Some unseen recommendations (also known as 'A show to see at around 9pm to go on a not-really-sure-if-this-is-a-date outing')

Thanks for your inquiry, anonymous friend. 

Things and shows and stuff to consider:

• Danny Bhoy, although this adorable Scottish comedian may steal your potential date's heart and turn it from a 'maybe date' to a 'let's talk about another man and his positive attributes' sesh. Also this is a long(ish) show at 70 minutes.
• Mark Watson, you risk running the same fate with the falling for the (this time Welsh) cuteness on stage thing but last time I saw him he talked about his wife (but not in a horrible Jeff Green kind of way) so you should be safe. 

These two are your best bet as they are safe but a little more interesting lots of the other ones who stand up and tell jokes. But if you can push the time back (or forward? which one is it? I always get confused...I'm trying to say the one that makes the time be earlier) you should just go to Pajama Men or Eddie Perfect at 8.30pm. 'Cause then there'd be little to no awkwardness you might encounter with a show called something like 'What women don't want to hear'* but they'd be radtastic and impressive.

Poet Laureate Telia Neville

The idea of writing something about this show makes me want to go an have a shower until I'm wrinkly so I don't have to do it so I never even have a chance to be uneloquent (gulp) and speel shit wrong.* Shit.


Ok. Here goes. Telia Neville is very good at words. In a real way and a funny way. Geddit? This is the type of show that has so much wordyness crammed in that you feel like you missed a whole bunch and maybe should see it again. Ah. Clever trick, Telia Neville. I see what you've done there.


The dear young Poet Laureate is an impressively complex character (which bodes well for the whole 'staying interested for one whole hour of poetry by one person' thing she's got going on). If I had known her in high school (where she is currently living) I would've been simultaneously terrified and dismissive of her. The stupid eloquent, teacher-desiring, threatening, insecure, cold and tall (yes, tall...yuck?) bitch (not really, not at all, in fact I'm not really sure why I called her a bitch there, it just seemed to fit the sentence. Sorry).


I didn't see her 2010 Gibbo-nominated show, While I'm Away, but from the reviews it seems like it had a tad more variety than this year's show. This show is not exactly my thing – I liked it but didn't love it. Or maybe I just didn't understand it. There's always that possibility.


Poet Laureate Telia Neville is playing at the Town Hall at 7.15pm until April 24.


*I'm not really sure how having a shower 'til I'm wrinkly will get me out of writing it. Also the whole idea of 'getting out of it' is stupid as this is a blog which means I can do whatever the eff I want. I'm tired.

Zoe Coombs Marr (also known as 'If she is murdered and someone steals her identity it definitely wasn't me')

This show will definitely win Barry's Golden Age Award for Incoming Pieces of Wood at the Airport*.


It's just...oh...I don't even know. Fucking great. 


She is funny in, like, a trillion different ways. She plays an achingly nerdy high schooler, is an easy, breezy, beautiful (Cover)girl with her standup, is impromptu (or is just genius at convincing the audience she's shooting from the hip) and has an incredible subtlety about her facial region. She'll hold the audience's attention without saying a word then cause an eruption of laughter from a single flick of her left eye. Yes, I noticed which eye it was. Yes, I am in love with her.


She is self-deprecating when exploring the rich and relatable territory of an awkward adolescence – whether or not any of it is true, I couldn't care less. I experienced enough adolescent awkwardness and crushing self-doubt to be enchanted by her tale. But it isn't a typical 'blah blah blah I was bullied and now I'm a swan' coming of age things. It took risks, was inventive and was delightfully bizarre in sections. Also when you enter the room Vitamin C is playing so you already know it's going to be good. 


Zoe Coombs Marr is playing at the Town Hall at 6pm until April 24. 




*She is in the same room that Claudia O'Doherty was in last  year when she won Best Newcomer so it's simple superstition science that Zoe will also yeild the same fortune.


Also, this came up when I YouTubed Zoe Coombs Marr (well acutally this was a suggestion for 'zoe coombs'). It's not her but it's pretty weird. Why would anyone bother to make this? And the music is creepy. 

Little snippets of things I loved

I saw Smart Casual perform a little tidbit at Hifi Bar and I rolly, roollly liked it. But I am a bit annoyed 'cause now I have to find time to see there show. They did a little bit of banter, sang a little bit of songs (injected with delightful pop culture references) and were all understated and beardy slash sunglassesy and guitary.


