Actually, there's been all sorts of worky type stuff this last week and today's the first day I've really had a chance to draw breath. Last night's Quiet Drink at the Retro Bar after work wrought its hangover havoc but I toddled uptown to meet TSB for a rather nice Balans lunch. I had their chicken & ham pie, which was lovely but looked naggingly Fray Bentosish. Bernard Cribbins would've been proud.
Anyway, last week's Duckie was made special by the return of Amy Lamé, briefly touching down from CelebAir. She's down to the final... what? two? three? Sounds like it's her versus Lisa Maffia. Go Amy! Last week, though, she seemed to be very much enjoying standing in for Chelsea Kelsey, getting dancey in the DJ booth.
'Twas good to have an Amy-presented evening too. Lovely fascinator.
First act was one Claire Benjamin, with a character called Obsessia Compulsia D'Sorda. A string of paper Prozac pills made an appearance and there were some nice little touches (when she marvelled that her accordion was playing without her, then quizzically pulled back the curtain to reveal a deadpan - and very good - accordionist behind it). She played I've Seen That Face Before and Shine On You Crazy Diamond, interesting choices. Overall, though, I thought she was a bit meandering and the act went on a tad too long.
Next up for two turns was Duotard, an apparently husband and wife team (although I'm uncertain whether that's just the characters they play) who, surreally, usually perform at the Bethnal Green Working Men's Club. Spandex fetishists? You decide.
Here, courtesy of the wonder of YouTube, is their Blame It On The Burgers number:
I thought they were pleasingly off-the-wall, and could well understand Amy waking up the morning after having seen them on their home turf and thinking, "did that really happen?" Second number was longer, a sort of compilation of mostly '80s-looking fitness videos, artfully edited in time to (I think) three songs, the last of which was Daft Punk's Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger. Huge audience applause when either Cher or Angela Lansbury appeared onscreen (that would be The Gayz, then) and the whole thing was carried along on a tide of joyous silliness. That said, if there'd been room in the Vauxhall Tavern, I'd have been echoing their Mad Lizzie moves...
Hmm. Should I start using my flash more? Maybe.
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