - Monday, 4 December 2006
Rain on the city streets, people splish-splashing around and heading long into each other with their umbrellas down and for the charge. Partial shock and slight dismay at the fact that Utopia Records is no more. Or at least no longer in the underground location at the foot of the escalators into the George Street cinemas.
Back and forth from one side of George Street to the other and around the block of the lanes to kill the time between open doors. The flush rush inside The Metro waits on from the skinny doors and wide security holding up the flow. Line reaches back from the huddling outside the glass toward the other side into Pitt Street. And a fallen trolley in the break curves the line some.
Sellout crowd and the picnickers make with the fire hazard, blocking the stair access with no other room bar the crack between the jeans. Still, enough room to swing a kick back and forth. Not enough to spin a round house to dislodge the spinal column into the axis of twirl it needs to reset to.
Ten foot tall three wise men in rubber masks and shiny robes freak into the intro. Tripod's Scod, Gatesy and Yon doff the costumes and swing right into the concept of the "Hey! We Don't Make The Yules!" Christmas Tour.
Shout outs from the crowd anticipate "Fabian" as the first reindeer shot between the eyes. A cruelly funny song that swings into a nice melody that has the arms swaying vividly against the baubles and Christmas presents at back.
Second on the list is "Hot Girl In The Comic Shop" (Spider-Man definitely beats the Hulk in most cases due to his agility, wit and speed advantages) and the throw in for setting up the ring that sings not only all yuletide songs for the night. Early on Yon has the crowd on his side before the other two. In "The Theme from M*A*S*H Guy", the entire crowd comes up gold on the whistling as those who know the theme tune hum the theme tune in patchy unison.
It's the continual blinding light of a brunette on a lower landing filming the entire night on her mobile that throws up a challenge. One against the spot light the size of a torch that for some reason keeps hitting the walls throughout the night and over such songs as "Too Many Remotes" and "Suicide Bomber." No exclusivity there.
"The Little Drummer Boy" screw in lyrics reflecting rather recent career transitions and the beat goes on. On stage antics add another cake slab of pudding and dessert as the songs lean back and take a rest between the dialogue and even during with a few of solos and instrumentals losing no steam.
Not beholden to the confines of the stage, the three work the access of The Metro, finding their feet taking them about the place. Though only as far as the first few rows will allow under the rather dim lighting for spilling drinks unseen in hand.
Christmas is all that and more with the contrivance of the presents doing well under the rapport and space the three. Charging it up they fire barbs between and shoot sparks of wit that continue on from the very first song and well into the close of the encore.