THE NAKED CITY with Coffin Ed, Miss Death & Jay Katz

And Now – Here’s George!

The death of legendary jazz pianist George Shearing last month at the age of ninety one recalls a much recited urban myth that has done the rounds of Sydney bohemia and beyond for the past 30 or 40 years. During that time it has undergone extensive embellishment and some creative rewriting but the basic tale remains the same and the eventual punchline is forever unchanged.

So here we go as we travel back to the 60s or 70s when the old Elizabethan Theatre still stood proudly (prior to its incineration) just off King Street in Newtown. A group of Sydney jazz buffs had combined to stage a concert there. Some recall it as a benefit for a disadvantaged muso, others merely as an expression of cultural bravado. Whatever the motive an impressive roster of local musicians was recruited for the event and tickets were quickly put on sale.

Posters were printed and costly advertisements splashed across a number of magazines and newspapers. Despite some positive publicity in the afternoon tabloids, the organisers soon realised that tickets weren’t selling and met one night in the “Talking Tables” restaurant in King Street to plan a new strategy.

“What we need is a really big name to bring in the fans,” one of the committee urged. “Maybe a world famous overseas jazz artist might save us from what is looming as a major financial disaster.”

“How about George Shearing?,” somebody mumbled.   “I have a contact, I am sure I could get George for a really good price, if that’s what you want.”  Within days the deal had been struck and the posters and press adverts quickly amended to read “SPECIAL GUEST – GEORGE SHEARING!”

The results were phenomenal. Tickets sold out in less than a week and the whole city was buzzing with the news that the Elizabethan Theatre would soon be home to George Shearing. The night arrived quickly and the packed audience extended rapturous applause to the cream of Australian jazz talent who played the opening spots.

As good as the locals were the undermining anticipation was all for George, who everybody knew would be the final act on the bill. And so the moment arrived as a hush fell over the audience and with the curtain closed, the compere grabbed the mic to make that almighty announcement.

“And now ladies and gentleman – we are proud to present for the first time ever in Sydney – George Shearing!”

The curtains drew back and to everybody’s amazement there was a guy shearing a sheep with GEORGE emblazoned in large bold letters across his t-shirt. The real George Shearing was nowhere to be seen.

By this time the organisers had well and truly scarpered. The ensuing riot needed every policeman within the inner city to contain the wrath of the audience who stormed the ticket office wielding the amputated arms of theatre seats and half empty bottles of KB Lager.

Years later the old Elizabethan mysteriously burnt down and to this day irate punters from the notorious “George Shearing” concert are blamed for the inferno. Hopefully George’s  sad departure last month will evoke some respect and solemnity and finally put this long standing urban myth to bed – for once and forever!