- An oxymoron is a beautifully ugly thing, as well as being a much-abused feature of Sydney clubbing. Home, unless your living room has a capacity of 2500 people and features speaker stacks the size of Saxon and Gretels’ age difference, is clearly anything but. Fuzzy is run by a very professional gentleman who isn’t publicly known for his warm demeanour and has a decidedly un-fuzzy head. Boheme is devoid of hippies and Sublime (regardless of how great it may or may not be) is clearly not “of high spiritual, moral, or intellectual worth”. At least Space has got it right - space is exactly what you get an abundance of every night it’s open.
However, of all of the descriptive oxymoron’s Sydney has, none take the piss quite as brazenly as Clean and Serene. To suggest that they skate the thin rail of the Trade Practices Act is like saying George Bush might just be having a laugh. Quite frankly how you would attach the concept of Serenity or the next attribute down from Godliness to the monthly event of the same name at the Burdekin goes beyond the realm of the believable.
Thank god therefore that at least once a year, sense prevails. Gone are the pretences that this is a nice party, for nice people who enjoy a quiet drink in the company of like-minded people interested in beginning a journey of healing and recovery. Instead comes the reality that this is a local party, for local people and we’ll have none of that kind of thing here.
I slunk into the club sometime around half ten, accompanied by four nurses, a pimp and a schoolgirl. After the traditional bout of abusing and being abused by the door bitches (bless your tiny little tank tops), the first thing I looked around for were costumes. After all, we are talking about Dirty & Delerious here and, judging on past performance, we should have been in for a treat. Alas, having made sure my friends and I had got into the traditional spirit and donned a selection of suitably delirious costumes, it was disappointing to see that the vast majority of others had chosen not to do the same. Having been to previous D&Ds, this makes no sense to me. Dirty & Delirious without a bit of fancy dress is...well...Clean & Serene. It’s like paying for sex only to end up sleeping with your wife. Surely putting the designer jeans and $150 t-shirts to one side just once a year in the name of a special event like D&D isn’t too much effort?
Getting back to the night itself, arrival found me privy to the sultry, sexy (and anything else beginning with ‘s’) sounds of Adam Coverdale. Warm up sets are funny things; too memorable and they’ve probably failed, not memorable enough and the next guy has the responsibility of getting everyone in the groove from scratch. Still, Mr Coverdale gets enough practice down at Lookin’ Good and Bulletproof Jacuzzi, and the verdict has to be a clear ‘pretty tidy for a ginger nut’.
The birthday celebrant of the night took to the ones and twos next, in all his Mr T-esque splendour. Predominantly hairless upon his dome, with the exception of a single line of hairy fuzz traversing the space between his nose and his neck, Jackster dropped a set which blended the funky and the vocal with some of the tougher sounds which have come to form part of his sets at Home (as in Cockle Bay, not mine). All punctuated with a short pause around twelve for a wee cake, candles and some poppers. Very civil indeed. Happy birthday fella! Can we assume the fast disappearance of the cake was indicative of a very Hungry Jackster?
It was headline time, and time for Alex Taylor. When it comes to house, there are few finer, and, although not what you’d call vintage Taylor, it was a fine set indeed. One only need to have popped a peek at the crowd to gauge the reaction to the aural treats served up; garnished with oomph, blended with boom and sprinkled with just enough cheese to bring out the flava (although if I hear Thomas Bangaltur and DJ Falcons’ ‘Call on Me’ one more time, I am dead-set going to abandon the will to live). Nice as a town in France!
Osama bin Tazman stepped forward next and provided the crowd with nothing short of a blinder, He wove a house tapestry of love, dropping bombs like a man with a plane on a mission from Allah. We were hostage to his skills, left shocked, awed and completely occupied by the power of the operation. One only need to have been witness to the invasion of the dancefloor (lucky I’d pre-empted it!). Just when you thought you’d been Hamed with enough fine music, he took it to the next level and left you even Mohammed. My turban goes off to you. In my estimation, and that of those I spoke to, it was the set of the night.
The always-fab and constantly sexy Mike McGrath was next to take us to the finish. Any DJ that drops ‘One More Time’ has got to be headed in the right direction, not that Mr McGrath’s direction has ever been in doubt. Alas, as seemed to be the case with far too many of my fellow party goers, advancing years are taking their toll and I felt my bed exert it’s familiar tug on my tiring feet. I felt like a man skipping out on a lady without so much as a cuddle. I’m sorry, Mike. I promise I’ll hold you next time.
It’s hard to review a Clean and Serene night without sounding like a bloody parrot. You know exactly what you’re going to get. It’s always a fun night out in an intimate venue with friendly people and loads of top tunes. To all those yet to sample a Clean and Serene special, with Menage a Trois coming up faster than a hotshot, you have no excuse not to give in to the temptation. Let’s face it, in a city that can be as fickle as Sydney, the fact that a night the size of Clean & Serene is now in it’s third year should speak volumes. Aren’t you just a little bit curious?