Category: ff2013

[2013097] Künt and the Gang

[2013097] Künt and the Gang

Künt and the Gang @ Austral Hotel – Red Room

11:00pm, Tue 5 Mar 2013

For all my fancy talk and wordiness, I love a bit of puerile humour… but only when it’s delivered with a sense of conviction. When the artist is utterly committed to the bit.

And there’s no doubting that Künt, with his bright yellow jumpsuit, goofy grin, and goofier dance moves, is committed to his character… and he’s apparently built up a cult following via YouTube.

Playing backing tracks off his mobile phone, Künt sang his dirty little songs – you can get a pretty good idea of the content with titles like Chips and Tits, I Sucked Off A Bloke, and Wank Fantasy – and danced little jigs to the slightly embarrassed delight of the ten people in the Red Room; he’s genuinely engaging, filthily funny, and – with the addition of his puppet doppelgänger Little Künt – supremely entertaining.

Even better, though, was the fact that Künt’s infamy was evident in one of the guys in the audience; he was singing (and dancing!) along to all the songs, and clearly was ultra-excited that Künt was in Adelaide. That kind of fandom doesn’t come for free, and – after chatting with Künt a couple of times – I was left impressed by his clarity of vision.

11:00pm, Sun 17 Mar 2013

It’s a bit of bedlam in the Fringe Club after the Fringe Awards, and my Fringe Buddy still wants to see Künt, so off we trundle for the last show of the Fringe season. And there’s only half-a-dozen in attendance, so Künt announces that it’ll be a bit of a shorter show. And whilst that announcement raised a little disappointment, that didn’t stop anyone – especially the drunk girls in the front row – from thoroughly enjoying themselves.

It was a mostly familiar set, though the addition of the gloriously rude Let’s Send Nan To Dignitas was certainly a high-point. More Chips and Tits with Little Künt was also a big win.

Künt and the Gang was a real surprise packet; it’s a delightfully puerile act, with catchy pop backing tracks and creatively filthy lyrics from a tremendously entertaining individual… and his even more offensive puppet sidekick.

[2013096] Nik Coppin is Not Racist

[2013096] Nik Coppin is Not Racist

Nik Coppin @ Austral Hotel – Red Room

9:45pm, Tue 5 Mar 2013

I’d like to consider Nik Coppin a mate; we’ve certainly shared more daytime-street-chats and late-night pizzas at San Giorgio’s than any other artist. And, despite the amount of alcohol that may have tainted those late-night sessions, I’d like to think that I’ve got a pretty good idea about who he is… about what he is.

And one thing that Nik Coppin is not is racist… despite what Peter Goers may think.

During a Fringe-related promo interview in 2012, Coppin appeared on Goers’ ABC Radio show and, in the course of conversation, mentioned a second-hand anecdote related to racism within the AFL; the banter that followed led to Goers throwing him out of the studio and labelling him a “racist”.

Which seems a little odd, since Coppin’s own experience in growing up “half-black” (half-Jamaican, half-caucasian English) resulted in being the subject of racism himself. You’d imagine that Nik would be a little… well, sensitive to the issue; indeed, racism (as well as class distinctions et al) have been a staple of his act for a few years now.

Still: at least Goers’ accusations provided the basis for this show.

Coppin uses the incident – and the subsequent legal pursuance for an apology – as the central theme for the performance, and it works pretty bloody well. He drops into material familiar from other gigs, but the constant theme of race leaves the show feeling tighter than a duck’s chuff – I was certainly never thinking that there was any filler.

With a chatty, affable style, he’s immediately likeable – not a bad effort for a purported racist. And the closing couple of minutes is some of the sweetest, most heartfelt comedy about racism that I’ve ever heard… which may sound like a backhanded compliment, but it really is quite a lovely closer.

In short, Nik Coppin is Not Racist is the most cohesive set that I’ve seen Coppin perform… it’s just a shame that he had to be defamed to create it.

[2013095] Michael Hing – Occupy White People

[2013095] Michael Hing – Occupy White People

Michael Hing @ The Tuxedo Cat – Green Room

8:30pm, Tue 5 Mar 2013

Short-run comedy shows in the Fringe always intrigue me – I wind up imagining that there’s something ballsy about the comic that thinks “Yeah – I’ll give this Fringe thing a go. I’ll just do a couple of nights, should be fine.”

