A gig.

I went to a gig the other night.  I know, you are probably all thinking that THIS GUY knows what’s up.  Well, you’d be on the money.  I do know what is up.  And in my eyes what is up is Matt Corby.  The guy knows how to play a gig.  It was the 6th of June and I was worried that I was going to flunk my exam the next day.  Three of my friends were accompanying me and they were in the same boat.  We walked into the Forum Theatre where Michelangelo’s brother Richard and his cousin Doug surrounded the stage.  It was an unusual theatre, with the roof painted blue to symbolise that we were one with the outdoors and the Greek architecture there to remind us how lucky we are not living in Athens currently.  I suspect that’s what the architect had in mind when he designed the place anyway.

Finally after a couple of overpriced drinks served by a bloke wearing a shirt it was time for the main course.  I’ve already seen Matt play prior to this and knew what to expect; a golden voice, a burning falsetto and a very solid backing band.  However, it seems that every time he plays there is something unbelievably magical about it all.  The crowd just sort of watches as this man weaves his spell.  His opening number was a new one and his voice shimmered.  From there it was a show to remember.  He played the piano, he cracked a couple of awkward gags, he played Brother and then a lot of people left. The worst thing about gigs?  The people.  Some of them talk constantly, others make out, there was even one girl who continually let off gas after she evidently had a huge Mexican dinner of Quesadillas and Mexican jumping beans.  However, generally the crowd was respectful of such a talented young man.  A lot of young women crooned and as a young man, I was in agreement with them.  I have no trouble admitting that I have a cheeky man crush on him, perhaps due to his sensational voice, perhaps due to his beautiful blue eyes, perhaps because I am a raging homosexual (these are simply hypothetical reasons, not all of them true).

He left the crowd in tears after his memorable tribute to his Grandmother June who is not far from meeting her maker though there was one man, namely my friend Steve (I changed his name for his privacy, it’s actually Sam) who called him a ‘fucking hero’ for this.  This was in jest or the guy is just a jerk.  Corbs then finished off the proceedings with a gratuitous encore number of ‘My false’ that was reminiscent of Mumford and Sons, Ben Lovett being the man who helped sign Matty to their label (or something along those lines, who am I to say?)  It was splendid and the crowd left very pleased with their night, some going off to make love to their partners, others to fail their law exams.



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