Ding Dong, Peter Combe’s at the door

‘Sold out,’ said the bouncer.         

I was not surprised. It was Peter Combe, after all. If you don’t already know who Peter Combe is, here’s a spot summary of the artist, and how I came to be standing outside Ding Dong’s on a Friday night to see the man.         

Ladies and gentlemen... Peter Combe

  

Mr Combe is a children’s entertainer who peaked between 1985 and 1988, when he released a trilogy of albums namely Spaghetti Bolognaise (1985), Toffee Apple (1987) and Newspaper Momma (1988) to rival the great trilogies of Tolkien and Fellini.         

I was born in 1990, but clearly my parents were too cheap to buy me the latest in kid’s entertainment, so I had to settle with Peter Combe. Turning nine, I renounced Combe and moved on to the timeless music of Britney Spears, The Venga Boys, and The Offspring.         

In 2007, after dwindling album sales Peter happened across an unruly pack of drunken teenagers dry-humping each other and singing the lyrics to one of his biggest hits, ‘Toffee Apple.’           

Inserted into the Vodka tainted lips of the teenagers the lines,         

‘Toffee apple, nice and licky, one for Judy, one for Nicky
Crunchy munchy, very sticky, don’t forget to clean your teeth
Toffee apple, nice and licky, one for Judy, one for Nicky
Crunchy munchy, very sticky, don’t forget to clean your teeth         

Daddy have a bite – chomp, chomp, chomp
Mummy have a bite – chomp, chomp, chomp
Chew it well – nyum, nyum, nyum, Mm-mm, very nice.’         

…took on a whole new meaning.         

I'm guessing the scene looked something like this...

  

Sometime later Peter got a free showcase at Melbourne University. While the bestial children’s entertainment industry had left him high and dry, the Gen Y and X’s who showered him with so much love in the past remained loyal. They remembered the lyrics and even the inane dance moves.       

Peter embraced the concept and began touring pubs and clubs. Twenty-somethings were happy to hand over a crisp $20 to be simultaneously sheltered in the warm glow of nostalgia and embrace what they now saw as veiled sexual innuendo provided by Coombe and Co.

   

Well back to the Ding Dong’s. I was just about to turn back into the boozy embrace of a Friday night with my companion, when the bouncer suggested he could ‘do something for me.’         

         

‘Twenty bucks mate,’ he said, jutting out a meaty paw. I just looked at him. ‘Twenty bucks, you an’ your friend are in mate.’ I looked at his tattooed hand for another second. I handed him the twenty, and walked up the stairs. I was half expecting to be asked for a ticket, given the show was supposed to be $20 each and had sold out and all. But the bouncer’s economically viable bribing system was clearly rather finetuned (or the ticketing staff were worried he would pummel them if they refused) and I got to see Peter Combe.         

It’s hard to review a peter Combe show. Either you grew up with the songs or you didn’t. Peter’s  delivery was quality throughout and he was generous withthe hits. In an interesting role reversal,  the man on stage served largely as a backdrop for the antics in the crowd.         

Meatheads headbanged, girls danced, punkers moshed, bogans tipped beer jugs over their heads, a man balanced a ball on his head while dancing like a bear on a hot plate. There was every type of carnie in the audience, and it was great.

   

Everyone reverted back to a childhood where being a kid was the only category. Where there were no niches, no one trying to be different, where no one cared about fashion, art, politics, and all the other stuff. Everyone sang out in disgust at the request to ‘bellyflop on a pizza’ and screamed for more spaghetti bolognaise.       

The crowd

  

However, I must admit, towards the end of the gig, the show had run its course. The nostalgia and the novelty faded . Peter Combe indicated how ‘high’ all the kids used to be and ‘how tall you are now’ one too many times. In the pussycat song he seemed to leer a bit and reminded me of that creepy uncle who seems to crop up in every family.         

The gig ended and Peter spruiked his next show, this time at the Corner Hotel. Overall, I enjoyed the night. It was certainly worth the $10 bribe. As I left I ignored the flyers for the next show. The hour and a half was enough Peter Combe, for a few months at least…