And that’s exactly what drew me to Michael Hing’s show. Well… that, and the fact that he plasters a positive quote from Jamie Kilstein (from the fantastic Citizen Radio) on his flyer; the Fringe Guide blurb mentioning “racism, inequality, and dick jokes” sealed the deal.

The small crowd – less than a dozen – immediately made me wonder whether this was a worthwhile exercise for the Australian-Chinese Hing, especially given this was the last of his four shows. But he has an immediately friendly and approachable style, and he gently eases into some of his personal experiences with racism, culminating in a story about how an Asian ex-girlfriend dumped him for being too Asian.

Hing’s material tends to focus on personal anecdotes, with comedic analysis: tales from his working life pepper the set, as do recollections of schoolyard bullying. And that material is fine, especially given his innocent appearance and non-confrontational delivery; but when he veers into more risqué material – like the dick-in-the-popcorn cinema trick – it seems incongruous.

Maybe that’s a result of his obvious nervousness onstage; regardless, there was enough variety within the audience that there weren’t any dead patches throughout the show. Hing may not be a gut-busting comedian, nor is he a sharp satirist… but he did have a collection of amusing anecdotes that entertained me for an hour. But in the expanse of the Fringe, there’s many other comics I’d be recommending before Michael Hing’s name comes up.

[2013094] Homage to Uncertainty

[2013094] Homage to Uncertainty

Emma Beech @ The Tuxedo Cat – Yellow Room

7:00pm, Tue 5 Mar 2013

Emma Beech has always seemed to be the recipient of oodles of respect from the local artists that I occasionally hang out with, but – prior to this performance – I’d only ever seen her perform as the burqa-clad straight-woman to Steve Sheehan’s surrealist character, Stevl Shefn. In that role, it’s all about the eyes and the shoulders… with which Beech has managed to be so wonderfully expressive. But apart from that, and the adorable little card that acts as a flyer for Homage to Uncertainty, I am woefully ignorant of Emma’s work.

Homage starts with a bit of a stutter – Beech apologetically bumbles in, explaining how she watches people. What they do, what happens – and what doesn’t happen – as a result. She notes, with dry curiosity, the insignificant minutia that we all partake in: how we eat, how we stare at our phones, and how we waste time. Raw observation is peppered with considered insights, as short vignettes are delivered with an almost minimalist balletic physicality.

But there’s two more substantial stories that stick with me: Beech’s description of her Dad’s nervous breakdown struck a somewhat familiar chord, with her sharp analysis of the contributory causes juxtaposed with some gentle and heartfelt humour. There’s also the bittersweet tale of her brother’s friend, the Kramer to his Seinfeld, who strikes it rich with a speculative Internet venture whilst the hardworking brother sees no such reward.

Those two stories pretty much sum up Homage to Uncertainty – observation, objectivity, musings, mild heartbreak, light humour. And whilst Beech’s presentation certainly held my attention, the ending – such as it was – felt almost obscenely abrupt; it was almost as if the script was missing a page in the denouement. But that’s a small criticism for an otherwise engagingly quirky show.

[2013093] No Moral Compass

[2013093] No Moral Compass

Stuart Black @ Austral Hotel – The Bunka

5:45pm, Tue 5 Mar 2013

I like talking to people about the shows they’ve seen at Fringe time; long gone are the days where I’d purchase 95% of my Fringe tickets before the season starts. Nowadays, my scheduling is pretty loose, and I’m usually only buying tickets the day before the show, at the earliest… and that means that, when my Event Buddy spoke highly of No Moral Compass, I happily squeezed it in.

A shame, then, that more people didn’t do the same – there were less than a dozen people in the audience, and there were a bunch of artist comps in that lot. And there was a hint of wearied disappointment in Stuart Black’s eyes when he took to the stage… but that didn’t seem to affect his performance.

