Who was it that said that trash bags need to look believable to be credited as such? I have no idea, but Sydney’s Mickey Avalon Myspace Secret Show was a complete contradiction of that statement.
Squeezed into a tiny basement on the fringes of Sydney’s red-light district were the crème de la crème of Sydney’s underground movement – every single one of them a trash bag of some sort. Weird and wonderful costume designs ranging from the latest craze of old 80s high-waisted jeans cut off just below the bum cheeks combined with a disastrous shirt of the same time period with a finishing touch of trouser braces to hold up pants which, short of cutting them off weren’t going to budge, to thick hooded sweaters, hoods up (of course darling!) – in the middle of summer is sure to cause nothing short of a heart attack. Along with this multitude of colourful patrons was a oppressive cloud of cigarette smoke – one of the last places in Sydney where it’s acceptable to indulge without being told (by either bar staff or ever conscious cancer fearing non-smoking patrons) to hit the pavement to inhale the addictive lung full of tobacco.
Despite the discomfort of the close atmosphere, the lead up to the main event of the night was, not exactly expectant but of practiced nonchalance. Quick glances in powder compacts and any reflective surface available to check hair, make-up (on both sexes I’m happy to say) and attire to make sure the dapper young scenester was still pouting back at them from their reflection, waiting for their turn for one of the multitude of photographers tarting around to take their picture of their practiced sullen stares. So much were they busy with their practiced airs that the main man Mickey Avalon was quite able to snake his way through the crowd unnoticed to his ‘dressing room’ (if it can be called that) to enjoy his usual half bottle of straight vodka before strutting on-stage – surprisingly fully clothed.
A few false starts later, Mickey launched into Mr Right - through a very on purpose distorted microphone to cheers and a delighted stampede of scene kids for the much vied for viewing spots open to a few on the small and very crowded stage, a few of which I noted, were sipping on a bottle of vodka brought from home – clever girls.
It wasn’t long before the shirt came off, a handy bottle of water was poured over Mickey’s head to produce his signature ‘I’ve just come out of a skanky cess pool of sweat’ look and a comment was made that it was ‘hot in here and it’s not just the temperature’. But never fear – Mickey has overcome much larger and more uncomfortable cess pools in his career than this. The show went on! With such numbers as the ever popular and catchy Jane Fonda, the not so well known but still chant-able Friends and Lovers, and the finale and most crass of Mickey’s numbers My Dick.
Mickey Avalon is definitely an entertainer with a loveable streak in him that I’m sure is more visible when he isn’t quite so drunk. However, there’s no denying the man likes to party when he just didn’t want the night to end. “Hey what’s our address?” calling out to one of his side kicks. “Come back to insert address in Bondi here and party with us after. Oh dear, I’m going to get in trouble for saying that aren’t I?”
Not by us Mickey!
Check out the pics from the gig here