I also loved the bit when Arj Barker came on 'cause it gave me the chance to go to the toilet without missing anything new then go to the bar and get served tout suite.


Also for anyone that doesn't already know Cal Wilson has had a baby. This is funny apparently.

Doc Brown

Let's be clear: I saw Doc Brown on Saturday night. Not Dr Brown. Doc Brown = hip hop artist. Dr Brown = bearded guy sometimes wearing a sombrero outside town hall and/or riding into walls to get attention. Doc Brown = Zadie Smith's brother (how cool can one family be?! Not fair). Dr Brown =  my future husband. Doc Brown = intimidatingly cool. Dr Brown = intimidatingly cool.


Doc Brown (who I am not cool enough to have known in his musician guise) does a pretty good job of mixing excellent (phat?) rhymes with stories of a geeky childhood and unruly misspent days of indulgent fame. He drops loads of beats and dope raps (sigh, I'm sorry*) about intrinsically hilarious subject-matter such as overhead projectors and David Attenborough.


He charmed the pants off his two chosen audience interaction subjects (I presume, I'm not one of them nor did I speak to either of them. Actually, yes, I probably shouldn't have written that as though it were fact. Wait on). He seemed to charm the pants off his two chosen audience interaction subjects. No mean feat given they were women in their 50s (usually the type who seem to sit quietly and 'appreciate' the comedy. Just be a bit more vocal with your appreciation please). He is easy to watch yet not boring (at no point do I recall him making a joke about the difference between men and women). His interesting, if not always ROFLMAO worthy, tales are touchingly honest about his flaws as a human being. Which only makes him cooler.


Doc Brown is playing at the Town Hall at 9.45pm until 24 April.


*Speaking of worlds I know nothing about here is a video I find amusing.

Archibald Wheeler Whets His Whistle

Patrick Miller* of Vigilantelope fame (is fame the wrong word here? Whatever, they won a Golden Gibbo so that's a thing, right? Update: LIES! I lied to you! Sorry. The were nominated, not winning, but nom is still pretty fantastic) has been left to his own devices. The result is...astonishing. 


It starts off accessible enough with geriatric Archie (Patrick does the best old guy end-of-sentence whistle ever) singing about his tiresome wife, Mavis. Then it keeps going. Patrick transforms from Archie to Archie's son, (then to) Archie's grandson, (and) Archie's son's best mate (but don't forgot) Archie's grandson's best mate etc. etc. etc. I'm tired (but also flippin' enthralled) just watching. 


A testament to Patrick's clearly marvellous brain, the narrative somehow traverses through Fred Hollow's brother's surgery then an industrial freezer with a yak (or maybe llama, I forget), to a farcical The Castle-esque court room sequence, and finally, like any good comedy show, to a hospital for a self-embrace. Patrick deserves that hug, he is clearly giving it his all up there. 


I think that if Patrick could've some how cloned himself and played all the characters (well, he already does play them all...you know what I mean, play them all at once kind of thing, like at the same time standing next to each other) then he would've made his director's** life more sleep-based and less awake-always-doing-comedy-things-based. But they get around this 'there only being one of Pat in the world' problem pretty smoothly. But maybe someone should give him a TV show and lots of money to make CGI versions of himself. Yes? Hello? Producer willing to take risks are you out there?


This show about one of my favourite topics of all time: intergenerational male relationships. As such I was not only laughing at the silly but also wishing to squash Archie's face with my bare hands. Oh! Also! He plays really rad songs and is totes talented on the piano and with singing and dancing even a bit too. 


Archie is playing at Trades Hall at 7pm until 10 April. 




* Just to clarify, it's not this guy or this guy but this guy that I'm talking about. 
** PLUG PLUG PLUG PLUG! His director is Al Newstead of Al's Music Rant.

Santoni Cabaretoni at the Tuxedo Cat

Gah! In the words of Rebecca Black "we so excited, we we we so excited". Last night I found my Mecca. And I will fulfil God's will twice by running back there this evening.


I think the Tuxedo Cat just might become my favourite thing of the festival. It's an independent, underground (literally) and mighty fun venue. The first time I took someone there last year their comment as we were walking down the stairs was: "We're going to a show, right? You're not about to kill me...?". You can see why this thought came into their head:

But once you get inside you are welcomed into a place which celebrates innovative, independent and daring comedy. Like I said, Mecca.