His style is relatively gentle: long, ambling stories sprout from the germs of some clever ideas. Black admits to a range of substance abuse, garners a few laughs, then shifts gears to talk about a deceased friend (to whom the show was dedicated). Then, as if determining that the tonal shift was a leap too far, Black focussed on his own depression…

…or, rather, his periods of misanthropic depression. And I start giggling uncontrollably – the flaws that he is using as the basis of his material are all-too-familiar to me, and Black’s insights are pretty sharp… and his not-overly-profane choice of phrasing is endearing. The pièce de résistance, however, is his story involving the services of a Polish prostitute: it’s a hilarious (and occasionally painful) tale that twists and turns before settling in for a glorious denouement. That joke alone is worth every cent of the minuscule ticket price.

I really enjoyed Stuart Black’s performance, and I’m certainly glad I saw him do a full set – I don’t think a tight five- or ten-minutes as part of an ensemble would suit his style. Some curious ideas, some lovely wordplay, and a relatively gentle presentation: what’s not to love?

[2013092] Thursday

[2013092] Thursday

Brink Productions & English Touring Theatre @ Norwood Concert Hall

11:00am, Tue 5 Mar 2013

The story of Gill Hicks is both tragic and inspiring: the Adelaide-born woman was the last living survivor rescued from the 7/7 bombings in London, with both her legs being amputated below the knee (and even then, she was not expected to survive her injuries). Bryony Lavery’s script is based on Hicks’ life both before and after the event; in fact, the bombing itself is almost downplayed. Far from being an blunt treatise on terrorism, Thursday is a very human story.

A contemplative opening sees us introduced to a plethora of characters and their morning routines: love and frustration and anger, all mired in domesticity. But the play twists sharply after a terrorist attack, and the characters’ lives become entwined within the confines of a hospital; motions and emotions blur, with relief and anguish and anger all on display. Rose – the character inspired by Hicks – quickly becomes central to the lives of others, as her common thread allows access to doctors and nurses and victims and the bereaved.

There’s no doubting that Thursday packs a powerful punch: Lavery’s script is chock full of believable interactions between believable characters, and even when Rose is left alone onstage there’s an ongoing battle with herself. Performances are universally wonderful (with most performers in multiple roles), and the set is a creative gem: two or three scenettes can occur simultaneously, providing the audience with everyday minutia… and, later, a barrage of grief and panic.

But the thing that I most remember now is the aural atmosphere; music was sparse and effective, but the moment of the bombing itself – rather than being a monstrous cacophony of light and sound, as one might expect – was almost muted: one moment there’s the mild discomfort of packed commuters on a train, then a blackout preceded the revelation of a pile of bodies. But that absence of sound sticks with me still, and remains a remarkable decision amongst Chris Drummond’s sterling direction.

I loved (or, rather, was left feeling like I’d seen something special in) Thursday – unsurprising, really, since Brink really knows how to connect with me. That this production couples such a powerful story (full of sensitivity and humanity both familiar and foreign) with superb performances (Kate Mulvany’s central role is absolutely wonderful) is a real work of art.

[2013091] Sam Marzden’s History of Rock’n’Roll (1962-1989)

[2013091] Sam Marzden’s History of Rock’n’Roll (1962-1989)

Sam Marzden @ Bakehouse Theatre – Studio

10:30pm, Mon 4 Mar 2013

Sure, I may be in the middle of a K-pop midlife crisis (new blog coming soon! …maybe), but I used to adore me some rock and metal. Even better is the almost infallible combination of rock’n’roll and comedy – sure, everyone knows of bands like Spinal Tap, but there’s also the far superior Bad News and comedians in the vein of Steve Hughes. So when Sam Marzden promised to reveal the sordid details behind the lives of some of rock’s greatest musicians, I was instantly onboard.

Marzden appears as quite the rock tragic: he carries himself with a confident swagger, and takes regular swigs from a litre-bottle of vodka throughout the show. He introduces himself as someone who hates rock stars… though, he freely admits, that hatred is mostly driven by jealousy. And he demonstrates that jealousy by opening with the story of one of the gigs where Keith Moon collapsed; that someone could be so talented and so irresponsibly self-destructive clearly irks Marzden.

Performed largely as stand-up rockumentary, History of Rock’n’Roll has an amazingly flab-free script; it’s effectively built around two Top Five lists that, whilst appearing depressing, were a goldmine of facts and comedic material. His Top Five Worst Gigs included the Rolling Stones headline performance at Altamont, a fantastic GG Allin sidetrack, and The Beatles at Shea Stadium… but that was just a warmup for his Top Five Worst Rock-Related Deaths.

