Holy Fuck You Go Bob!

A Triumph Finally! For many many years I have waited for the day when I would see Bob Triumph against an Australian audience, ungrateful, wicked bastards that we are. Well the wait is over as it has finally happened and not before long I might add, it only took around twenty fucking years or so.

I was initially concerned about the venue choice, Star City Casino? Was the show doomed to be cancelled when ticket sales slumped which has happened to Bob in the past when promoters obviously bite off more than they can chew and try to book a venue that will not be filled. Sorry Bob I have been to every show you have done in Sydney, bar any pre 1985 when I was too young, including seeing you at the "Three Weeds" pub in the early 90's when it was a case of play a pub or play in someones lounge room. So I kind of like the small atmosphere with myself and the three other fans who come along, but hey at least we come, okay maybe it is four but I am guessing the total number is around 3.

So it was a big surprise when I realised that holy fuck this show would go ahead. Now Bob's last tour at the Enmore Theatre was the same deal only the fact that the entire place had the blackout treatment so as not to allude to the fact that yet again only myself and the other three/four had showed up.

So Friday evening was the big night and all was going array. Tamara was running late, I was in a fluster and Frank wanted to sit outside the venue and slowly sip Australian wine as if we had all the time in the world even though we had been warned the doors would be locked at 8pm with no exceptions which would leave me out in the cold with my ear pressed up against a door in order to hear my beloved. Joy!

Okay so earlier we had managed to organise a seat swap with the tickets we had indeed paid for. Yes Bob we could have scammed free industry tickets but instead we paid for your show because I love you and don't want to rip you off. So after an approach to the box office to purchase an extra ticket for Frank the lovely counter girl swapped our seats for unclaimed comps which were for the second row.

You see I thought my purchased tickets were front row. Turns out I was wrong. Foolish me thought row A was front row but it was in fact the fourth row, that is fourth after AA, BB, CC, DD, ahhhh okay, stop making sense. The poor pet behind the counter saw my angst at this news and helped me immediately with the comps. The fact is we could have walked up flashed a press pass and bang front fucking row whilst the three "real" fans, one of which just happens to be me, sit row 4 whilst the industry fucks and freebie arse lickers don't show up, as usual, which = empty seats and three very cranky fans. Not your fault Bob just the juggernaut that rolls along behind the artists back therefore proving again that its not what you know its who you know. Of course I know all too well after many years of concert going and music industry hoopla so I shouldn't act like I don't but whether its U2, Gorillaz or Englebert Humperdick a fan is a fan and they should garner some respect as with the artist them self who I have no doubt are left unaware of their fans plight.

So in order to get in the venue we convince Frank to "skull, skull, skull, skull" his wine, which he does with an incredible lack of speed and then rush to catch the lift down to the venue entrance. In the lift, and full of beans, or shit as is usually the case I ask a rather elderly, okay okay one step out of the grave couple what show they are seeing tonight, assuming they are going to see something else. Transcript;

Me: Excuse me which show are you seeing tonight? (Voice in my head, "Wow, this really is "morbid" curiosity, literally morbid, get a load of these two they may well croak and die right here in this lift"!)

Mature Lady: Ahhhhh, who are we seeing dear???

Mature Male: Ahhhhhhhhh, ummmmmm, sorry what was that?

Mature Lady: Ahhhh, ummm, what show are we seeing dear? (loudly)

Mature Male: (Checking ticket), ummm Bob, Bob, Bob, Gerldorhfe.

Mature Lady: Ummmm, errrrr, errrr, Bob, Bob, ummmm Bob yes Bob, yesss yessss he's called Bob.

Me: You do realise he is a punk rocker and WILL NOT be talking politics. You do realise he is a musician and all the other stuff is other stuff and tonight will be about his MUSIC. (Voice in head and then later to Tamara, "They don't realise that he is going to say the word fuck, sex, politics, religion and possibly Bono all in one sentence do they"? Holy crap the audience will walk out en mass.

Me: Umm you purchased tickets to tonight's show? (Voice in head "Bet they got the tickets for free when the purchased the two for one buffet on pension day and thought, well at least its a night out")

Them: Yes

Me: (Voice In Head; "Holy fuck, you go Bob!")

So I was worried for Bob, really really worried especially after a quick scan of the now almost packed theatre, damn near 2000 seats, and filled, Holy fuck you go Bob!

Okay okay so they don't know any other song other than "Do They Know It's Christmas" and they also wont know that if you play it myself and the other three fans okay okay four fans will get the humph and walk out if you do. So you are really - bloody hell I can't believe I am going to say this - "showcasing" yourself here, with the possibility of picking up a few new fans who in the past have never shown up before tonight. Holy fuck you go Bob!.

So out Bob comes, myself and the other three, alright four fans clap wildly whilst the rest of the audience don't realise its you because they don't know who you are until you step up to the microphone and into the spotlight which allows them to recognise you, they then clap, politely, albeit with trepidation.

Bang! Music! Bang! Rock and Roll! Bang! Holy fuck you go Bob!

After a few songs Bob concurs to inform his audience that he is suffering from a lurgy, but is going to press on despite the fact. He also admits that he is used to an Australian audience giving him shit on all matters, though this time they don't, he presses on.

Note to Bob: (There is one reason Australian audience's in the past gave you any grief and this is due to the fact that those fuckers doing it are not fans and haven't paid to see you. For example during your last tour when you performed at the Enmore Theatre all I noticed were a bunch of Gen Y comp ticket holders who seemed to be friends of friends of someone who thought they knew someone from the Daily Telegraph. So to me most of them only appeared to be at the show so they could be the first to tweet to the world that Bob Geldof flew into a rage and called Russell Brand a "talentless" cunt. So disappointed that they may go home empty handed they threw caution to the wind and began to heckle or for those more inventive who can type with a fucking thumb - spend the entire show texting their friends, the ignorant fucks that they are.)

So of course I am biased as you know but I think Bob is brilliant, I love his music and I am not afraid to say it and have done for years. I think his left handed wizardry of the guitar is not only bizarre as he has a right handed guitar but interesting to watch and of course when I am not watching that I am watching the fact that Bob does not believe in the institution of the under pant. Holy fuck you go Bob!

So we three/four fans got all the hits including, A sex thing, Room 19, Mary of the 4th form, Rat Trap, Banana Republic and the ye olde Don't like Monday's standard and then some, meaning more songs which was great.

So despite the fact that Bob was clearly struggling due to illness he didn't disappoint. He sang his little heart out, and his voice out and he as usual up staged his good friend Bono by wearing an actual colour on stage, albeit to use his words a"baby shit green" colour it was a colour and those seated in row x would have been able to see him even if they didn't know who the fuck he was.

Note From Me via Bob to Bono: Please wear white! When was the last stadium show you went to? Those up the back find it difficult to see one when one is dressed as the same colour as the fucking speakers. I know it is a difficult colour to pull off, white that is, but perhaps one could employ someone who can make one a pair of slacks which holds you in at all the right places, also join Bob's institute of the no under pant club, chicks dig it? Its just a tip!

So the show went off. I can say this with a great deal of certainty as the elderly Asian couple I noticed seated in the row behind me, (note photo above), before the show started were the litmus test as far as I was concerned. I shot them a glance before the show and they appeared to have no idea whom they were seeing and didn't strike me as rock show types but by the last song they were standing and damn near screaming a lung for more.

Holy Fuck You Go Bob!