3rd annual ‘No War Cabaret’ at the Peace Café

The Peace Café: café sonteipheap

Saturday night saw the 3rd annual ‘No War Cabaret’ at the Peace Café.

This normally quiet and relaxing bar was packed to the rafters by about 8:30, with standing room only for the dozens of latecomers.

The audience though was one of the funniest things all evening. Bum and Draze were there early, mingling with the crowd, looking as always, like very scary, heavily made-up, transvestite serial killers. A large number of young Khmer ladies in tow. Michael Hayes, the editor of the Phnom Penh Post even put in a guest appearance. One aging, English teaching, drug-fiend and sex tourist loitered on the periphery for a while. As well as a crowd of guys wearing ‘Danger: Landmines’ tee-shirts’ a very scary looking yuon lady-boy was also floating around solo, we initially thought that s/he was going to be one of the acts, but it turn out that s/he was just their for a chilled glass of chardonnay. Scariest of all though was a guy who looked like the bastard offspring of Jimmy Saville and Nancy Spungen wandering around in his vest with some rather severe personal hygiene issues.

Even the sandal wearing, lentil eating NGO crowd took time out from their busy schedule of yoghurt weaving and brown rice polishing to turn up for a bit - presumably between leaving Café Java and before heading over to Topaz.

Sprinkled though out all these ‘Johnny-come-lately’s’ were members of the usual Peace Café clientele; English teachers, long term expatriates, volunteer workers, international drug barons fighting extradition, et cetera.

The acts were entertaining, some good, some bad, some something. The beer flowed, the people laughed, more beer flowed and everyone was smiling.

Chris Mothershead opened the cabaret and was unfortunately plagued with a few technical difficulties during the first part of his set – still, after soundly whipping the Khmer sound boy from whom the kit had been hired it was all sorted out. His American-centric humour seemed to go over well with those that understood it, but being a true blue Englishman I had no idea who half of the American politicos were whom he was lambasting.

More along my line was the comedian Chris Sewart from Leicester, England. Although his dick and fart jokes did not seem too popular with those ladies whot lunch you know, the ones who drive 4x4 Toyota Landcruisers…

Still not too worry, a randomish pair of musicians played a nice happy clappy song about Jesus later on and they were seen smiling, as well as rocking to and fro with a slightly unnerving fervour.

The crowd was in full drunken pitch by the time Bum and Draze started, having been allowed ample hard drinking time during one ‘band’ who performed just before them; this two person setup played music reminiscent of Phoebe from Friends, I swear that their rendition of ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ was done to the tune of ‘smelly cat’…

Still, it gave everyone time to get the systems fully stocked with alcohol before Satan’s Finnish lapdogs took to the stage, with firecrackers, smoke, full throated screams and an excellent new addition - a brass section ?!?!

Highly entertaining and slightly life threatening, just as rock’n’roll should be.

All in all entertaining, fun and not to mention drunken evening. Congratulations to the Peace Café and we will see you again long before the next one.

*******

One of the highlights of the evening for me did not even happen on stage, the editor of a local e-zine, (who had earlier been carried into the bar on his usual diamond encrusted sedan-chair) overhead some Australian mouthing off at the bar about his wonderful Arabian Nights style apartment, being unable to resist enquiring further as to what the hell this guy was talking about he asked the guy a couple of questions – the usual expat stuff; how long you been here, what do you do, what the hell is “an Arabian Nights themed apartment” when it is at home and what the hell is one doing in Phnom Penh???

During this questioning, the aforementioned barbeque-jockey squeaked some excuse and ran off to hide behind his girlfriend.

Returning back to his Campari and Tabasco shooters, the editor then grumbled something about ‘bloody estate-agents’

Now that is what I call alternative comedy