They say that variety is dead. "Its not" I countered. "I bought a packet in Tesco the other day....mmm....miniature Coco-Pops". Then they hit me. Twice. It turns out that the mysterious 'they' were referring not to delicious downsized breakfast cereal, but to the form of entertainment once beloved of the nation but now languishes at the end of the pier, watched only by moth-balled pensioners.
It seems that in this new-fangled digital age where the kids are selling crack through their Wi-Fi connections and buying tickets from pixelated touts to watch on-line gigs in Second Life, the art of Cabaret has become a meaningless relic consigned to the annals of history.
However, the good people at Smirnoff have set out to bring back the maligned strand of entertainment - much in the same way as hairy berk Justin Lee Collins does with 80s TV shows. Yes, the makers of the Russian tipple are doing their utmost to zap some life into cabaret's Pasquale-shaped corpse with The Smirnoff Electric Cabaret Tour - a veritable feast of music, leftfield performers and product placement, soon to be visiting a university near you!
I must admit that when looking at the flyer, this one seemed a bit of a curiosity to me, but hey, it was something different from your average low-rent indie gig and it only cost a fiver, so I was as good as there. The night featured quite a varied line up, not all musical, with a few 'turns' (as my Nan would say) thrown in for good measure. The whole shebang was melded together by husky-voiced compare Mary Anne Hobbs, who I must say is quite foxy in 'real life' (she always looked a bit lopsided on those BBC2 I Love 1980s nostalgia progs).
Norwich hip-hoppers Def Tex kicked things off at Sheffield Uni’s Foundry, which for one night only, had been transformed by the vodka chaps from stark student union to a sultry dimly-lit 1920’s cabaret club - complete with Moulin Rouge-style showgirls handing out complimentary feather boas and top hats!
A solid dj set got the crowd sufficiently loosened up, some even attempting to emulate the breakers performing in front of the stage in a pool of spilt vodka-mixers. The night pressed on as a few choice cuts were dropped by Def Tex’s Chrome and Sure-D (Luke Vibert’s ‘Shadows’ proving a particular favourite amongst the chin-stroking crate-diggers in the audience) before a svelte Mary-Anne Hobbs climbed onto the stage to introduce the first act - Kalki Hula Girl…
Apparently discovered performing in a Russian circus, the pint-sized Australian proceeded to do inexplicable things with Hula-Hoops (not the crisps), wowing the Sheffield public with her hoop-spinning dexterity and pert arse! At one point seven of the things were kept in motion via various appendages whilst the nubile Kalki performed a gymnastic routine – very difficult to describe here and something you really should see for yourselves. This brings me nicely onto the next lot of performers to grace the stage…
Perrier Award winners Men In Coats are billed as ‘visual comics’, a description which might lead cynics out there into letting out a despondent sigh. There is not a whiff of turgid Mr.Bean-esque naffness about this pair though as the two unleash their unique brand of clowning. With a selection of lightning quick visual gags drawing on cultural references as diverse as the Rocky films and the schoolboy fascination with gore, the parka-clad duo had them rolling in the isles (not that there were any isles, but you get the picture…). A particular standout bit involved a miniature version of one of the MIC performing a robotic dance backed by Herbie Hancock’s Rockit. It may not sound too hot when described here but, like the hula girl, Men In Coats are really something that you should see for yourselves and I urge you to click onto their website and witness them in full swing.
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With all the oddness going on about the place it was time to interject a bit of normality back into proceedings. And what better way to do that than to have a team of Gallic djs perform an 8 minute routine of mind-boggling turntablism. World DMC team champions C2C set about frazzling the minds of those in attendance with their four men/five decks show – each member using their turntable as an instrument to provide an element of the aural soup. Although I couldn’t possibly tell you which tracks breaks and basslines were lifted from, I did hear mutterings of Funkadelic emanating from a group of B-boy types huddled near the front of the stage.
A brief interlude from Nottingham beat-boxer Foz (who does a nifty line of audience participation in getting half of the crowd to be his bass drum and the other his hi-hat) brings the show to its climax and presents headliner Albert Hammond Jr to the massed ranks…
A large inebriated student crowd had turned up to witness one fifth of The Strokes Albert Hammond Jr. display his djing skills, but were left disappointed at the sheer crapness of the New Yorker. Seems that old 'Bert thought that merely being in The Strokes meant that he didn't have to display any originality or indeed any mixing skills whatsoever. Skulking onto the stage clutching a Marlborough and a bottle of J.D. (the sponsors wont be happy!), the aloof tight-pants wearer plugged in an I-pod, slurred at the crowd, then pressed play. What followed was a pedestrian journey through post-punk (ESG, Talking Heads, a bit of Blondie, you know the drill), eventually leading to all but the most beer-sodden audience members from shuffling from the venue. The choice of tunes was not bad, but neither was it anymore interesting than what you’d hear down your average indie disco on a Friday night. I think I'd have been more impressed a by a Richard Hammond dj set.......the jet-car crashing dwarf probably would have done a better job than this pillock. But still, for a fiver, I suppose you gets what you pays for.
After much vodka-fuelled debauchery, the burlesque-themed evening had passed. Clutching a feather boa, I dissolved into the night, trying desperately to think of a 24hr garage that sells small-scale cereal….
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