Not only were the usual suspects mentioned – Black Sabbath’s Suicide Solution and Judas Priest’s Better By You, Better Than Me (and their corresponding court cases) – but there was a wealth of information that I hadn’t encountered before: the story behind Marvin Gaye’s death was fascinating (in a macabre way), and the Paul Is Dead conspiracy was discussed at enjoyable length.

Marzden is brilliant throughout: he knows his material well, and delivers it with the conviction of a true fan. The writing is immaculate – there’s a really lovely torrent of alliteration in the middle of the show that was a joy to behold – and I left the show convinced that I’d seen one of the highlights of the Fringe.

But…

There’s a downside. Sure, Monday nights are usually pretty quiet, and the Bakehouse’s Studio is a small room, but there was only seven people at this performance. Worse still, those seven people consisted of two (rudely officious) media pass holders and one judge, their complimentary plus-ones, and myself. So I was the solitary paying punter in the house that night… and that saddens me no end, because this show deserved so much better.

[2013090] Kronos Quartet

[2013090] Kronos Quartet

Kronos Quartet + Bryce Dessner & Zephyr Quartet + JG Thirwell @ Thebarton Theatre

7:00pm, Mon 4 Mar 2013

As mentioned before, Kronos Quartet were most certainly the reason I bought this ticket early; but I’m rapidly (rabidly?) becoming a Zephyr Quartet fanboy, and the opportunity to see JG Thirwell (the man behind industrial stalwart Foetus, and responsible for one of my favourite Nine Inch Nails remixes) was also a pretty big drawcard… needless to say I was pretty excited heading into Thebby.

My neighbours, on the other hand, were most certainly not thrilled to be there… nor were they pleased that the average age of the audience tended towards the mid-thirties. It’s fair to say that they had a traditionalist approach to string quartets that they’d formed many decades ago; faces frozen in a perpetual scowl, any attempt to make conversation was instantly scotched with a glare. I note that their mood lightened briefly when Festival Director David Sefton walked towards us; the scowl returned when he and I chatted for a minute or so. He was a row closer to the stage than I; “take my seat after the interval,” he offered, “I’ve got to go back into town to see Sylvie.”

“Come on, man,” I retorted, “it’s pretty easy to schedule all this stuff.” He laughed, shook my hand, and took his seat; the Mayor and Mayoress of FunTown next to me huffed audibly.

The lights dropped, and Zephyr Quartet took to the stage with JG Thirwell. And, without mincing words, their performance was absolutely the kind of thing I live for: ominous notes, unsettling chords, a brooding sense of uncertain terror in every moment, it was like listening to an Edgar Allan Poe poem in musical form. With Thirwell supporting the Quartet on keys and percussion, the pace and tension of some of their pieces (in particular, their third work) was utterly invigorating.

Again, let me be quite clear: Zephyr + Thirwell was awesome, and stoked the Zephyr fanboy flames ever-higher.

My grumpy neighbours left during the subsequent interval, never to return: this was not Their Kind Of Quartet (but they are, most certainly, my kind of quartet). A quick chat with Sefton – “that was fucking awesome” sounds like something I’d say – and I availed myself of the opportunity to steal his seat, inching closer to Kronos.

Despite my mild disappointment I experienced after their previous performance, the first piece that Kronos performed won me over: engaging and thoughtful, it was a beautiful introduction. The second piece was a quirky number, seeing the quartet adopt a number of other instruments – an electric zither, a portable record player – and I was starting to grin madly.

But then I detected some noise in the background – was that a backing track? I listened harder, and couldn’t shake the idea that they were performing atop a pre-recorded backdrop – instantly, a good chunk of the mystery and magic disappeared. I was still enjoying myself, but the second-guessing of what was “real” and what was pre-recorded lessened the thrill noticeably.

JG Thirwell’s composition Eremikophobia (a fear of sand or deserts) was a drawn out monster, with a seemingly endless denouement that felt perfectly weighted – proper hold-your-breath-waiting-for-the-last-note-to-fade stuff. Finally, Bryce Dessner joined Kronos onstage; that piece threatened to dissolve into polyrhythmic art rock-wank, but was luckily saved by the rock power of Dessner’s guitar.

