Goulash, Transylvania, Barry Humphries
Back then, pub rock in Melbourne centred on Saturday afternoon live sessions at the Station Hotel* in Greville Street, Prahran. All the young dudes and dudettes dressed in a variety of op-shop rock-chic, Miller western shirts (lurex thread, pearl topped press studs), Lee jeans (brass button flies thank you) and tan, Cuban-heeled RM Williams boots, as they thronged to hear the bands and to see and be seen.
The person to see one afternoon was an older, solitary figure observing the goings on. It was Barry Humphries, already a legend in his home town of Melbourne. If my memory serves me correctly he was wearing a fetching blue yachting cap. Continue reading