Bluesfest is known for bringing artists of the highest calibre to Australia. It is also known for bringing musician’s back from the (proverbial) dead. Bands that ruled their time, only to have their influence degrade over the decades that followed.
KC & The Sunshine Band, the people that gave us funky 70s classics like, ‘Get Down Tonight’, ‘Shake Your Booty’, ‘That’s The Way I Like It’, and ‘Give It Up’ fall into this category. Their performance at Hamer Hall was a testament to the fact that age is no barrier to boogie and that middle-aged Australians have still got the moves.
Before we get to them, let’s spend a moment talking about support act, War. You’d remember War too. They’re the guys that sang ‘Lowrider, which was in that car movie with Nicolas Cage. They also did ‘Why Can’t We Be Friends’ from that Adam Sandler movie. This timeless funk-fusion band, made up of a mix of US and South American musicians, proved to be an impressive and entertaining act that gave the headliners a true run for their money.
Singer and keyboardist Lonnie Jordan was charismatic and relaxed on stage. His banter was humorous and self-deprecating. An early highlight included some hugely entertaining crowd participation, where one stunned crowd member was asked to sing ‘The Cisco Kid’ and promptly forgot the lyrics while another punter received cheers from the audience as he emphatically took over and gave an impressive rendition while pacing around the room, working the crowd.
Their set was a mix of extraordinary musicianship and songs you’d forgotten you loved. This was unfortunately punctuated by an occasional soft-ballad or ‘contemporary’ number you might expect to have heard in an elevator in the ‘90s.
The crowd, which was mostly made up of people from the disco era and young adults looking for a nostalgic party, were visibly excited during intermission. Some were even dancing in the aisles to the house music, eagerly anticipating the boogie session that was to follow.
As KC’s set began, a giant disco ball was lowered, filling the room with the cocaine-fuelled-disco-memories of decades past. What followed was a confusingly choreographed entrance, where one band member at a time would stand on stage silently for a minute before being replaced by another. A very strange take on the ‘changing of the guard’ and a laborious task considering the 15-odd members of the band.
The Sunshine Band ran back on to a frenzied audience who, by now, were literally shaking in anticipation. From this moment on, their entire show seemed like a middle-aged version of a Hi5 concert. We’re talking clip-on microphones, overly enthusiastic crowd participation, and banter that bordered on back-alley-comedy-club. And costume changes!
Despite this tour de force of tacky Vegas-style entertainment, with its overload of feigned glamour, the precision with which they performed was completely flawless. As they moved through their back catalogue of hits and a few ‘60s covers from their upcoming box set, each and every song was as if it were a recording.
KC’s voice was as good, if not better, than it was back in his heyday. His years in the limelight shone through as he held the crowd in the palm of his hand. They hung off his every word, hooted at every anecdote, and cha-cha’d with his every footstep as the two-hour show moved through decades, genres, dance routines, and costumes.
The Sunshine band members were in great form, executing each note and/or choreography as if their lives depended on it. Unfortunately, they were visibly disengaged from KC and his group of dancers and backing singers, some even yawning in open view of the crowd. This was a real let-down, as it went in stark contrast to the 63-year-old’s effort and vibrancy at the front of the stage, which was admittedly infectious.
As is to be expected, KC was the driving force behind their performance, pushing everyone involved through their marathon of a show. As the hours progressed, he joked, acted, danced (despite a leg injury), played keyboard, and reflected upon his entire career to an audience eager to show their appreciation for the man (and band) that made their disco days delirious.