As I headed back into the city, I couldn’t help but think the scheduling of that performance was all wrong: as much as I enjoyed the musical content of Kronos’ set, it was tarnished by the backing track second-guessing… and the fact that Zephyr’s set blew them off the stage. Imagine walking into the warm evening having just been unsettled by those notes – the very thought gives me goosebumps.

[2013089] Festival Fishbowl

[2013089] Festival Fishbowl

Jason Chong and guests @ Rhino Room – Beer Garden

4:30pm, Mon 4 Mar 2013

Last year’s Festival Fishbowl experience exposed me to another quirky ensemble option, and so – on an otherwise quiet Monday – I wandered down to Rhino for a peek. It’s horribly humid, and the Beer Garden is uncomfortably sticky… and I’m the only punter there.

Other people are present, to be sure – besides host Jason Chong and his tech, Maz, their collection of guests meant that they weren’t just performing to the Internet and an empty room. Dave Warneke was first up, explaining his ensemble quiz show FACTY FACT – and showing off an obscenely gangly life-sized cardboard cutout of himself (which later graced the Tuxedo Cat).

Mark Trenwith and Chong chatted briefly about living together in Melbourne (and Trenwith’s deaf housemate), and Ben Mellor & Dan Steele (performers of the wonderful Anthropoetry) spoke about their travels to Kangaroo Island on their week off, and followed up with Head State. Finally, visual artist Janicke Johansen discussed her exhibition Waste-Land and showed off one of her pieces.

Throughout, Chong keeps energy levels high (a tough ask in the humidity), and engages each of the guests in short games. But maybe I should just stop typing – after all, I’ve still got another 67 shows to write up after this one – and give you a bunch of YouTube links to watch it yourself. Here y’go: Intro, Dave Warneke, Mark Trenwith, Anthropoetry, Janicke Johansen.

So – if you can watch the whole thing online, why will I persist in going to these Fishbowls (schedule and sleep permitting, of course)? Well, I get to fling a couple of dollars Chong’s way, of course – I like the fact that he produces a show like this amidst the hubbub of the Fringe. But it’s mainly to find the shows I might’ve otherwise missed, and to talk to more artists; not only did I get the chance to thank Mellor and Steel (once again) for their fantastic show, but my conversation with Warneke cemented my intention to see FACTY FACT, and I wound up seeing Johansen’s work during the last of my ArtWalks (I just snuck in before her work was packed up on March 30… does it surprise anyone that I have a list of all the Visual Art events I attended?). So in that regard, Festival Fishbowl works like a charm for me.

[2013088] Circolombia

[2013088] Circolombia

Circolombia @ The Garden of Unearthly Delights – The Big Top

9:30pm, Sun 3 Mar 2013

I’m starting to get a bit weary of the super-polished productions that appear in the larger venues in The Garden; as I’ve previously stated, I like my acrobatics up-close and dirty, with the muscles of performers twitching under duress in clear view. Whilst the Cantinas and La Cliques and Limbos of the world impress in terms of the spectacle, they also distance themselves from the audience by virtue of their size.

And so, when walking into The Big Top to discover a wide performance area with shallow audience areas (I hesitate to call it “seating”) around the space, I immediately started gauging the distance between my eyes and where the performers would be… and my heart sank a little. Circus at a distance, it would appear. I looked at my ticket – $52. Shit. Think positive thoughts, think positive thoughts…

But as soon as the music started thumping (a consistent urban beat that drove the performance along), and the lights started flashing, it became evident that Circolombia would provide substance to match their style. Hailing from the Circo Para Todos (Circus For All) school in Cali, Colombia, the cast are uniformly beautiful human specimens, and they certainly perform: running, dancing, bounding, leaping, spinning, somersaulting, flipping, flying, soaring.

Oh, and they sing too, whilst revelling in a sense of convincingly ghetto camaraderie.

Aside from one spectacular trick at the tail end of the show – a stunning contrivance of a stunt that sees one performer twist and flip through the air before landing (and striking a cheekily lazy pose) in a chair suspended at the end of a pole three-quarters of the way to the roof – there were no new tricks to be found… hoops and ropes and ribbons all made appearances to support the performance, circus staples were separated by hip-hop dance battles, and the projection of movies into the space gave the cast opportunity to occasionally catch their breath (and allowed us to breathe again). There’s a polish in the multimedia support for the production, but it doesn’t seem at odds with the grittiness of the performers.