Santoni Cabaretoni  is organised by the prodigious Stephanie Brotchie of Slow Clap (and possibly other people – probably Dr Brown – I'm sure you're great too). It runs every Friday and Saturday of the festival (I think). Dr Brown* hosted the laid back event which included bite-sized segments of artists including:

• Wing Attack! – deliciously wordy, dry two man sketches
• Zoe Coombs Marr – I am 54% jealous that I'm not her, 46% looking forward to seeing her show and 100% wanting to be her best friend
• Sexytime! – accents, 70's costumes, brilliant characters and dance, yep, it's got it all 
• Steve Sheehan – the girl next to me actually thought an audience member had jumped on stage and was just being hilarious.

Other acts that I don't have time to write a sentence about but were totally bodacious include Dr Professor Neal Portenza, John Conway and Poet Laureate Telia Neville. The 1.5 hour show had a willing, open audience and was like a mini Gala showcasing those who haven't been paid thousands of dollars to come here by the Festival Office and are doing this comedy thing for the pure love of it. And it shows. 

I gather this thing will be different every night so no guarantees on who will be on and what will happen – but that's when the funniest stuff happens, right? 

*Update: I shook hands with him. He looked me in the eye. But he didn't say "I love you". Yet. If you don't know what I'm talking about you haven't read my earlier posts so just don't even worry about it or anything. 

Jeff Green (also known as 'A show to take your Dad to')

When I asked my Dad what he wanted to see at this year's festival he said "Somebody I know". 


Sigh.  


"Charlie Pickering?", I suggested. 


"Who?"


Shit. Head slap. I'd just chosen one of the most bearable visible comedians (aka someone from TV) and Dad doesn't know him. 


"What about...um....Rod Quantock?" 


"Last time we went to him he made fun of my cardigan."


It's true. Rod did make fun of Dad's cardigan and Dad hasn't worn it since then (2008). It's a shame really 'cause I think he was rockin' the look quite well. 


So I perused the guide and made the executive decision we'd see Jeff Green. It was a full house at the Swiss Club (I really do wonder what goes on there outside of the Comedy Festival – just a whole lot of fence-sitters meeting precisely at the prearranged time to calmly eat fondue and be generally inoffensive?). 


The audience went absolutely OFF for Jeff Green. I liked the intro and outro voiceovers. He did have loads of energy though and provides good bang for your buck in terms of punchlines per second. 


If you like punchlines about the difference between men and women and parochial gags about Australians and Englishmen. There were a few moments when I got the feeling if he strayed from the aforementioned material he might be more to my taste – like when he was talking about getting stoned when his wife and son were away and how annoying kids are. This guy is clearly making lots of money though so each to their own. 


I consider it a successful outing 'cause Dad thought the show was "excellent". And Dad paid so I didn't waste my own money (on anything other the dumplings). 


Jeff Green and cheese fondue are playing at the Swiss Club at 8.15pm until April 24. 

Watching Percy Fagan Sleep

If my Nonna was to make the soup of this show the ingredients would be something like this:

• 2 cups of melodrama, roughly chopped
• 3 litres of character-based skits*
• 3 good looking, tall, long-haired men, finely sliced
• a dash of dance
• sixteen inches of narrative
• one metric slug of  the most amazing slow motion sequence I have ever seen (reader please note: I’ve never seen the Matrix)

Think younger Pajama Men with less Pajamas, but (interestingly) more beds. These three guys impressed me heaps ‘cause their surreal jaunt had that slick, well-rehearsed feel and their commitment was undying. I laughed hardest when stuff got chaotic and messy and slightly yelly. But maybe I’m just a fan of destruction, I did, after all, pay to see 2012 at the actual cinema.

Watching Percy Fagan Sleep is playing at Eurotrash Tue–Thur, Sat and Sun at 7pm until April 10.

  

*I don’t think I could even count the number of characters these guys tackle. It’s like one of those jars at a school fete except imagine instead of all jelly beans every lolly is a different lolly. That’s a lot of lollies. Favourites included Ming the patronising, Oprah-loving American, mopey English backpackers and a professional performer at Sovereign Hill.

