Long before I was the beardy bird guy, I was the 80s poofter. And yes, as a matter of fact, I can say that word. Fuck knows I’ve heard it levelled at me more times than I’ve worn guyliner and male polish.
In the same way smelly old hippies remember the 70s and Woodstock, and people with bowl haircuts remember the 60s, for me it was all about the 80s. And not hair metal 80s bands like Poison and Skid Row and Bon Jovi, but the full new wave/new romantic/electro pop catastrophe that was the reaction to lates 70s punk. I’m talking Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Human League, Pet Shop Boys, Depeche Mode, Spandau Ballet, Wham!, Duran Duran, Culture Club, Howard Jones and, yes, Sigue Sigue Sputnik.
So when one (or even better, two) of those 80s bands comes to town now, you’d better believe I’ll be busting out something non-age appropriate to wear, limbering up for some embarrassing dance moves, (no need to call an ambulance, I’m fine, that’s just how I dance), and off I go.
This week it was Go West and Nik Kershaw.
I’d never seen Nik before. Last time I had tickets to see him was about ten years ago in Melbourne with Kim ‘Kids in America’ Wilde – to be clear I wasn’t going with Kim, Nik was co-headlining with her – and a few days before the show, my dad quite inconveniently decided to drop dead and I couldn’t go. So no Wouldn’t It Be Good for me, (although it would have been good if he’d waited a week), just a funeral to plan.
Now, Go West on the other hand, and get ready to hear the sound of a name or two dropping, I’ve actually toured Australia with and I know the guys quite well. That would be a much cooler thing to say if I just make it sound like I was some sort of important part of the tour, possibly a musician, and not admit I was just there working on a music documentary that, like the dedicated underage night clubber I was back in the 80s, never saw the light of day.
Naturally when tickets for this tour go on sale, I buy two and figure by the time the show comes around I will have found someone else old enough and pathetic enough to go with me, especially considering it’s officially sold out. So when Richard from the band (he’s the one that’s not the singer) calls me the morning of the show to let me know he’s put four tickets on the door for me, I still haven’t found a willing victim to use my paid ticket, and I now have a grand total of six tickets all to myself, and despite a bit of last minute ringing around, it looks like I’m doing a Jessica Watson and going solo.
I get to the venue and Richard sends me a message saying “come to dressing room big boy” (screenshot or it didn’t happen. It happened!) and I know that sounds kinda promising, but it’s just him being friendly so I go around to say hi. I go backstage and he introduces me to a guy sitting on the couch called Nick, and it’s only after I’ve shaken his hand that I realise Nick is actually Nik of the Kershaw variety and fuck me he’s, and I don’t want to sound unkind, but he’s less… ah… tall than I imagined. As in Kylie in heels would give him a run for his money. Which I’m super surprised about because all those years back in the 80s watching his film clips on Countdown I simply never realised he is only marginally taller than a garden gnome, and suddenly being called “big boy” makes a lot more sense.
Richard and I wander out into the venue and sit at a table and chat while people wander past and recognise neither of us. We have a good catch up, and have an excellent laugh about how one of the last times he was in Adelaide, I took them out for a night on the town that got so out of control they almost missed their flight the next day and he got a proper telling off by their tour manager for almost throwing the entire tour into disarray. Oopsie daisy. But oh man, those were the days.
This time it’s just a pre show Red Bull and he tells me how the interview I did with him that time I toured with them was, to this day, one of his top ten favourite interviews ever, although neither of us can recall any actual details of why it was so good so this may not actually be even remotely true. I promise to try and find the tape, (because it was 1,000 years ago and there were things called tapes), and assure him that if I do dig it up and it’s not as good as we remember, I’ll just tell him I couldn’t find it and let the memory bask in all its glory without being hindered by the truth. Much like most of my memories of the 80s.
Although I’ve gone to the show solo, I run into a few friends from the ‘good old days’ and have a ‘now and then’ pic with one of my old mates Marcus and whadda ya know, neither of us have changed a bit.
Just to confirm, in the phone pic that’s him on the left and me doing my best lead singer of Aha impersonation on the right.
The show itself has a slightly unconventional format. Rather than there being a support act followed by a headline act, the Go West boys and Nik – who are sharing a touring band – have decided they’ll take it in turns doing a few songs each. Richard tells me it’s a good way to make sure everyone doesn’t leave after the act they’ve come to see finishes and yep, fair enough. Up there for thinking, down there for dancing.
The other interesting thing is, even though the artists themselves get a break every three songs, they still have a half time break, which gives their backing band the chance to have a breather, and the crowd, average age about 105, the chance to have a cup of tea, a Bex and a good lie down.
(Trust me when I say that last line is quite hilarious if you’re as old as dust like most of the people there including myself. Otherwise you can find out what the fuck I’m talking about here.)
The challenge with almost any artist that isn’t Taylor Swift, is structuring a set in a way that keeps everyone up and about until the inevitable big hits finish that people have come along to hear. With the switcheroony format this means we sometimes get three lesser known songs, or maybe its just our memories that are failing us. It was, after all, literally a lifetime ago.
The upside to these patches where not everyone is waving their smartphones in the air filming stuff that no one inluding themselves is ever gonna watch, is I’m able to send texts to a few people I know at the gig, which I promise are meant to be light hearted and not mean, telling them I got a good picture of Nik backstage.
During the intermission we discuss whether or not Nik should have a milk crate to stand on so we can see him, and someone nearby confesses they thought I was Nik Kershaw when they first saw me come out of the band room earlier. I assure them that Nik has more talent in his little little finger than I do, and I’m also significantly less not tall, and look, I know I’m sounding a bit mean now by not picking on someone my own size, but honestly, I’m a massive fan of Nik’s (and yes I fan boyed a bit when I met him backstage and told him the story about how I missed his last tour because of my dead dad – a story that, in contrast to the actual concert, starts off great but doesn’t exactly finish on a high note) I just can’t believe I never knew he was pocket sized. *shrugs*
My view of Nik and at least one of us really could have used a milk crate.
The few old friends I have met up with there also use the break to discuss which songs we think each band will finish with and I make a juvenile joke about how I suspect Nik’s hit “I Won’t Let the Sun Go Down On Me” will be towards the end and how it sounds like a very different song if you swap the “the” in the song title for a “your” and sing it that way, and while I might not be the size of a 12 year old like you know who, I do have the sense of humour of one. And when that song finally comes along and a few of us sing “I won’t let your son go down on me” we all have a Beavis and Butthead giggle. He he he.
But that’s nothing compared to Go West’s big finish when, as I correctly guess, they finish with “that song from Pretty Woman” aka ‘King of Wishful Thinking’ and I whisper to my friend next to me that I really struggle to not laugh during this song because when they sing “”I’ll pretend my ship’s not sinking, cause I’m the king of wishful thinking” that I always sing “I’ll pretend my shit’s not stinking” and when the old ladies behind us burst out laughing I realise my whisper wasn’t as whispery as I thought and for the next three and half minutes, we all laugh like the crazy old people we are every time the chorus comes along.
Nik joins Go West on stage for the finale and it’s fair to say Go West are head and shoulders above him.
On the way home I stop at Bakery on O’Connell and smash a sprinkle doughnut, then head home for a cup of tea, a Bex and a lie down. Pretty sure I’m gonna need every single minute of the next six days to recover in time to go see Human League.
Mmmm… doughnuts.