Was the makeup on the performers (and their marketing) a little over-the-top? Yep. Was the cast (a little disappointingly) male-heavy? Yes, though the women who were there more than held their own in the stunt department. Did some of the musical numbers grate my old-man ears almost instantly? You betcha. But there’s a sense of urgency in the production that more than makes up for any feelings of been-there-done-that; there’s a vigour and creativity that lifts this high above the other big-ticket productions. Whilst I may have been concerned about becoming jaded, Circolombia proved to be satisfyingly surprising.

[2013087] Dirtday!

[2013087] Dirtday!

Laurie Anderson @ Dunstan Playhouse

7:30pm, Sun 3 Mar 2013

There’s no point trying to hide the fact that I was disappointed by Laurie Anderson’s first paid offering this Festival, so I scooted into the Playhouse a little… well, wary. Hoping for the best, naturally, but preparing to ward off another snooze.

As per usual, I start chatting to my neighbours, a Tasmanian couple in Adelaide for the weekend; we compare notes and, as I raved animatedly about Skeleton, I discover that they (claim to) know Larissa McGowan personally. They’re thrilled to hear my ham-fisted and completely inadequate description of how amazing it was; they promised to pass on the compliments, before explaining the some of the finer points of Laurie Anderson’s body of work to me.

The stage is littered with candles, an armchair, various microphones, a keyboard, Anderson’s violin; there’s something about the candles that screams “these are precisely placed to appear nonchalant”, but I can’t figure out why they appear that way, nor why they should appear that way. The ambience is contemplative, but with a casual vibe; meditative and mysterious. And when Anderson walks onstage (I dwelt for ages on that verb – it wasn’t as focussed as a stride, nor lazy as an amble), it’s to rapturous applause – and I realised that I still didn’t know quite what to expect.

What followed was an odd mélange of spoken-word and music, of private and political; Anderson flits from story to poem to song, skirting across instruments and soundscapes and vocal manipulations, the steady rhythm of her voice just about the only constant in her delivery. Religion, politics, painting, art; feminism, the underprivileged, the loss of identity in modernity. It’s all in there, it’s all colourful, and it should be a mish-mash of grey as a result…

…but somehow every element of the performance comes together to form a cohesive whole. And the thing that makes it work for me is Anderson’s spoken delivery: it’s wonderfully measured, and she demonstrates a superb sense of timing, especially when it comes to injecting humour or sadness into the proceedings; no more so than when she spoke of her dog. What seemed like an eccentric excursion into the piano-playing of Lolabelle turned into a deeply touching tale of loss… a real rollercoaster of a sojourn.

I found Dirtday! to be an absolutely enthralling performance. Without settling on a single form of delivery, or even a single theme, Anderson somehow manages to conjure a sense of cohesion in the work that I still can’t quite figure out; that I can still be dwelling on her methods (and her message) some nine months on seems appropriate… and satisfying.

[2013086] The Deer Johns are Growing Up

[2013086] The Deer Johns are Growing Up

The Deer Johns @ The Big Slapple – Apollo Theatre

6:00pm, Sun 3 Mar 2013

After thoroughly enjoying The Deer Johns in both 2011 and 2012, Growing Up was a certain inclusion on The Shortlist; the only possible concern was that the focus of this year’s musical time-warp was the 70s, of which my musical knowledge was decidedly shakier.

The Deer Johns know that they’ve got a winning formula, and Growing Up doesn’t bother to mess with it too much. There’s still a cheesy narrative thread that ties their vaguely relevant selection of 70s pop/rock classics together, but it seems to have taken a bit more of a back-seat this time around; the trio appear to be much more relaxed (as a result, maybe?), and the music feels… I dunno, more relaxed and fun. There’s much more humour to be derived from their renditions of the tunes, rather than the narrative dialog – two obvious examples being the regular Black Betty flashes by the drummer, and the progressive Bohemian Rhapsody playthrough.

While previous Deer Johns shows have had me occasionally lambasting the arrangements of songs, I very much enjoyed the instrumentation of this setlist – but I’m left to wonder whether that’s my lack of deep knowledge of the songs? Sure, many of the tracks were singalong familiar… but even when I did had a stronger remembrance of the song, the interpretation often delighted: Elton John & Kiki Dee’s classic Don’t Go Breaking My Heart, rendered with Jesse Cotton’s accordion, was an absolute pearler.

