The moment I walked into The Corner and was handed a glow stick proudly displaying the words ‘Damian Cowell’s Disco Machine’, I knew I was in for a different type of show. What sort of show it was though, I had no idea. I don’t think anyone did.
Glow stick in hand and suspense in my brain, I walked into The Corner while opening act Tim Woodz And The Dirty Shoes were playing. Tim Woodz is a seven-foot statue of a man crooning out beautiful Australiana laden country bangers, while a five-foot drummer with a snare drum strapped around his neck jigged around him, banging out bluegrass shuffles.
I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw the two dancing around on stage together like some sort of Dr Zeus pantomime, starring a lumbering Hank Williams and the original little drummer boy. The longer I watched though, the more the shtick disappeared and the earnest truth behind the performance shone through.
Up next was Chad Morgan and John Williamsons’ beautiful little love child Franky Walnut, yelping out another set of true-blue Australian country classics. Have you ever been so Australian you played a guitar with a thong? Franky has. Have you ever been so Australian you proudly busted out Australian hip hop like it was the national anthem? Franky has.
Have you ever been so Australian you came up with the lyric, “I’m as Australian as a redback spider and a funnelweb spider having a root inside a kangaroo’s scrotum purse”? You guessed it, Franky has. I laughed the whole way through this set and can’t wait to see what he comes up with next.
The curtains drew closed as the stage was set up for Damian Cowell’s Disco Machine. Murmurs began to burst throughout the crowd as people speculated as to what they were in for. The curtains eventually opened, revealing a stage filled to the brim with disco balls and a guy standing in a fab-u-lous ‘70s disco onesie. After he hyped up the crowd up with some classic TISM-isms, The Disco Machine took hold of the stage. Cradled between two drummers, a guitarist, a bassist and some of the best backup singers I’ve seen was the man himself, Damian Cowell, standing there like a cock-throbbing Noosha Fox. Lit up by the lights of a million mirror ball rays, Damian Cowell gyrated and twisted in ways unseen from the frontman in a long time.
Over the course of the show, The Disco Machine flushed out a royal shopping list of Australian legends to help hustle the crowd into getting their funky chicken on. This was a completely star-sequined night, featuring cameos from Tim Rogers, Liz Stringer, John Safran, Kate Miller-Heidke, Tony Martin and Shaun Micallef.
After the show I went and sat at the bar with two Damian Cowell fans.
They were sitting on their barstools like castaways on their own desert islands who had been patiently waiting for the SS Cowell to come bring them whatever supplies he had.
“What did you think of the show?” I asked.
“It’s no TISM that’s for sure,” one of them replied.
“It was the best show I’ve seen in years,” cried the other one.
“What did you think?”
I told them I was gonna to go home and start a petition for Damian Cowell’s Disco Machine to represent Australia at the upcoming Eurovision. This was one of those rare shows where even your consistently nagging bladder is swept aside, there’s no goddamn way you’re going to the bathroom in case you miss something monumental. And these thoughts of mine were all before the special guests came on stage. Part humour, part commentary, all wit and full groove, these were some genuinely great songs. And this was a genuinely great show.
BY CHRIS PENNEY
Loved: Everything.
Hated: Nothing.
Drank: A single plum, floating in perfume, served in a man’s hat.
