I found my way to the heart of the ever-hip, young and grungy Newtown on Australia Day eve, arriving at the Enmore Theatre alongside everyone else who had sense enough to get themselves there for Gregg Gillis’ massive party, rumoured to blow the roof off. Virtually from the moment he took to the stage, armed only with his laptop, the clothes on his back (much of which would later be removed) and one very retro sweatband, Gillis, aka Girl Talk, had the crowd under such control that we were ready practically eating from the palm of his hand. Gillis commenced to orchestrate a night that wasn’t really a gig so much as it was one big massive house party with a great DJ and sound system to match.

And it’s all pretty impressive, if you ask me, for a former biomedical research engineer (nerd alert!) to get onstage, whip his shirt off, unashamedly rock out to the nth degree, and throw one of the best parties I’ve been to in a long time. Girls and guys alike were invited up onstage from the get-go, where they would remain until the last balloon fell, dancing their asses off and loving the limelight, while the rest of us danced our asses off with equal enthusiasm in the pit. All together we were one big hot sweaty mess of young, carefree bodies enjoying our youth and happiness to a perfect soundtrack mastered by Girl Talk, the man of the evening, whom we happily relinquished our wills to for the night.

Seeing Girl Talk for the first time live generates much of the same feelings that come from the first time you listen to his music full stop. First you just listen, then you begin to crack a smile, which only grows bigger as it turns into laughter. As you’re laughing, you begin to nod your head, and then the dancing begins, closely accompanied by jumping in the air and the waving of arms (that unfortunately never really looks as cool as it feels). Gillis’ dozen (give or take), simultaneous, fidgety, sampled tracks are tailor-made for the ADD generation we are a part of; every day less and less able to focus on anything that’s not high-speed, compact, instant, faster, better. His sampling takes you on an emotional rollercoaster ride, which changes as soon as one sample goes and another one comes in to replace it, keeping you constantly guessing at what’s next and preventing any possibility of boredom.

Most of Girl Talk’s samples are just that ridiculous that the only thing there is to do is laugh. But that’s what’s great about Gillis’ music; it’s just that silly, that humorous – but also that clever – that it makes you forget life’s problems, if only temporarily. They say that laughter is the best medicine, and every time you listen to Girl Talk, you take life a little less seriously. So, for that Monday night at least, under the thumb of Gregg Gillis and his laptop, we were truly carefree.

What more can I say? We came, we danced, we sweated (profusely), we laughed and we shouted along to the vocals of Kelly Clarkson underneath a healthy layer of ghetto fabulousness. Gillis spent the duration of the show crowd with his arms in the air, dancing around, above and to the sides of the laptop (a sign of a really good performer, or, as one fellow punter comically suggested to me, a really intense game of World of Warcraft), finally closing the club down in true, over-the-top party style with a glittery, rainbow rain of confetti and a giant, celebratory release of balloons. I found myself looking up at the ceiling with laughter; it felt like New Year’s Eve all over again.

And then it was all over. After a pointless attempt at begging for an encore (that was quickly abandoned by most) we all filed out onto the streets of Newtown, which were alive with, well, ‘girl talk.’ It was an awesome thing to see and hear; smiling, sweaty faces stuck with random pieces of confetti, chattering and shouting, finding friends, hailing cabs and, with Australia Day not far away, heading out to do the only sensible thing after leaving a great party; the after party. I only hope Girl Talk caught at least a glimpse of Enmore Road himself that night; the wonderful product of his own handiwork. “That’s my DJ!”