Al’s Music Rant

Watching this show made me totally jelly of Al’s obviously impressive (and totally obsessive) musical knowledge. He just has it all. Up there. I imagine all the little chunks of his knowledge (music and otherwise) swimming around in his head and every now and then two of them crash into each other. Then suddenly he’s figured out who has stolen something from other artists to create every song in their repertoire, what the Pancake parlor has to do with music and how classic songs would sound if they were abused by some of today’s “artists”.

Al is just so darned likeable and his show is a living, breathing, repeatable example of what happens when you let people do what they love. This show could have so easily have been a snarky rant (it does have 'Rant' in the title, afterall). Instead Al blesses us with characters, song, dance and isn’t afraid of embarrassing himself (particularly evidenced by one moment in the show that is car-crash can’t look away amazing).  Even though Al and I clearly have very different taste in music (I’ll have you know I love Ke$ha, Al) I still loved his show and so did the guy up the back who emphatically agreed with all of Al's music nerd commentary.

Someone I was at this show with last night said afterwards “You know it’s a good show when you can’t pick out your favourite bit ‘cause there are too many”. Hear hear!

Al’s Music Rant is playing at Eurotrash Tue–Thur, Sat and Sun at 9pm until 10 April. 


Also here is Al's blog from whence the show came.

Night one of my festival (also known as 'Reasons why you should see David O’Doherty’s show')

Last night, I saw three great shows and ate 72 great dumplings. This reads as a successful night in my opinion. Over said dumplings and pumpkin cakes one of my friends told me about her morning. This is what happened.

Being the good Brunswick-dwelller she is, she was riding to work. Seeing a red light up ahead she began to slow down and continued to do so until a turning car helped her to come to a complete stop by knocking her over. Feeling pretty shocked she looked up and got another shock when she saw David O’Dohety standing above her. David O’Doherty had run her over! As would be expected of someone who plays a miniature keyboard, he was gentle and apologetic. So much so that he insisted he drive her the rest of the way. The bike didn’t fit in the car. So David O’Doherty made my friend ride in the car with his publicist and he rode her bike to work for her. Then offered her tickets to his show.

Now if you’re not already convinced of how lovely he is, know this: the reason the car was turning is that they had seen a girl standing on a street corner looking upset and were pulling over to see if she needed help. I guess that’s what you get for trying to help people: physically harming others and an annoying uphill ride.

We should all go and see David O’Doherty’s show now. That or try to get hit by him when riding our bikes and he’ll give us free tickets.

A great thing I just heard

I have a secret dream. Actually, it's more a secret crazy thing I cling to against all good judgement. It's this: I'll know the man I'm supposed to marry as a sign will come in the form of a perfectly crafted, serious enough to get on air but ironic enough to make me cackle love song dedication message from him, culminating in a Richard Mercer playing Truly Madly Deeply for me. ME*.


So you'll understand why I was impressed when I heard a comedian utilising this wonderful tool this evening. Sanderson Jones is performing this festival for realz this year. He used to come and not put his name in the program but flyer out the front of the Town Hall like a tall, charming British trooper to get audiences. But now he's paid his festival fee I can totes link to his show: here 'tis. Sanderson called up Richard aka the Love God, to spurt romantic nonsense about broken hearts caused by long-distance relationships while shoe-horning jokes in anywhere he could. Hats off, Sanderson. Your ploy has worked. One more audience member here. If only he'd requested Savage Garden instead of Phil Collins' Against all odds (Take a look at me now) I'd think he was my husband.


Unless he actually is heartbroken and the jokes were just him being a tall, charming, British trooper about it all....


Sorry, Sanderson


- RAD


* I believe so strongly that this will happen that once I heard a man dedicating a song to a woman with the same name as me and, for just a split second, I thought maybe I actually was in a relationship but had just forgotten for a bit and that the voice from inside the radio was my boyfriend. 

No stars, just love*^

This post is about star rating systems and why, if they're the only thing people look at (which is too often the case) they are nonsense, useless, unhelpful and should be struck off the list of acceptable ways to interact with comedy festival shows. Yep, 'paying too much attention to stars' can join 'jumping on stage to attempt to make out with the comedian', 'taking a poo on the table' and 'not laughing at all, not even once' on the list of audience faux pas. Actually, taking a poo on the table can go on life faux pas too. Unless you're a baby. Or just really into that. In which case you should still make sure it's on your own table or you've asked permission first. 


