Har Mar Superstar - Barfly, Cardiff

Har Mar arrives on the barfly stage like Rocky, hooded and bristling for action; immediately he’s in the faces of the giggling girls at the front who whoop and holler ever louder as he gradually strips down through several layers of capes and shirts until finally it’s just us, him and his snug fit pants. He’s brought a band out on the road with him this time but, while I guess that they are more company on the bus than his i-pod, they don’t really add a great deal to the experience because, when you’re a superstar, the bit part players just don’t register. We’ve had Har Mar here in Cardiff before of course and he’s not forgotten his experience, appreciatively noting that I Love playing Cardiff…the girls have such huge boobs. That’s basically Har Mar all over, he’s the Bernard Bresslaw of B-Boy Soul, smut and innuendo pepper each verse and chorus and you just don’t know whether to laugh or dance.

Who here wants to **** me tonight? he asks after oozing through ‘D.U.I.’ Totally possible he nods as multiple hands shoot into the air, but I gotta watch you take the morning after pill – I’ll pay…I’ll pay half, not including taxes. How could the girls resist? After all he’s just astounded them by performing some grade a B-Boy headstand moves while under the influence of a shot of JD he’s purloined from the bar. The biggest reaction of the night, however, is reserved for his falsetto rendition of the Libertines ‘Don’t Look Back Into The Sun’, although recent single ‘Tall Boy’ which in America obviously refers to a keg of beer but over here it’s a piece of furniture right? I guess that doesn’t work quite so well…, runs it close for some hot, sweaty fun.

Throughout the set Har Mar gets intimate with his fans, eschewing the stage for the hands on experience of getting down amongst his adoring public. The show ends on a bit of a downer though as, with the band dismissed from the stage and Har Mar down to his pants he attempts an a cappella version of an old Boyz-II-Men number which is continually heckled down by a couple of brain dead beer monsters. Eventually, after two aborted attempts, he’s had enough and, thanking them for ruining the final song of a three month tour he departs. Happy Christmas.

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