Articles

Lyndon Blue

MIKE FIELDING AKA NABOO @ VILLA NIGHTCLUB, SUNDAY MAY 30

June 2

Dear Cool Perth Nights,
The following letter was intercepted on 31/05/10 by postal administration due to a large quantity of sequins attached to its envelope packaging being deemed potentially hazardous. Following close inspection the item was found not to be a threat; however, we elected to forward you this facsimile as it appears to detail what may potentially be considered a ‘Cool Perth Night.’ Our experts were unable to quite make sense of it – perhaps you will have better luck.
Regards,
Philip P. Philately,
Australia Post

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Alright Leroy!

Vince here, the glitter bug mayor of Kentish town. So me and Howard yeah, we’re in this place called Perth, it’s genius! They just plonked a city between a billion miles of sea and desert like an anchovy. Anyway we’re following Naboo around on his tour, we went to one of his gigs last night, well cool. I had a few too many flirtinis though so it’s a bit fuzzy and my head still feels like a cabful of sea urchins. But the point is, on the way home I found a really fantastic blue pen in a wallaby’s belly-pouch so I had to write you this letter about the show.

They had it at this place called the Villa, not like an actual Spanish villa, more just like a night club (but I did see a couple of Spanish guys I think, they were drinking tequila sunrise from a silver gumboot). The brilliant thing was though right, Naboo had used his cheeky shamanic powers to transform everyone in the vicinity into some kind of crazed ultra-freak! All geezers we’ve met and stuff, like Bollo, and Dixon Bainbridge, and the Crack Fox, even that green cockney Hitcher. Oh and that fishy nutter Old Gregg I told you about? Yeah the one with the mangina who seduced Howard, haha. There were lots of people made to look like him, that was kind of terrifying actually, gave me goosebumps on my goosebumps on my goosebumps until a passing poultry farmer actually mistook me for a goose. He tried to pluck me but I gave him a fierce honking and he bolted like a silken pony, that was great.

Basically, everyone was dressed up either like some kind of total nutbag from the twenty-fifth dimension, or trying to look like me (none of them even got close, the muppets!) or Howard (they were all way too stylish, didn’t fool me for a second). The stage was all done up with a Nabootique sign and décor which got me feeling all homesick like a travelling hedgepig, and by about halfway into the first DJ’s set the whole room was getting well full so that you could hardly tell where your face ended. I shot up onto the mezzanine, quick as a lime, so that people from all angles could bask in the glory of my outfit, and so I could watch everyone millin’ about, including naan bread and extreme sports calendar. Classic times! Before long people had filled the room and the whole stage too, and were grooving like frisky peacocks.

The DJs who weren’t our Naboo were called “Cloud + Clunk”, “Lightspeed”, and “Shazam,” who were all really good actually, blasting some harsh tasty beats from their hot steamy sound-cannons. Shazam especially was brilliant, he mixed tunes like smooth pudding batter, no lumpy bits. Plus his name reminds me of the sound my hair would make if hair made a sound. SHAZAM like a thunderbolt, imagine that.

Naboo wriggled onto the decks at about eleven, but for some reason he’s been doing this thing where he hides his mystic identity by disguising himself as some berk in flannelette named Mike Fielding. He’s also grown a tiny moustache like a youthful caterpillar, which looks quite good actually. But I think people were a little bummed because they’d forked out hulking wads of Aztec gold to see a real life man-wizard in action. See the posters had him in full shaman gear like a spectacular blue manbitch. Don’t tell Naboo, but his DJ set is a bit of a hoodoo voodoo nightmare yeah, he played some Blondie, Jet, La Roux, Lady Gaga and everything but he doesn’t fiddle with the songs like those real mental Camden lads. And the song transitions are as a stiff as a week-old gingernut! Tony Harrison agreed, he thought it was an outrage, wanted to take over and fire up some Fleetwood Mac. But don’t tell him I said any of this will you? ‘Cause he could turn my face into a miniature breadbox in an instant. No-one needs that.

Anyway Leroy, I’ve gotta go, Howard was really traumatized by all those Old Greggs and he’s currently trying to nail his own elbows to a local mime with a trout. Hope the shop’s going OK, thanks for looking after it, don’t drink any potions especially the big purple one or you will turn into an antique ladle.

Vince xoxo