Digression. Apologies. Deep breath. Back on track:


"But why get rid of stars?!", you wail, "Why would you want to get rid of something that is so easy to understand and let's me make an instantaneous judgement on the value of a show?". Well, underling, here's why: you should be smarter than that. For the following reasons (unlike star ratings, bulleted lists are easy and excellent).

• Reason 1: They don't actually mean anything. That's right, you heard it here first folks. Star ratings don't actually mean a show is good or bad. They just don't. Think about it. There are so many ways to make people laugh, and so many varibles in what makes one person laugh at something and another tutt tutt and purse their lips that five little stars on their lonesome couldn't possible tell you if you'll find a show funny. What does one star mean? That the reviewer laughed for only 1/5 of the show? Or that the entire audience only laughed for 1/5? One fifth of your average 60 minute show, incidentally is 12 minutes (mad mathz skillz). Now if I laughed solidly, heartily and with my belly involved for 12 minutes of a show I wouldn't necessarily think that was a bad thing. So does one star mean that you only laugh for only six minutes and that also it was a sloppy show or they did something particularly offensive. But what causes one person offense is another person's comedy gold. And yes, yes, you could get around this by getting to know your reviewer by reading everything they've ever written and cross-checking it against your own opinions, but who's got the time?! Certainly not me, I've got mixed netball to play. So my thinking is, if the review is the bit you should pay attention to why even bother with the stars.

• Reason 2: Lots of stars are easy to get. In a way. What I mean is that there are so many people and blogs and newspapers and magazines reviewing that, like Mario, you're almost bound to collect some from somewhere.  If you flip through the guide you've got impressive stars (4.5 and 5) from the following (reputable and not so reputable) outlets:
• The Herald Sun (who also pay certain cretinous columnists who not only doesn't like refugees or Indigenous Australians but apparently has a problem with Oprah. Oprah! Do you really trust them?)
• The Age
• The Scotsman
• Adelaide Advertiser [insert obligatory 'Adelaide is boring and crap' joke here]
• The Independent
• British Comedy Guide
• RHUM
• ThreeWeeks
• Monday Magazine
• Uptown Magazine
• The Times
• The List
• The Guardian
• Canberra Times
• The West Australian
• Metro
• Scotsgay
• The Pun
• Venue Magazine
• The Funny Tonne
• Hollywood Fringe Festival
• London Times
• Chortle
• The Mirror
• Time Out
• Sunday Times
• Fest Mag

• I can't think of any more reasons right now and two isn't really that many so if you think of any please let me know. Then I will add it and claim your idea as my own, mmkay? Kay good. 

Now that you've read my (bulletproof bulleted) argument I'm sure you'll be ignoring stars and instead devouring all of the reviews (and information about reviewers) before you see your shows. Or talking to friends who've seen shows. Or you might read this blog, which will faithfully stick to the no star rating system, (I did briefly consider a LOLCAT rating system but got distracted by this LOLCAT before the system could be developed) and follow me around little baby duck. Don't do that. I'm easily rattled. Really. Please stop even thinking it. I'm a paranoid hypochondriac so I'd think you were stalking me and that the air was giving me cancer. Seriously. Don't. Oh shit. What is that pain in the middle of my chest slightly to the right side? 

Well. That was informative. According to SilkDragon on WrongDiagnosis.com I've got heart disease. And you should always trust the first entry that comes up when you google 'ride side chest pain female'. With this very bad news upon me I feel I should offer you some sage advice. Advice is always much more likely to be true if it's coming from a dying person, you know. So hear this: 


When you want to go and have a bit of a laff, you can read reviews, or listen to your friends, or look at rubbish oustanding blogs before you part with your cash. Or you could just look at the poster and guide entry and take a flippin' punt on what looks good to you. And just go and have fun and be ready to laugh. That's what I'm going to do this year anyway. Which is why I'm going to see something called 'Sexytime!'. The rule about pooing may not apply here. 

'Til the festival, if I make it that far

-RAD

*I would like to thank one Katy Perry and her hit (as in hit me over the head for loving it so much) Teenage Dream for inspiration for the title of this post. That's right folks, she's not just a tackier version of Dita Von Teese and Russell Brans's missus. She's so much more than that. Singer, Dancer, Muse.


