It's not like we're fans.

That's what my flatmate and I told ourselves as we decided to go down to Indooroopilly Shoppingtown to see Bardot, the new manufactured Australian chickie pop band, perform.

It's not like we're fans.  We just want to see if they can really sing.  And anyway, we watched the audition process on tv -- we should see them in person.  And buy a poster.  And a single. For little brothers, of course.  And maybe get our photo taken.  For my website, of course.

Walking down to the bus stop, we realise we forgot the camera.  Oh well.  They're just a bunch of airbrushed, super perky pop stars.

The bus is suspiciously crowded.  Looks like we weren't the only not-fans seeing them perform.

First stop: the Cookie House for a cappucino and free candy-chip cookie.  My nod to nutrition accomplished, we follow the crowd to the far end of the mall.

Detail for non-Brisbanites: Indooroopilly Shoppingtown is huge.  We're talking three levels, plus an upper balcony for management.  Bardot were to perform at centre stage, at the far end of level 1.  It should, we reasoned, be possible to hang around the balcony on level 3 and enjoy a clear view.

Unfortunately, reason and pop music are incompatible.

There was an overweight young man who looked like the Comic Shop Guy from The Simpsons in front of me.  A thirteen year old girl behind me, who looked as though she was having a religious experience.

The crowd shifts.  I almost spill my capuccino on two primary school boys.

"We should have come earlier," says my flatmate, glaring at my drink and half-eaten cookie. Like I was the one who had to spend an hour at the gym.

The crowd shifts again.  "...Been here for two hours..." I overhear.  I can't speak over the noise of the crowd, but I've spent years practising an ’I told you so' face for moments like this.

My flatmate catches me looking speculatively at a large potted plant.  She shakes her head in warning.  I consider pretending to misunderstand, but I'm not that fond of heights or security guards.

Screams go up.  I almost grab my head, but I remember the hot coffee in my hand just in time.

We can hear a woman's voice, but no words.  We're close to the front of the balcony, but our view is blocked by a very tall, stout woman who has taken enough space for both of us.

The screaming subsides.  "Do you want Bardot?" yells the woman.  I know the voice.  That is Jackie O, co-presenter of Ugly Phil's Hot Hits on radio, and of the series Popstars, which created and launched Bardot.  Hers is the kind of job that teenage journalism students like me dream of.

The crowd screams and shifts again.  This time, the foam from my cappucino ends up on a teenage girl's Prada backpack.

My flatmate and I beat a hasty exit, disappearing into HMV music, the sponsor of the event.  There are still little brothers to be considered.

My flatmate was originally planning a poster, but the only one available is a little ... off.  As in, Katie, the androgynous-looking token tomboy of the group is riding on the back of another girl.

"I don't think my mother will let him put that up," she says.

Instead, she buys Bardot's debut single, going at $9.95.  This is her last $10 for the next week.

Leaving HMV (no sign of irate Prada owners), we strain to hear music, or failing that, a pop song.  Nothing but screams.

A six foot teenage guy has climbed on top of my potted plant.  "Can ya see Sophie?" yells one of his mates.

"Nah," he yells back.  So much for my potted plant technique.

"Let's go," suggests my flatmate.

As we walk back to the entrance, I catch a glimpse of another balcony and get an idea: maybe I can see though this balcony down to the stage.

I get a great view of a security guard's head.

"Try the lower level," suggests my flatmate.

We go down the escalators and slip behind the big cosmetics counter in front of the balcony.

"Can you see anything?" asks my flatmate.

"Nuh."  I straighten up.

"Have you considered moving this out of your way?"  She is referring to the trolley which was blocking my view.

"I'd forgotten those things could move," I say, genuinely surprised.  At her shocked look I add, "exposure to chickie-babes.  Brain matter decaying."

We move the trolley out of the way and squeeze into the small space.

"Look!" I call.

"What?"

"A shoe!"

Yes, I'm catching glimpses of a moving, dancing shoe.  No idea of who it belongs to, but only a pop star wannabe would try dancing in something like that.

"Wow."

We strain for a glimpse of the shoe's owner, but are interrupted by an irate cosmentics saleswoman who moves us along.

Going back up the escalator we are caught in the middle of a group of teens who carry on a conversation over our heads.

"I can't believe we couldn't see anything," complains one girl.

"Yeah, ripped off," agrees another.  "You guys are tall," she adds to the guy in front of me, "did you see anything?"

His face collapses into a goofy grin.  "Yeah, I saw Sophie."

"I saw a shoe," I offer brightly.  There is a strange atmosphere tonight, a sense of cameraderie between would-be Bardot fans, which breaks down the normal barriers between university and high school students.

"Yeah, guess you short chicks got it tough."

"It was a nice shoe."

Sanity music, rival to event-sponsor HMV, is loudly playing the Bardot single.  A few lines from the B-side, "Empty Room" get stuck in my head.  I start humming.

At the bus stop we meet our other flatmate.

"Did you come to see Bardot, too?" we ask.

"Who?"

The song in my head gets louder.  I have a lousy voice, but a mild cold has made it husky.  I start to sing it softly as we take our seats on the bus.

By the time we reach our house, we're all singing those few lines:

 "It's an empty room,
 without you
 without you!"

Just those lines, over and over again.

As soon as we get inside, we play the single.

It's not that great.

END

NOTES: I thought I'd better include a few things just to avoid misunderstandings:

1.  For non-Australians: Bardot are a manufactured band, created specifically for a tv series called Popstars.  The show chronicled the audition process, the recording of the album, a fairly controversial split and now the marketing process.  The success of the band itself remains to be seen, but the show is one of the highest rating series of the year so far.

2.  Please be aware that I'm prone to exaggeration, plus my memory's not that good.  I think I've captured the mood of the evening well, but I may have some details wrong.

3.  I don't mean to imply that Katie Underwood is a lesbian, and I don't really care if she is.  But it is true that her androgynous appearance has been highlighted, and that was a fairly provocative pose she was taking in the poster.

4.  "Empty Room" is written by Elizabeth Scott, and is, I presume, © Warner Music.

5.  Bardot, Popstars and all related names and trademarks are the property of either Warner Music or the Seven Network.  The official Popstars website is: www.popstars.com

6.  I am not in any way related to Indooroopilly Shoppingtown, except as a customer.  This is not intended as an advertisement for Indooroopilly Shoppingtown or any of the retailers therein.

Comments, questions, chocolate, cappucinos, Prada backpacks: elizabeth_barr@yahoo.com.au

Copyright © 2000 Elizabeth M. Barr