Last updated: 6 hours ago
On a hot and steamy, storm stricken night, Dan Crestani slips through the folding front doors of a dead end, down town disco dive with nothing but an old, soggy six string and a pair of worn out, soul stomped boots.
He staggers towards the bar, six string in hand, demanding a pint of down beat mongrel dub with a hint of dirty disco juice, and a chaser of tequila soul sunrise - neat.
He takes the stage, striking up the band is his stride, lights a glitter infused cigar, takes a swig from the doomsday disco cup, sinks the sunrise, and whilst carefully caressing and manipulating the mic, he takes one foul swipe with his rhythm stick, unleashing thundering subdub destruction upon the dancefloor, brainwashing every pokie playing punter, grooveless geezer and countless confetti casualties into dub thumping, full strength soul shakers, bumping and boogie-woogying across a glitter filled groove graveyard.
He staggers towards the bar, six string in hand, demanding a pint of down beat mongrel dub with a hint of dirty disco juice, and a chaser of tequila soul sunrise - neat.
He takes the stage, striking up the band is his stride, lights a glitter infused cigar, takes a swig from the doomsday disco cup, sinks the sunrise, and whilst carefully caressing and manipulating the mic, he takes one foul swipe with his rhythm stick, unleashing thundering subdub destruction upon the dancefloor, brainwashing every pokie playing punter, grooveless geezer and countless confetti casualties into dub thumping, full strength soul shakers, bumping and boogie-woogying across a glitter filled groove graveyard.
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