INSIDE
THE ARIAS AFTER PARTY
So
apparently the official after party of the ARIA Awards is a pretty big deal. Tickets
to the VIP event will cost you 500 dollars a pop if you are a member of the public.
Otherwise you better be a top-selling Aussie artist, industry executive or Angela
Bishop (a hot shot entertainment journalist in other words). Alternatively, you
could just gate-crash.*
A colleague and I had media access
to the red carpet and the media room backstage at the Opera House where we could
interview the stars after they won their awards. We had an opportunity to ask
our pressing questions to Australia's hottest music acts and were even given complimentary
gourmet sandwiches. While this was a pretty awesome perk - we were hungry for
more.
After the awards ceremony, we made friends with a few
folks with 'ARIA Gold Passes' - meaning they had VIP access to the after-party.
Then, pretending to be deep in conversation with them, we followed closely behind
them to the door to where the invite-only soiree was being held.
To
our surprise security waved us through. By security, I mean one burly bloke who
was distracted by having to take a photo of Richard Wilkins with two fans (and
no, surprisingly, we didn't pay them as a decoy). After breathing a sigh of relief
we made a beeline for the bar. The bar served Pure Blondes, Crown Lagers, and
moderate quality red and white wines - not bottles of Crystal champagne on ice
as I had imagined. Most importantly, it was all free, of course.
After
downing a few glasses, we were ready to track down some celebs. Most of the guests
were dressed to the nines in glamorous designer frocks and suits - though the
majority of guests were just rich, rather than famous. We spotted Ricki Lee near
the bar introducing her new boyfriend 'Jason' to some other guests. Not all that
exciting although he did look like a toy boy (robbing the cradle eh, Ricki?).
Next,
we spotted Aussie music icon Molly Meldrum - the distinctive hat was a giveaway
- entertaining a crowd of guests who had gathered around him like a bunch of wide-eyed
school kids. I tried to convince my colleague to come and hassle him for a photo
but Molly looked like the most popular guy at the party, so we decided to save
him the effort.
We spotted an enticing outdoor tent with a
canopee filled with fairy lights and decided that this must be where the dancefloor
and the action is. We were afraid of being checked for Gold Passes upon entering
the tent but after raiding the bar again and gaining some good old Dutch courage,
we headed for said tent.
On the way, we encountered Aussie
rock royalty - Powderfinger's Bernard Fanning who had just pulled the plug on
his band and vowed never to do a comeback tour. He was quietly chatting to a small
group of friends, red wine in hand, but there was no sign of the rest of the band.
The music was also too loud to listen to Bernard's conversation although we tried
to hang out as close as we could to him without looking like deranged stalkers.
Bernard's mobile rang and he went off to take the call privately - but again I
resisted following him with a tape recorder. I guess I'm too big a Powderfinger
fan to disrespect him like that. After all, it was Powderfinger's moment of glory
- their very last ARIA Awards after picking up 18 pointy silver trophies.
My
colleague visited the men's room and came back with some juicy goss. Apparently,
four band members from a music act that was nominated for several awards that
night all went into the same cubicle in the bathroom and mentioned an 'eight ball.'
Guess who don't sue! One of the band members later walked past us looking pretty
off his head. So ARIA-nominated musicians do cocaine? Wow, what a surprise!
After
that bit of excitement, off to the tent we went. Instead of finding dancing, most
people were sprawled out on white chaise lounges sipping champagne. This was an
incredibly laid-back party. We headed to the bar inside the tent for more free
drinks. I sampled the champers - the Opera House's finest Cuvee. It ended up being
a letdown and I left my barely sipped glass on an empty table.
About
200 glamorous people were spread out on ivory sofas engrossed in private chats
but we really couldn't spot any celebs - apart from Video Hits host Dylan Lewis
weaving his way through the crowd. There was no sign of Washington, John Butler
Trio or Angus and Julia Stone although I imagined they were probably all smoking
joints in the back of a Kombi van with Isabel Lucas.
Well
if we couldn't find celebs, sampling the cheese platter was the next best thing.
There must have been about 50 huge platters of them spread throughout the party.
We sat down on a lounge with a large platter of camembert and brie. I'm not usually
a cheese person but if you crash a party people pay half a week's wage for, I
was going to take full advantage.
The champagne was a let-down
but the cheese was to-die-for. Halfway through gorging on the plate of the exquisite
cheese, we were interrupted by a casually-dressed guy and his female companion.
"Is this your cheese?" he asked. As much as it would have made me feel
like a rock star to say "yes, this platter has our name on it", I admitted
we were gatecrashing and didn't have dibs on the cheese plate. "Haha, so
are we," they replied. Our fellow party crashers were photographers from
two big newspapers (a gatecrasher never dobs in a fellow intruder though!). It
felt good not being the only uninvited guests in the room. After helping us finish
off the cheese platter, they bid us farewell.
I considered
taking the remaining cheese as a souvenir (a successful gatecrasher always takes
a memento), but couldn't find anything to put it in. Deciding that there must
have been a better token to remember the night, I noticed some chic ceramic candle-holders
scattered on tables around the room. I discreetly knocked one onto the carpet
before tossing it into my handbag. For the record it was from Ikea - it's not
as though I stole the Crown Jewels of England.
With my stolen
candle in-tow and the realization that the bar had closed, we saw Dylan Lewis
leaving and decided it was probably time for us to go too (that guy looks like
he knows when a party has lost its lustre).
We passed Angela
Bishop deep in conversation with a gal pal and left the low-key party. We high-fived
as soon as we got down the steps and I heard my new candle holder clink in my
handbag. Woot woot we successfully crashed the ARIAS afterparty! Back next year,
I hope (I meant to the ARIA Awards Ceremony, of course)!
THE
WRAP:
BEST PART: Seeing Bernard Fanning; and the cheese platter
WORST
PART: There weren't many well-known artists there - mostly glammed-up rich people
who flitted around acting important. Many of the musos end up skipping the official
after party and head to their own private parties in hotel rooms with their record
companies so the official after party usually lasts only a few hours and has a
lot of no-shows.
WORTH PAYING FOR? 500 dollars will get you
VIP seating at the awards and access to the official after party. I wouldn't pay
500 dollars for it unless you just won lotto or really like cheese.
SHOULD
YOU CRASH NEXT YEAR? Probably not. As reporters, we had access to backstage and
could mingle with VIP guests but it would be a lot harder if you were simply an
audience member. Still, we wouldn't advise against trying your luck. Nothing says
gatecrasher quite like being thrown onto the pavement by bouncers.
*
NOTE: The term gatecrash implies that we were somehow a nuisance to other party-goers
but this is far from the truth. We behaved politely and appropriately to all guests
and refrained from violence, drug use and indecent exposure.
Camilla
Margolis
