On a warm, leisurely afternoon in our nation’s capitol, Stage 88 seemed like the
destination of choice for a vast number of citizens who must have had little else to do with
their Sunday.  For some, the allure of jazz pop is evidently quite strong.


What awaited the masses who arrived with picnic baskets, chairs and the occasional
piece of sports equipment was certainly not expected; people were turned back from the
gates if they were carrying anything more than a handbag filled with cash – food and drink
were supplied (at the usual inflated prices from festival vendors) and disappointment  was
visible across the many faces who had to wait upwards of half an hour in the first instance
only to return chairs and other contraband to their cars and queue up for entry once
more.  It was immensely perplexing as to why such extreme measures were being taken
given the fact that Stage 88 is picnic central.


First onto stage were Blue King Brown, accompanied by two new band
members, who put on a pretty entertaining set with their roots/reggae style.  While their
own material such as ‘Come and Check Your Head’ proved strong, less advisable was a
cover of my favourite Stevie Wonder hit ‘Master Blaster’ which probably
wasn’t carried off as well as it could’ve been given the vocal style of the lead
singer.

Second in were American act Tortured Soul, who seemed to be a
good support band in that they certainly weren’t going to out-perform The Cat
Empire. Quite the opposite, their musical stylings seemed to be suited perfectly to
background
music, leaving most of the audience thoroughly disengaged and thus requiring alcoholic
refreshments – at no stage were the bar queues longer than during this drawn-out set
which, for almost the entirety of its 50 minutes, was the same agonising drum beat and the
same handful of lyrics about how all they wanted was for someone else to be in love.


Finally, as the sun began to set over the lake and the drunks fell asleep on their picnic
rugs, a scream cut through the still afternoon air – a mass of people quickly formed around
the stage, held back by temporary fencing rather than any real barriers – and The Cat
Empire emerged triumphantly, getting the hopes of the massive audience sky high for
the performance to come.  Oddly, a true performance was not forthcoming. Harry
Angus, sporting a haircut which was reminiscent of Mr. T more than anything else,
seemed over-eager to play drawn-out trumpet solos, while Felix Riebl was equally torn
between vocal duties and his percussion set-up.  Actual songs were barely played in their
album forms, with mega-hit ‘The Car Song’ drawn out and carved up with the only
result being a confused audience and a lot of the energy sucked from the song – dancing
was best left to those with some chemical assistance.  The inexplicably re-interpreted
music dragged on, punctuated with unnecessary solos, although a sitar piece from Jamshid
Khadiwala was a genuine highlight and one of the few memorable moments in the show.  It
was all too much for some by the time the Empire decided to offer a deck solo.  The encore
offered some respite in the form of a traditional presentation of ‘The Wine Song’ with
‘Hello Hello’ as the finale.

It seemed a real let down that, for $40, punters
were offered one decent support act and a less-than-memorable performance from
headliners The Cat Empire.  The songs were broken up, the energy usually present in their
shows was gone and the all-ages audience was not only disappointed by gate security but
also by the lack of opportunity to dance to a consistent beat in any of the songs.  It was a
real departure from shows they’ve put on in the past and, while it may win them fans in
jazz circles, it would have distanced people who enjoy their albums from any desire to
attend future concerts.  One can only hope it was a freak event attributable to an
inauspicious alignment of the planets and constellations.