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I guess you know you’re getting older (or wiser) when you’re home tucked away in bed by midnight on a Saturday night, as I was last weekend.
After meeting a friend for coffee, we were up for an impromptu venue-crawl along Oxford Street. Thing is, between the hours of six and twelve, there was almost nada entertainment enticing anyone to actually stay out. As midnight approached, I somehow knew in my near-munted state that just as soon as ditching the Gary Sweet look-alike, I’d be saying my goodbyes, fetching a grease-fix from Yeeros and calling it a night. Who’d have thunk it?
We couldn’t help but notice other punters asking venue staff to crank up the volume on the video loops, some even daring to slot-jockey those nasty jukeboxes with playlists that haven’t been updated in over a decade.
And despite the closure of Saturdays upstairs at The Shift, almost everywhere seemed pretty jam-packed, so it’d be easy to assume early evenings might be ideal for keeping paying patrons primed and staying put. I’m sure I could think of a few DJs or performers who’d be happy enough to work the earlier times, though maybe this was just a glimpse of certain venues trying to save a buck?
Seems nowadays there isn’t much entertainment to be found along Oxford Street on Saturdays until much later, by which time the Nannas among us are likely to be considering the practicalities of crawling under the doona. Though I recall my first nervous steps into places like The Albury, when early evenings were the very times to be there as the night fired-up with the most awesome, legendary shows, while other venues would have karaoke (uurgh), member’s draws or strippers. But at least something was always happening.
I’m reminded of my days backpacking overseas with the boyfriend – with stars in our eyes and hard-ons in our Calvins, we stumbled across some über-swank queer nightlife in our travels. And it seemed Sydney had almost caught up for a while there. But these days, with a number of good reasons to avoid Oxford Street, it seems folk have been left wondering – what ever happened to our once de rigueur Sydney scene?
Perhaps the increased popularity of dance music in the late 90s is partly to blame, as more and more feral wannabes encroached upon the strip until it eventually became what it is today – a violent party circuit for self-involved weekend warriors (or so I’ve heard).
The number of times I was high-fived and called ‘dude’ or ‘champ’ on Saturday night is anyone’s guess. Then again, maybe I’ve become jaded – or a Nanna-snob. Or something.
Whatever the case, Oxford Street certainly isn’t the gregarious, bohemian sanctuary of yesteryear (yup yup, sounding old now). Mind you, I have been feeling rather Martha Stewart lately, so maybe I’ll just stay in and host a delightful little supper this weekend instead.
Or not.
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