On Friday night I went to a gig with my flatmate Gerard, at the Gaelic Club in Surry Hills, which I once heard referred to as Sydney's 'Bohemian Quarter'. The band playing were Athlete, a UK band I'd heard in passing but decided to see them live. Gerard has what can only be described as an eclectic musical taste, favouring acts that fall into the category of performance art. So I decided that it was my duty to indoctrinate him into the world of generic musical four-pieces and we both went along.
Athlete came on at about 10:30 and played for just over an hour, and I thought they were brilliant. Maybe it's partly due to the length of time it's been since I saw a 'proper' gig (no offence there, Benihana) but I really enjoyed it, despite the heat. Music nights in small venues are always going to be hot, but host one in a muggy Australian night and it's even worse. But we got through it, and at the end I asked Gerard what he thought. His verdict? 'It could have used a trombone-playing chicken to liven things up'. I ask you...
