Saturday, August 22, 2009


Sometimes after a number of ho-hum evenings, you find you are suddenly having way more fun than you have come to expect. On Saturday you buy a last-minute ticket to the Zombie Prom. There's a few hours 'til it happens, you decide to dress up. Your hair is like candyfloss, too easily big. It's made for teasing. A friend is an expert in the blackening of eyes. A lace slip and skeezy sparkly dress are topped off with a flashing Y2K addition to the hair and meat on a chain round the neck. The Hairdos play. They are perfect for the ocassion. This three piece band works so well. Their songs seem to be mostly about slacking off, nasties, death and brains. They are playng to an audience of sympathetic "lost causes" caked with corpse paint and dribbling fake blood. The sounds are real murky, the drums clomp and the keys churn. They really get into this zombie-type-shit, you reckon, they don't play with a smooth gait that's for sure, it's all stops and starts and screams. You buy the CD, it's 5 bones for 4 tracks, special art drawn on for the ocassion. You get slipped a dry ice, but you're onto him cos your beer erupts into a spawning mess. You like to have a dance and tonight is no exception. The DJ's song choices please you. Flailing hordes attempt a conga line and a Thriller dance, then scrap over a man-sized piñata. Detrytus power into a mammoth bogan roar, much twiddly dee dee and scream. Head-bangy stuff. You are thankful for the gross glamour. It's all relaxed and good-fun bawdy. This lot isn't wound-up nor aloof. You love it.

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