A Perfect Storm

When I found my calendar featured last night’s opening to Bad Boy of Cabaret® Eddie Perfect’s new show DRINK PEPSI, Bitch! I was a mite confused. Was Mr Perfect taking a turn towards Shakespeare or something? What was with the anachronistic lingo? I checked out a dictionary for some hints towards this ‘bitch’ thing, and discovered that it’s actually an archaic version of what we now call ‘byotch’ and so I was understandably worried that the show would contain lots of other old-fashioned terms like ‘troth’ and ‘prithee’ and ‘gnarly’. But then I remembered that Clueless was based on an old-fashioned book called Emma, and that was pretty gnarly, so I decided to give the show a chance.

Before my incisive reviews kicks off proper, I’d like to make note of an important point: I never use the word “byotch” or any of its earlier variants in my normal, fleshy-tongue-created conversation. This is because I don’t like to discriminate against actual byotches, who have all the rights of non-byotches like you and me, and I’m pretty sure that by now our society has been enlightened enough to know that our byotch brothers and sisters are perfectly capable of holding down jobs and contributing to society, and I fully support the move for byotches to be granted the child-bearing rights we hold for granted. Sorry to get all equal opportunity freak on your asses, but it’s something I feel strongly about. Anyway.

TIME FOR A SPANKING

Everyone knows of my fairly unreasonable dislike of Eddie’s particular brand of comedy stylings, which are admittedly on the ‘knee jerk’ end of the critical spectrum (a point which lies somewhere between ‘gut instinct’ and ‘head butt’). I could never put my finger on exactly what it is that irks me about his shows, but I think it comes down to these two points: firstly, he goes for obvious targets too much of the time. Starbucks is bad. Pop music is dumb. Oprah won’t save the world. Can you handle it? Sorry to rattle your cage! And second-like, some of his stuff is just plain mean-spirited. If you hate call centres, don’t pick on the poor people who have to work in them as fat, slimy losers. Even if they are. There are plenty of the same in the cabaret business.

Also, the anti-consumerism stuff is undermined by wearing wraparound Thai fisherman-style pants. But they were very fetching.

But I’m all for openness, and I thought I’d give the show the benefit of the doubt and all that, and in that same spirit I’m now going to hand over the microphone to Eddie himself so that he can self-review (this is an ironic pomo self-reflexive thing taught in some alternative schools):

CHEAP SHOTS [music & lyrics by Eddie Perfect]

[single spot on a lone figure]

[softly] I’m just an honest booooy….
Open like sesame…
So here’s a little secret something I…
Have to confess to ye….

Oh
Yes
My…

CHEAP! SHOTS! don’t stir pots
but give what you pinheads
Think’s daring,
[lights!]
uncaring that it’s fairy floss!

See though I hate lefties and festies depress-a me
I still like to look like I bitch cos I cares
I’ve a bleeding art too, so don’t think no lessa me
And for G-d’s sake don’t ask who I get in to dressa me
Cos I’m just an honest lad, open like sesame
Out here on stage just faux-hawking my wares,

So who – could – fault – me?
Dare to – insult…..

[soft] me…..for:

CHEAP!
SHOTS!
THAT’S WHATS!
I GOTS!

That and a mic and three mauve follow-spots!

CHEAP!
SHOTS!
START LAUGHING YOU SOTS!

Give us a run and I’ll give you the trooooooooooo-
(chord change up a fifth!)
oooooooots!

I rant about contemp-ry perils,
Like fat kids!
And junkies!
And oh! Fucking ferals!

I’m a 40-watt meeeega-staaaaar!
But I’m much more plugged in
And switched on
And lit up
And I’m far more clued in
And decked out
And tipped off
And I’ll always be more
Respected and loved
Than you aaaaare!

My rhymes sometimes seem quite laborious, it’s true,
My ethics are contradictorious too
I’ll skewer you yuppies in pithy quick grabs!
Then after: come round and I’ll make shish kebabs!

[spoken] And now for some comedy:
I say I say I say!
What’s do you say?
I say: a woman walks into a bar and I burn her to death with petrol!
That’s a wee bit harsh!
But she was a HIPPY!
[riotous laughter, hooting and slapping of knees/re-stitching off split sides]
Oh enough, you kill me!
I will if you’re different!
[serious nodding and ‘hmmm’ing from audience]

And noooooow, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, we come to that part in the show that I, personally, love the most,
Yes, we’ve spent the last hour gleefully roasting the worst aspects of modern society (and didn’t you love that bit about corporations being bad – I totally came up with it myself!), but it’s time to get a little more serious. I don’t want to get too heavy, so feel free to take as much of this away with you as you want, to talk about over expensive wines. Alternatively, you can just sit back and enjoy the music as I now…

Eat this live human baby.

[Eats baby.]

Thank you Eddie.

Now, I should really say that this show caused me to revise my opinion a bit. There was enough in here (especially during the second half) that I enjoyed, sometimes laughed at a bit, and the like. Also, there were some songs in the later part which went some way to apologising for the cheap shots – his closing number included something to the effect that he’s just a noisy kid who’ll keep at it until things change, and don’t be too annoyed by the ranting. Which is fair enough. It showed a certain level of self-awareness which kind of took him out of the smug and self-satisfied category. So that’s good. And I left thinking, well, if he kept on down that path, and let some of the older stuff go (like the “Stop Being so Damned September 10” and that godawful anti-hippy song) then I might give him more of a chance.

So here we go: EDDIE, DO WHAT I JUST SAID AND I’LL GIVE YOU MORE OF A CHANCE.

I think that now that I’ve extended that gracious offer, things will change, being as how my acceptance is pretty much what about 70% of Melburnians crave, according to independent studies.

After party: chicken sandwiches (didn’t touch ‘em) and some blueberry muffins, which I tried, and felt sort of weird. Not weird as in rushing to the bathroom, just weird as in eating a muffin at an after party. Not sure why that felt strange, but it did. Really good wine, too. That’s about it, folks. Nothing really notable happened.

EXCEPT FOR THE GIANT CHILD: LOOK AT THE SCALE!