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the music we see


Hello Sunday Polaroid of Music Poster Wall, Fortitude Valley

I lean into the railing and shut my eyes for a moment. It is so hot and bodies are so close. In the middle of summer, even at night, even in air conditioning, we are warm and  filthysticky. We should be dancing – the starpeople (they call themselves) are dancing, even with guitar in hand, vibrating tambourine a shimmering extension of the arm – but we stand stock still, perhaps because we are near faint, but more because we are mesmerised by the pulsing, neon, positively garish and wonderful vision on stage. We want to scream fabulous! fabulous! as though we’ve never had a use for the word until now. Balloons, large and spherical, descend suddenly from the ceiling. Strips and bits of coloured foil erupt over our heads, the shrapnel of a war fought between brilliance and panache. In all the zeal I am suddenly not so hot, just excited and now dancing. Dancing for the next ridiculous twenty minutes as the starpeople morph from costume to costume, exchanging fluoro feather boas for leis, swapping alfoil headdresses for pipecleaner antennas or rainbow propeller caps. And then a change of tone. A solo man in a plain t-shirt sits in front of his piano, is lit only by a funnel of soft blue light. Look beneath the floorboards for the secrets I have hid. His voice cracks. It is the perfect fracture, an opening. The tears come. The goosebumps. Intensely, I am alive.

Find out more about this Hello Sunday awesomeness.

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