Surfing through Dunedin in the Dark

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Fellow couchsurfer Guy Ryan rocked up to his pad at 10. The night before his graduation, he had plans for a quiet night in the company of Harry Potter, so I ventured out alone to survey Dunedin nightlife. In my own experience, going it alone is never a bad plan; whether abroad or at home, it is the most sure-fire way to avail yourself of randomness.

Having done a precursory internet search, I thought I'd located a reasonably sound set of reggae or drum n bass at a venue on Bath Street. I sailed down the alley on my longboard into a throng of teenagers and rocked up to the venue's front door to be informed that I was misinformed.

THIS was an all ages rock gig. Three more bands had to hit the stage before the Renegade Reggae Soundsystem would be blaring over the speakers, so I sat on the curb alongside the other kids to find out what was shakin around dunedintown. All the kids were heaps friendly and proudly introduced me to the local band members among them.

Suddenly, a paddy wagon screeched to a halt in front of us. Five cops ran into our ranks, grabbed a skinny kid in a ragged shirt off the stoop, and chucked him in the back of their paddy wagon. As quick as they'd come, they sped off, leaving us in silent awe. The girl I'd been chatting with broke the silence.

Oy! They just kidnapped Timmy!

Somewhat stunned, the others nodded in agreement. A grave look creeped onto the face of the bloke beside me. He stammered out a "SHIT," then explained that he was meant to be taking care of Timmy. In keeping with my company, I decided to bust out my quena and play a doleful tune to commemorate his disappearance. "This one's for Timmy," the negligent boyminder beside me explained, "poor Timmy."

We all agreed it was time to go in.

I saw a string of rock 'n roll bands perform to a throng of very lively kids. They thrashed, banged, screamed, and jumped along to the cacophany of strumming and beating. At least fourteen cases of whiplash to the neck were incurred. Two-Tamborine-Man made a particularly impressive performance. He could THRASH HIS ENTIRE BODY while doubled over and banging both tamborines together--one round, the other star-shaped like his ego.

The lyrics were largely unintelligible to my untrained ear, but judging from the levels of crowd throng, some songs were clear favourites. Everyone who was Anyone knew the chorus to DIE MOTHAFUCKA , and screamed along. Ferals flung their dreads hypnotically from side to side, and girls with styled-straight hair flung their blonde bobs toward the sky. A ginger--so far up the front he sometimes doubled over the stage--beat his head so vigorously that the wispy locks on his head and sole rat-tail dreadlock refracted strobe lights and bobbed mechanically like an unusual light show.

Finally, the death-metal show drew to a close. I waited in great anticipation on the edge of an indoor step for the moment I'd awaited 3 hours of screaming and thrashing for.... the bibbity bobbing beats of blissful reggae. After two minutes of silence, some song like the lovechild of River Dance and Celtic Trance crept through the PA. Perhaps it was the wave of disappointment on my face that summoned my consolation prize-- a stunning kiwi chap struck by a string of chattiness on the step beside me...

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Photos

Freezing Cold
but ready to surf the streets and check out the Dunedin nightlife

Comments

[Iona Mackenzie]

Dunedin or bust..
Mannnn!!!!!! don't stop there... the next instalment asap... PLEASE!!