^Obviously there is one glaring exception to the 'no stars on this blog' rule and that is to inform you about my delectable taste in music and the way it informs my writing. See above.

This makes me happy

If Rebecca Black has to exisit then at least Conan O'Brian does too. No, wait, that's incorrect...if the record company that represents Rebecca Black (I will not post their details here for fear of encouraging other 13-year-old girls to seek their representation), Rebecca Black's parents, the people who wrote the song 'Friday' (including the lyrics 'we we we so excited', I detect a lack of, um, how do I put this, a VERB) have to exist then at least Conan O'Brian does too. 

Nine days and counting

I am so excited about the looming festival. I try to act all casual and disaffected just the way any aspiring underwhelmed hipster would but fail miserably, every time. All it takes is a whisper of "mmm...I might go" and I pounce, cat-like, head-first and usually rudely, into the conversation. "Oh. Hey...", I say while nonchalantly tucking my hair behind my ears. "You guys talking about the festival?", I continue, astounding my prey with my totally aloof coolness. What usually comes next is a confused, if not judgemental explanation that no, they are not talking about 'the festival' (whatever that is, insert eye rolls here) and are, in fact, talking about the newest ironic kitsch art exhibition featuring photos of emancipated men in sprayed-on jeans clutching crocheted tea cosys. It's being held in this new underground, above basement, converted slaughterhouse bar. I give them a big 'pffft', perhaps a flick of the double bird and swagger off, feeling pity for those who clearly have leagues to travel to reach my level of urban radness and comedy appreciation.


I then go home via the bus to sit in my parent's study on the single bed I had when I was twelve and mooch internet, and general good will, off them. If I can't have a room, house, car life of my own then I can at least have comedy. That's the saying, right? 


I know what you're thinking: 'enough about you, we're all getting jealous.' Alright, alright, I'll stop rubbing my enviably fantastic world in your snotty little face and tell you the shows I am particularly excited about. Trumpet sounds. In no particular (alphabetical) order:

• Claudia O'Doherty, What is soil erosion?  Her last show, Monster of the Deep 3D was like swimming in a bath full of glitter: initially confusing but ultimately a very fun, worthwhile experience.
• Daniel Kitson, The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church Daniel Kitson is God full stop
• Dave Callan, 0+ I don't know whether it's his voice, or his hairy chest or his voice but this man makes me laugh at traditional standup in ways that I thought traditional standup could never make me laugh. Plus he has an accenty voice.
• Dr Brown, Because My 100% all time good party time always and infinitely favourite performer of the 2010 festival would make my giddy if he ever looked me in the eye. And then said "I love you". This is the amount of famous-person love I hold for him that (a) I have even imagined this scenario and (b) I would vomit from excitement if it ever happened. Please don't tell him I said this.
• Fear of a Brown Planet Attacks  I like these guys a lot. Good political comedy, poking fun at world leaders, irrelevant senators and former leaders and...oh wait...oh now you're pointing out how racist Australians are. Oh hahaha. I hate those racist bogans too!...oh...nope...definitely pointing out what's wrong with my inner-city-leftist-politically-correct hogwash. I'll just have a sit and a giggle and be silently amazed at how much righter you are than me.
• Mathew Kenneally and the Great Escape This guy should be really famous. But for that to happen Australians would firstly have to care, secondly be informed and thirdly be informed and care enough to laugh about the caring and the information. And they would have to want to pay money to see political comedy. 
• Sammy J & Randy in Bin Night Last year I left their show, Sammy J & Randy in Rickett's Lane, full and satisfied. They're like a TV show you want to quote to everyone afterwards but you realise half way through the 'joke' that actually it's more of a story and probably, might just a little bit require you to tell some backstory. Sharing the fun inevitably means you stumble all over your words and say things like "Oh! It was just so funny, they were playing chess, but it wasn't chess...you know when you make up rules to games, and it like, simultaneously makes the game more easier 'cause the rules were always developed by one person to win more points but then there are so many that it's actually harder? Anyway, so there's this game...". This is exhausting and in no way entertaining for the listener. Which is why you should just see them live for yourself. They're cleverer and better at saying things than me. 

I could keep going forever but it's my bed time (read: past my parent's bed time and they say the 'clacking' of the keys keeps them up in the next room). 'Til the festival, if not before. 

Yours faithfully, 

-RAD