And, far from being a collection of songs I didn’t recognise (as I had initially feared), the selection was fabulous: Hall & Oates made an appearance, ELO got a couple of berths (though Mr Blue Sky is so terribly overrated), and even the fabulous Cool for Cats got an airing. Besides the bold mis-step of attempting Another Brick In The Wall, the only real disappointment in the show – especially compared to last year‘s gargantuan effort – was the crowd; there was probably a healthy eighty-odd people in, but within the yawning spaces of the Apollo it felt… well, a little insulting, really.

A need to dash to my next show meant that I didn’t have time to chat to The Johns post-show; hopefully I managed to impart a hearty thankyou in the words that were flung their way as I scooted out the door. And look – you can watch this entire show online, if you were unable to get to the show yourself. But you know what? You really should give them some cash, or at least some attention, if you get the chance: The Deer Johns use a ropey narrative to deliver cheeky interpretations of quality songs with a wink and a smile, and that makes for an occasionally groan-worthy – but always enjoyable – show.

[2013085] The Girl Who Won’t Grow Up

[2013085] The Girl Who Won’t Grow Up

Megan Doherty @ La Bohème

4:30pm, Sun 3 Mar 2013

As I head back into the city from North Adelaide, I duck into Burgastronomy for a tasty bite; crossing the bottom of O’Connell Street, a car full of young men drives past. My orange hair, coupled with my beloved green Young Gods t-shirt, draws their attention: “Oi, Drop Dead Fred!” they catcalled, and I made a mental note to thank my hairdresser for nailing my colour.

I’m fading as I get to LaB, and the days (and, more pertinently, the nights) catch up to me; it’s sleepily warm inside, but the mojitos are refreshing. And, more importantly, Megan Doherty’s stage presence is enough to keep my eyelids wide open.

Doherty’s cabaret show is tightly constructed around her dreams; as she gets older, Megan has realised that a lot of her childhood dreams aren’t going to come true, but accepts that dreams are still an important reflection on who she is… and who she wants to be. Accompanied by Daniel Brunner on piano (who gets a few vocal moments to shine too), her voice is gorgeous, with plenty of soaring notes and some occasional grittiness, and the number of off-key micro-moments could be counted on one hand.

The song choice was varied and creative: a few cabaret staples, a curious melding of Creep and Tim Minchin’s When I Grow Up, and a storming rendition of Ride This Feeling closed out the show. But my highlight was another Minchin cover, Not Perfect – it’s a truly beautiful song that rarely fails to make me well up with tears, and Doherty’s rendition does it proud.

By having no real expectations walking into the show, this proved to be a very pleasant surprise – Megan Doherty is a wonderful performer, and brings a genuine sense of honesty and humour to the stage. Well crafted and supremely polished, The Girl Who Won’t Grow Up was a lovely set of songs, personably delivered… and I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for Ms Doherty in the future.

[2013084] MANGA – Japanese Hero Action Comedy

[2013084] MANGA – Japanese Hero Action Comedy

Yamamoto Produce Japan @ The Garage International @ NACC

2:00pm, Sun 3 Mar 2013

Japanese Hero Action Comedy had made the Shortlist, but it was most certainly an outlier; but then I’d encountered the guys from Yamamoto in the Mall… and, clad in their scruffy DIY cardboard giant robot costumes, their infectious enthusiasm – coupled with just a hint of desperation in their eyes – convinced me that it was a pretty good bet. Support the different, I say. Support the risk-takers.

But the daylight was waaaaay too bright, my sunglasses were nigh-on ineffective, and I was really starting to doubt the wisdom of pledging to see a North Adelaide matinée a mere handful of hours after getting home from an extended Fringe Club close-out. But a ticket in my hand is a commitment – that’s just the way I play. That’s the way I like it, though sometimes – like on this walk – I have to remind myself of that fact.

I was worried that there’d be a tiny audience out at the North Adelaide Community Centre for this show, but I was pleasantly surprised to see that there were about fifty people (including the “star” of last night’s show) seated by the time I arrived. J-Pop was blaring through the sound system as I walked in – joyous, uplifting, nonsensical.

