Quan

The Alley Cat in Hobart is such a plushy, welcoming venue – its lush colour scheme, paired with its inviting furniture is just a heaven for me. Coincidentally arriving with a large bunch of young pretty things somehow scored me the amusing question of ‘I.D, please?’ – I giggled (I'm thirty-one).

Charles du Cane, with a strong contingent of local fans, was as charismatic as ever as he took the stage, right down to his white thong’d -and then later barefoot- toes. Not being a current stage performer, I can only guess that perhaps it’s a way to feel earthed to the ground, feel the stage beneath your feet. It reminds me of the joy of seeing people run around barefoot on the grass the contrast of textures and cold, mellow yellow, green blades underfoot.

With his electronic accompaniments, something that looked like a Wii guitar from Guitar Hero hanging around his neck, I couldn’t help but try to figure out the mechanics of his equipment, laptop sitting stage left. His set filled the floor, something that you don’t often see when watching a support – perhaps strengthening my theory that he was less supportive and more of an equal player.

Quan then took the stage, a screen flashing a rainbow of colours and images behind his frame. I think that back many years ago, I saw Regurgitator in Hobart as his energy had a familiarity that resonated deeply. Quan is someone who has certainly perfected his craft. For a moment there, when people started singing along I thought ‘damn’ as I didn’t have a chance to check out any of his solo work – but being a Regurgitator fan – was happy to immerse myself in the gorgeously wrapped, surprise present of sound. From the outset, I was totally hooked, mentally wondering how many albums would end up my music wish list (its a long list that frightens the responsible side of me).

At one point, baking in the heat of the gig, Quan removed his hoodie, lamenting that he wouldn’t feel hip-hop enough without it and then the generous set seemed over, way too fast. After such a strong, energetic performance you could understand why it was a complete set, no encore. In some ways it reminded me of my pre-kid night club days – that moment where they turn the lights on at 5am and you stumble out into the morning, the birds singing you a lullaby as you tip-toe home in your beautiful heels wishing you could have one more hour on the floor, music coursing through your veins. But this time it was just after midnight, you’re driving, and sneaking home to a house full of sleeping babies.

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