We went from
Spins and Leaps to Melodic Licks
Clowns to dope-ass sounds
Acrobatics to Bass Riffs
Contortionists to Guitarists
A tightrope to Luke in some sort of half-suit ensemble.
My animal-loving best friend Carissa and I started off our night of celebrations with a half eaten Maccas Big Mac, and ended the night with Mr. Crackles pork crackling. I’m starting to understand why Isabella think we’re going to die by the age of 27 from heartburn.
In-between these meals are where most of the fun was had. Tickets to Cirque de Soleil in celebration of Carissa’s birthday 3 months ago brought us to the entertainment center, and most importantly to Tella Balls. Ok look, I’m going off track, this night wasn’t about the food but we can’t deny that food plays a major role in the face of social interactions and hungry, greedy eyes. Cirque de Soleil was the bomb, it is definitely the classy circus, the circus that drinks high tea and has an affair with their pool boy. (Seriously, though, who has a pool boy? I always knew the pool cleaner/fixer as a mid-life crisis guy with a plumbers crack)
The contortionists reminded us of the someone possessed by demons but in that cute and sexy way. The unicycle couple had us thinking that he was gonna spin them flat first in the face, however, the lady with Wahlberg biceps bounded and spun in a hula-hoop with such grace, she almost made it look comfortable. A group that I don’t know how to name were like the intense, rebellious type of cheerleaders, one guy stood on a poll, got leaped into the air by some sort of see-saw and landed on the poll no problems. How does one think, especially after assuming that they did fall the first time they tried something this ridiculous, that it would work eventually with time and practice?
All the acts were amazing, the clowns were hilarious, and the band, oh the band. Carissa and I had a massive crush on the banging singer rocking a mohawk. While an act was underway they had a drummer playing really intense and suspenseful rhythmic ideas and motifs. Right at the end, they brought him out to solo, and he came out with this banging set of see-through drums with cymbals that crashed and shattered like a Proton pack from Ghostbusters.
We then moved 10 minutes up the road to the Captain Cook Hotel to shimmy and wiggle our behinds in front of Oscar and the Grouches. The band didn’t just know funk as an acquaintance, these guys were best mates with them. Let’s just say you don’t need to drink to dance as Lukey on the bass intoxicates you enough with his carefully practiced pelvis thrusts and dope bass lines. The drummer in the back that brought us to Elm St or some sort of Cadbury advertisement in his gorilla suit was so tight. Oscar didn’t have to wave a hand or anything, the guy knew exactly when to cut off, anticipate, create dynamics, etc. The pianist featured the synth like a boss and was rapping… like a boss. The Parks brothers are the perfect example when defining the phrase “icing on the cake”, however, more than that their solos are popping and locking, and even more than that they sway in time, and together. Oscar was a sweaty mess, an adorable sweaty mess. He has the vocal range and knows how to use it, is as smooth as marble on the guitar and has that modest smile that has all the girls, and the boys especially, swooning.
The crowd was having the time of their life but I think I can safely say that no one was having more fun than the band themselves and that (among other things) is what makes them super special to hear.
The night ended at Isabella’s with a hot cup of peppermint and Carissa forcing me to uncomfortably try and demonstrate what the contortionists were doing at Cirque de Soleil.