Before last Friday I had never been to Cheesy Pop, so I really had no idea what to expect at the Freshers' event, other than vomit. To be honest, I was expecting it to be rather grim. I was pleasantly surprised*.
Cheesy Po, as it's known to its friends, is a delightfully relaxed clubnight where resident tunespinner dj toast will cheerfully play near enough any damn thing. There's a Mardi Gras theme running through this one, which translates to beads and samba and the occasional outlandish outfit.
Right in front of the QMU there's an ace fire-poi/drumming exhibition that keeps me distracted for a good quarter of an hour. I was fairly late to begin with, so I'm surprised to find the union rather quiet by their standards. There are still plenty of wide-eyed freshers floating around, drinking green pints and wearing silly hats, and the numbers start to look up a bit as Samba Ya Bamba take the stage and everyone piles into Qudos.
If you've never heard Samba Ya Bamba before, it may well explain why so many people look down on you with pity in their eyes. A percussion/brass troupe numbered in the dozens, SYB mix up their samba with not only other Brazilian influences but with hip-hop, drum'n'bass and pretty much everything else they can lay their hands on. The complex, multilayered rhythms they build up are absolutely dazzling, and the crowd responds accordingly. Drunken enthusiasm aside, it's clear that almost everyone is completely swept up in the proceedings, and little wonder. The Samba Ya Bamba version of
The Final Countdown quite simply must be witnessed to be believed. They manage to leave the stage without causing a riot only by promising that they'll be back in an hour or so. By this point dj toast has come perilously close to exhausting his samba supply, resorting to Ricky Martin to keep the mood going. He also, quite by accident, does something faintly ridiculous which causes no amount of distress upstairs, but I promised not to get him in trouble, so I'll keep it under my hat.
The dancefloor's opening up again, so I take the opportunity to take a wander and chat to some new faces. Apparently the drink of the moment is cider with a bottle of blue WKD tipped into it, which explains all the green pints. It tastes like bad sweeties. Red-shirted freshers' week helpers are everywhere, hurling strings of beads over all and sundry. Amusingly (and perhaps disappointingly), very few people seem to know of the tradition of flashing flesh in exchange for beads, and they run around looking all wanton as a result.
The tide of freshers turns back to Qudos as Samba Ya Bamba reappear for their second performance. Here they outdo themselves, prompting outbreaks of ludicrous, terrible dancing. Samba beats are fast-paced and demanding, but those bass notes are just
irresistible, forcing you to push on through the pain until you're ready to collapse. The band close their set with a jaw-dropping rendition of Franz Ferdinand's
Take Me Out, which they drop a call-and-response section into the middle of, spinning the whole thing out for a good eight minutes or so. People are left smitten
At some point I'm introduced to a magician, who bears the epithet 'Amazo' with good grace. He puts on an astounding display of slight-of-hand, the only reasonable response to which is a sort of terrified awe.
Freed from thematic obligations, toast gets down to the business of filling the dancefloor, and he does a great job in the face of the sub-standard turnout. A note to universities: merging freshers' week with week zero does more harm than good. Stop mucking people about.
Cheesy Po, it would appear, is for tunes most people would be far too embarrassed to ask for anywhere else. Classics that've had the edge taken off them by decades of overplay are given a new lease of life by the welcoming atmosphere of the club. It plays well with the freshers: here are people who haven't danced to
Smells Like Teen Bloody Spirit a thousand times and can therefore afford to be enthusiastic about it.
500 Miles turns the place into a sweaty, bouncing fleshpit, and it is
glorious.
Some songs, of course, are best left buried in the mid-nineties, but the kids seem to be enjoying themselves, and that's the main thing. What with the fire and the magic and the naïve, nubile young ladies, it's a night not soon to be forgotten. Beautiful big beats and cheesy tunes, grand banter and cheap booze, a carnival atmosphere successfully shoehorned indoors—of such ingredients legendary nights are crafted.
Photos
here.
http://www.sambayabamba.com/
*
Except about the vomit. That was unpleasantly unsurprising.
