Loading ...- Category:
- Soap Box
- Author:
- Phil Scott
- Posted:
- Tuesday, 16 June 2009
Monday
I have a spare half hour, so I work out the gay:straight:unknown ratio of artists at the Adelaide Cabaret Festival. It’s 21:23:23. Wow, cabaret festivals are just like real life.
Tuesday
One of the American acts here is chanteuse Julie Wilson. She was never a big name like Billie Holiday or Ethel Merman -” both of whom she knew well -” but she has one thing they didn’t have: longevity. Julie’s 84.
She popped backstage to meet Frances Faye at the Latin Quarter nightclub in 1944. Was that in New York? asks Mark Trevorrow. NO! she hollers. CHI-CAA-GO!
She adored Peter Allen and starred in his flop Broadway musical Legs Diamond. He wrote Quiet Please, There’s a Lady On Stage about Julie, not Judy Garland.
There’s a line in it that goes: All that’s left of the singer’s all that’s left of the song. There’s not a lot left of either now.
One of the Festival organisers confesses to me that Julie is much older than he expected. Her minder is panicking because she won’t eat, even though in her act she claims to get too hungry for dinner at eight. Her ancient publicity photo might have been snapped by Frances Faye that night at the Latin Quarter.
After a concert crammed with cabaret performers a quarter her age, Julie remains in her seat and won’t budge.
The auditorium is deserted. I’ll just sit here, honey, she tells a concerned usher. I’m tired. This week she’ll perform a 75-minute solo show on three consecutive evenings.
Wednesday
Today everybody greets each other by shouting CHI-CAA-GO!
Naturally, I’m getting the flu. If I lose my voice I’m stuffed. I hide Butter Menthols in every pocket.
I’m prescribed antibiotics but they give me the shits. Literally. Another thing you don’t need onstage.
I sneak in to watch Julie Wilson. Cheekily, she opens with I’m Not Dead Yet from Spamalot. Often during the show her superb pianist Chris Denny prompts her with lyrics.
Before that, I lead the band for Hugh Sheridan in Newley Discovered. In the sad moments, Hugh actually cries. I’m very impressed.
Thursday
Catfight in the corridor. My fellow tenants are such bogans. The girls are the worst.
Friday
When I visited Adelaide last month for the Festival launch, I charmed many old ladies with my piano playing. They instantly bought all the tickets to The Twink and the Showgirl, my show aimed specifically at gay men.
Now the poofs can’t get in, while the pensioners are about to be appalled.
I can imagine them saying: What a shame. Was there any need for that?
I had a taste of it already in Gentlemen Prefer Blokes. I sat behind a row of white-haired nannas. When Trevor called Courtney a c*nt, the nannas all stopped breathing for ten minutes.
But what can we do? The show must go on -” or we don’t get paid.
Tags: Adelaide Cabaret Festival
