Friday 12 April 2013, Polish Club
By Alice Cottee
(Disclaimer: I am not a writer) (Editor’s note: Tosh)
The night began in cosy fashion, dining at Tudo for my fella’s birthday. Being across the road from the Polish Club, I could almost taste the psychedelia of Nozl through the glutton inspiring pan-fried chicken wings and lemongrass chilli prawns. Had I actually been punctual at this CMC event, the previous description may have been more akin to a late seventies opiate filled teen pool. We will never know.
What can I say of Nozl? That the band’s universal pope-like attire arouses a sense of virginal longing, mixed with a certain moistness for big wheels? If Nozl were an overgrown reptile (suborder Lacertilia or Sauria), they would certainly be known as Nozilla.
The brass filled boom of Party Gravy birthed the soundtrack of me almost shitting myself with the nerve of asking a certain someone an eternal question. This was my first viewing, and damn were they tight! I mean, considering half the band were ring-in’s that night. As usual, the wry swagger of Andrew Kimber led his brass army down party lane with style. The dancers excitedly whisked themselves together, to make a formidable gravy (Ed: or marinade perhaps?) of sweat and pheromones.
While on the topic of hormonal virtuosity, shall we introduce: The Monotremes. The band, of which I was also a virgin (so many virgins!), topped the evening with precise perfection. I once suggested to Adam Cook that he compose a sleeping bag symphony, after minutes of trying to get comfortable inside one as I lay meters away in a feverish delirium. And you know what – the lad probably COULD. Genius! And TWO keyboards! Eat your heart out, multiple drum-kit wielding indie-metal-prog-rockers. The set delivered a sort of nostalgic adventure back in time. Acid, anyone? Songs like ‘Sound Newts!’ hinted at the brilliance of my faves Frank Zappa & Mr Bungle. Track two was invaded by a daring lass, who had the nerve to sing a Jazz standard (‘Night & Day’, Cole Porter … OK so not so standard). The victim of this serenade, Sean Smeaton (of Zoopagoo fame), sat unsuspecting; as the crazy broad then went on to pop the question.
WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?!?! You ask?
Well, he said yes of course. I MEAN HAVE YOU SEEN THAT RACK. (Ed: Yes, yes I have)
The newly engaged were then forced to interpretive dance their way through ‘The Cubist’, while being circled by the tribal dancing of Chanel Cole. The groom to be then went on to drink about a bazillion honey vodka shots, which has got to be a good thing. Right? (Ed: Congrats to the happy couple)