I hadn’t planned on checking it out, but the thought of another night at home (sitting through a vegetable battle on Iron Chef) sent me to College St where Santogold was scheduled to perform at 9pm.
I hit Hyde Park first, where some vaguely familiar woman was on stage in the kiddie-friendly section:
I was really looking for a food and/or drink stall but there were none to be found, so I followed the sound of thumping dance music to St Mary’s Cathedral:
Dance party promoters Fuzzy were on; some DJ in a hipster trilby had the glowsticks going wild. These were apparently official Sydney Festival glowsticks – blue and flashing – and as night descended people started hurling them into the air with complete disregard to safety and the fact that they’d forked out money they were now literally throwing away.
What Cardinal Pell would have made of this scene I’d love to know.
After a brief and pitiful attempt to teach everyone a dance called The Sydney (a series of moves far too complicated for the predominantly rhythm-challenged crowd), Santogold appeared in what looked like a tricked-up BridgeClimb boilersuit with two fierce back-up dancers. She sounded good and I stayed for ‘L.E.S. Artistes’ but my view was limited and I was surrounded by peaking teenagers so, rather than continue down to the Domain to see Grace Jones, I left for the Oxford.
The Oxford on a Saturday night is not recommended, although I did bump into some friends.
I also now know whom to call if I have plumbing difficulties.
This, for some reason, is above the urinal:
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