I was surprised when I heard that Godskitchen was on a Sunday night, and I was dubious about the venue’s capacity when I looked at the line up – The Bedroom is a venue that most of us have been to, but isn’t famed for having room to move when big headliners come through the door. I wasn’t at all sure what to expect from the crowd Would it be half a dozen locals on their night off, or packed like a Tokyo commuter train?
Really, just goes to show what I know about Surfers. What a great night. We don’t go clubbing down the coast all that often. We spend a lot of time in the area hanging out with friends, or flaking at the beach, but we rarely get organized for the drive down for a night of clubbing. Every time we do though, we promise ourselves we will do it more. Almost universally at every club I’ve attended on the coast – we’ve been surrounded by gorgeous, friendly people who seem somehow completely void of all the pretentiousness that seems to have seeped into some of the Brisbane Valley venues lately.
Walking in see the ‘Angels in White’ theme, none of us were in costume. Our photographer had a white t-shirt on, more by coincidence than any deliberate planning. In fact, none of us had put any serious effort into our appearances beyond finding a clean shirt and making sure we had our dancing shoes on. But even surrounded by half-naked bar staff in risqué ‘Angel’ costumes – all the bright young things were unfailingly friendly. We had a recent Canadian import with us who didn’t know anyone in Australia before last night, and I think she came out of the club with her phone contact list bulging at the seams.
Baby Gee reminded us all once again what an utterly consummate professional he is, bringing a sleepy Sunday crowd to life with a banging start. Like a beat surgeon with a sonic defibrillator, he brought the dead crowd to jolted bursts of life, always giving them just enough to bring then up, while leaving them wanting more. The ideal warm-up performance for any follow on act. He left the crowd where every performer wants them – on the edge and eager as hell. A few dedicated fans were screaming his name as they arrived in time to watch the end of his set, and we were all once again reminded what a following Gee has around south east Queensland. His casual handshakes and friendly greetings for the fans again reminded us that he’s one of the nicest blokes in the industry.
From the word go, Jon O’Bir absolutely nailed his set, keeping a packed floor pumping for two solid hours of soaring melodies and beats. He powered through his set, his passion for the music showing through every expression and gesture. His mix of U2’s Beautiful Day came out of left field, surprising many of the punters, but his constant exuberance and delightfully crowd engaging manner made it, like every other track in his set, an utter pleasure. He took the crowd from Gee’s primed warm up and pushed them up to the ceiling with impressive skill and superb technique.
Menno De Jong was for me, without question the highlight of the night. If Baby Gee had them up and Jon O’Bir had them touching the ceiling, Menno De Jong tore the roof clean off the joint. He had a little boy grin while he performed that could make the dead want to dance and emo kids cheer up and see the joy in life. His constant infectious enthusiasm and superb crowd handling made him a joy to watch. Midway through In This Silence I Believe, as the sound fell away and every voice in the house filled the chorus, I was hit by the sort of magic that keeps jaded old gurners like myself out of bed at 3am on a Monday morning.
By the time De Jong had settled into his set, the crowd was at it’s peak. The dance floor was packed – but there was still just enough room to move and dance without being elbowed in the face by a random all that often and if you felt the need, there were more then enough places around the AC units to get cooled down a bit. He delivered a set packed full of huge bass and soaring melodies. My voice was a fragile thing, half gone, lost in the music before his set was half done. Today I sound like a lifelong, pack-a-day smoker, croaking out raves about how much fun last night was and taunting my friends who had to work.
I became the designated Sherpa and bag carrier by the later parts of De Jong’s set, and as my photographer abandoned me, drawn to the dance floor. I ran around with three cameras, a handbag and a tripod, and still couldn’t keep my hands out of the air, reaching for the lasers to try and taste the lights and sounds. As the evening’s designated driver – I was surprisingly sober, but utterly lost in the moment. Where I want to be at every gig, but as a jaded old punter, so rarely seem to find myself.
For a headline artist, Sander Van Doorn seemed almost ordinary after the stellar performances he had to follow. The crowd had burned past their euphoria into a more mellow time. People were leaning against the air conditioners as they slowly gyrated hips and spun patterns in the lights, leaning braced against walls and partners to keep up in the beat, but the beat and the bass weren’t as hard or driving as they were an hour ago. The melody wasn’t lifting people so high. The crowd was still eating out of his hand and worshiping at the speakers, but the fervour was gone. The glow stick spinners were resting and the crowd showing its first signs of thinning. There wasn’t anything you could criticize about his performance except perhaps he didn’t feel like the show’s draw card. Maybe he could have come harder, heavier, with a little more intensity after a warm up like that. After hours of magic, it felt like there were only punctuating moments of greatness in this set, glimpses of the level we expect from a headliner with that sort of warm up. But it never came together like the earlier performances. By lock down time, we were ready for fresh air and thinking about our own bedrooms at home.
We left to enjoy the sketchiness of Cav’ Ave, watch drunk girls with bloody lips hug street musicians, and call the cops about a domestic between a girl in a silver lame shirt and her boyfriend and trying to find somewhere for a bathroom stop that wasn’t entirely disgusting. Our Canadian junior photographer left to hang out with her new friends and get photos of the sunrise over the ocean as we stumbled off for McCoffee and the long drive home to bed.
Our complaints were few and far between. The drinks were expensive. The Bogans weren’t completely absent (I heard this exact conversation take place between my photographer and a random groper; “Hey! Get your hands off me!”, she insisted. “Sorry, I thought you were drunk,” he replied). Sander Van Doorn wasn’t quite as exciting as I’d hoped he was going to be, but overall, Godskitchen was an utterly spectacular night out and a really enjoyable show.
