Midnight Oil

I am pleasantly deaf. I swear I kept the speaker-side earplug in. Really I did.

Midnight Oil proved once again that they are the premier political rock band of the last two decades.

Opening for the Oils was Bleu. I suspect Dan Cortese is moonlighting. So the guy is very cute, and has a great voice, and the first couple songs are likable. So is he–he’s a little bit funny and has a modicum of charisma. Then, about three songs in, the material starts getting weaker, until finally he’s singing some of the sappiest songs I’ve ever heard from a guy with big sideburns. And he’s trying to get us to sing along. Amusing to me was how he became less cute as he became less talented. I began to notice how his denims were a little too well pressed, his glasses a little too preppy. Guess I’m an all or nothing type of gal.

The Oils came out for the last show of their North American tour. We were warned that they might go on a bit. That they did. In fact I’m probably too tired to say anything meaningful. They were tight. Peter Garrett’s elastic voice was complimented beautifully by the other strong voices in the band. That kind of sweet-spot harmony is often difficult to pull off live, and they were flawless. And what is it about drummers? Rob Hirst is leap-over-the-drumkit-and-take-a-bite cute.

I’ll try to say more about the music in the morning. There is a lingering emotional rant. The crowd was between 35-45. My peers. These are supposed to be the people with whom I relate. I looked into that packed room and wondered when I became so alien to people my own age. Scott was comfortable. He was appropriately dressed, fit right in, happy to be among his tribe. I felt like I was dancing in a dampening field, and in fact didn’t get into the concert as much as I thought I should have. Barely broke a sweat.

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