Which is just perfect accompaniment for this show.

Like a lot of the more popular anime and manga seen in the west, the plot of Japanese Hero Action Comedy is, at heart, a hero’s journey. Along the way, he makes friends, fights foes, and yells excitedly. But, let’s face it, the draw of this show isn’t about the plot; it’s in the presentation, the creativity, and especially the enthusiasm of the four performers.

Because this really was a wacky affair. Lo-fi props of cardboard and fabric and foam form characters that are instantly familiar to anyone who has spent more than five minutes with Japanese pop culture: ghosts and demons abound. Fight scenes are punctuated with onomatopoeic cardboard signs, and there’s plenty of anime tropes: running sequences see actors jogging on the spot whilst other performers whisk scenery by, and guitar power-pop accompanies the scenes where friends are fighting side-by-side in battle.

It’s all bloody silly fun, and – despite the increasingly uncomfortable heat in the room – the performers certainly gave it their all. And the scene where a delightfully poorly rendered (but still instantly recognisable) Pikachu was beaten up was one of the most enthusiastic scenes of all. And for this tired and hungover part-time fan of Japanese games and animation, MANGA certainly hit the spot.

[2013083] Snow Fright & the Apple of Temptation

[2013083] Snow Fright & the Apple of Temptation

Nikki Nouveau @ Nexus Cabaret

11:30pm, Sat 2 Mar 2013

“A chilling, sensual cabaret of murderous rivalry and enchantment,” leads the Fringe Guide’s entry for Snow Fright & the Apple of Temptation. “Featuring dark burlesque, Bavarian folklore and live jazz-blues,” it concludes.

And, having just transcribed that from the Fringe Guide, I should have known better than to commit to this show; I’m an overly zealous advocate of the Oxford Comma, and the lack thereof in Snow Fright‘s précis has just annoyed me mightily.

If only I’d noticed it nine months ago… I could’ve wandered down the Fringe Club much earlier this evening, and not be any worse off as a result. In fact, I’d be slightly better off, since I would’ve had one less post to write.

Still, a burlesque cabaret piece based (loosely) on Snow White is an interesting idea… and certainly gets off to a dark start as Snow Fright quickly transforms from innocent into deeply alluring, triggered by the titular Apple of Temptation. Snow Fright’s equally seductive stepmother also appears, and the two provide – with live musical accompaniment – scenes that were certainly not in the Disney interpretation of the fairy tale.

There were some neat touches in the adaptation: I thought the character transitions performed by walking through a “mirror”, and the use of the mirror to justify some of the burlesque-y stripping pieces, were really quite neat. The appearance of some (beautifully sung and curiously arranged) cabaret staples, along with a colourful fan dance (oh, those heels!), provide some substance to the performance; but most of the scenes felt waaaaay too long, and the general pace of the show was almost treacle-like.

And then came the audience participation bit… and here I need to take a slight detour.

During Fringe time, out and about as I am, I regularly encounter a lot of people… and many become familiar. There’s one shy chap – stocky build, thinning hair, ponytail – who I used to see at a lot of music shows; I remember trying to strike up a conversation with him at a show last year, but… well, he’s not the conversational type.

Anyway, He was sitting by himself at a cocktail table, front-and-centre. And so, when Snow Fright and her lascivious stepmother slunk into the crowd to pull up someone with whom to interact, He was fair game.

The only problem is, “wooden” would be an understatement for His actions. “Frozen” may be more apt; “paralysed” is probably the most effective description. After dragging Him offstage for an uncomfortably long time – presumably to dress Him up somewhat – He returned to the stage unchanged and sat stage-centre, unmoving, as Snow Fright essentially performed a lap-dance for Him. She’d gesture to Him to help her undress – you know, all sexy-like – but He was unflinching, petrified. It was a desperately uncomfortable experience… for us, the audience, as well as Him.

Look, there’s no doubting that Nikki Nouveau (as the titular Snow Fright) was a consummate performer, with both a body and voice to die for; I also thought Kira Daley’s wicked stepmother was a quality performance, too. But the performances were held back by inexorably slow pacing and – on this evening – an instadeath audience participation piece… and no amount of polished production values were going to paper over those cracks.