Adventures in Antique Music

St Theodore’s Anglican Church, Wed 19 Mar, 2025

A good-sized crowd gathered at St Theodore’s Anglican Church in Toorak Gardens for this Lyrebyrd Consort event. Clearly there is still wide interest in hearing music from Renaissance and Medieval times. A quick glance at the program tells me that despite the venue there is no liturgical music featured.

The show begins with a useful introduction to the unusual assortment of instruments we see in front of us, and the dedicated musicians who have learnt to play them. There are multiple kinds of wind instruments (recorders, crumhorns), strings (the vielle, oud) and the imposing looking and amusingly named sackbuts up the back. Musicians are decked out in costume appropriate for the period.

We are taken on a metaphorical journey across Europe by our narrator and entertained by music from the 13th to the 16th centuries. The program is arranged chronologically so you can get a sense of how Western music developed over time.

Many pieces are quite short and feature parts of the ensemble, while other extended pieces involved nine or more musicians. The earlier items on the program featuring fewer instruments were noticeably quiet (no amplification was used), but the ensemble pieces were quite loud enough and when the sackbuts joined in even a tad raucous.

Several pieces featured quite complex and long vocal parts from an accomplished soloist, and others featured delightful vocal harmonies from multiple singers. There were those jaunty recorder and percussion tunes that always have me imagining a happy crowd of musicians marching though town on the way to the fair. For later pieces from the 16th Century the ensemble was augmented with rich sounding viols and suddenly the music had a greater depth and warmth.

This was such an uplifting and instructive concert. Following the program chronologically was like following the progression of music over the years – the pieces became longer, more complex, suitable for larger ensembles, and more accessible to the modern listener. Early pieces have their appeal in what almost seem like naïve and innocent attempts to make musical sounds on whatever was available – and that was recorders and percussion. (Not to suggest they were easy to play – they weren’t!) But listening to this whole program you can spot the origins of modern forms of Western music – the brass band, opera, and orchestral. Kudos and huge thanks to the Lyrebyrd Consort for keeping this music alive for modern audiences. If the length of the ovation at the end of the show is any indication it is very much appreciated.

This review also published on The Clothesline.

Loren Kate and the Aurora Ensemble

 The Stables at the Queens Theatre, Sun 23 Mar, 2025

The Stables at Queens Theatre was packed for the final night of the Fringe featuring local singer Loren Kate with members of the Aurora Vocal Ensemble.

Loren delivered a solid show of mostly guitar based original numbers supported by Aurora, cello and keyboard. It’s a nice balance of sounds and ensures her folksy and occasionally country tinged melodies have maximum impact. Emotion is a key component of Loren’s music and the chosen arrangements ensure that it is given free reign.

Cello always adds warmth wherever it is added and the soothing, delicate sounds from the Aurora Ensemble create a lovely depth of feeling and timelessness. A song dedicated to keeping our rivers alive was quite lovely, and her own interpretation of Shane Howard’s Solid Rock also impressed. Another song featuring just Loren and back-up singers without guitar was another fine moment.

Despite the temperature rising to uncomfortable levels in the theatre the show got better and better as it went.

Loren Kate obviously trades on singing songs charged with emotion. I don’t particularly like hearing about cancer episodes or dying friends in song introductions – I’d rather the songs speak for themselves, but Loren Kate does have the ability to deliver poignant songs with great effect. Her songs are slow and relatively simple, but her voice and instrumental arrangements turn them into something special and create a shared experience that I imagine could become quite addictive.

This review also published on The Clothesline.

Jacob Collier at Her Majesty's Theatre (7/6/25)

CC image courtesy of TED Conference

Jacob Collier is hailed by some as the greatest musician on the planet. Barefoot in bright baggy pants he would have looked quite at home in the Haight-Ashbury of the mid-60s. He’s a carefree spirit who’s a very physical performer. His dazzling piano technique is punctuated with bouncing and swinging legs; he sways and rocks and bends as he plays – his music is visual and aural.

A multi-instrumentalist, tonight Collier limits himself to piano, guitars and keyboard. He began at the piano playing a jazz derived version of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You that danced in and out of the recognised melody. As he did throughout the performance, he takes a song and pushes it to its outer limits – returning every now and then to a familiar lick or lyric that keeps you on track. He plays with timing so that things get sped up to quite frenetic levels, or slowed right down and sometimes with a sudden stop – often with a surprised glance towards the audience. He’ll take a vocal as high as a kite and then bring it back to a deep bass – he really has an extraordinary vocal range – and occasionally uses this as a point of humour to get people laughing.

Collier has fun with music; he mucks around with it. His boundless talent means he can take any piece of music anywhere he wants. He takes his audience on a fun ride with songs they know and love, and his adoring fans give him total license to do so. The ‘respect the melody’ school of thought may not be so forgiving.

A gorgeous original tune (Little Blue) showcases his exquisite dexterity on acoustic guitar, and at one point has Collier playing guitar with one hand and piano with the other – it sounded great.  On his five-string guitar version of The Beatles’ Norwegian Wood he takes what is already a sweet melody and makes it sweeter and more complex. Beautiful.

Back on the piano he extemporizes a version of Georgia On My Mind into unchartered territory – both with keys and voice – and it feels like this is where he is happiest: jazz like improvisations around a theme he loves exploring.

Then there’s the pub choir part of the show!! His audience know his schtick and as so many prefer to do these days they have come along to be part of the show and not just listen. At any given moment Collier will leap to his feet or put down the guitar and become the choir master!  Clearly many in the audience already know the drill, but even so it is remarkable how quickly he has almost everyone singing harmony together. It’s quite joyous and for the most part sounds pretty good as well.

He teased his way through an inventive version of Brown Eyed Girl (Van Morrison) and closed  with a rousing group vocal chorus on Queen’s classic Somebody to Love to adoring applause.

Jacob Collier is blessed with amazing musical skills and we’re fortunate that he shares his joy and talents in such performances. He is as much showman and entertainer as musician. And this was more than a concert – it was more like a community event.

However, the cross-legged on piano stool homily about the importance of music was a touch cringeworthy. And I’m reminded of Mozart’s critics who as much as they loved his music bemoaned the fact that he played too many notes! But these are minor quibbles in the overall wash-up – an astonishingly gifted musician with a desire to share his joy of the thing he loves.

This review also published on The Clothesline.

Australian Country Towns

 

Balaklava, SA

In my younger life I used to travel regularly by road between Australia’s capital cities. I never had any interest in stopping in any country towns along the way. My young arrogant self assumed there was nothing or nobody in these towns that would be of interest to me. I would rush through them to get to the next big city as quickly as possible. I was usually planning to see friends in these cities and these visits would typically involve live music, drugs, alcohol, and long stimulating conversations.

I, and my friends were typically educated – often to university level, intelligent, articulate and often left-leaning politically. We called people who were conservative – perhaps right-wing voters and who did not take drugs – ‘straight’. This was not just a descriptive tag – it was also a derogatory slur. It was assumed that we had little in common with such people and there’d be little point in spending time with them. And it was assumed that country towns would be full of such people. And I think too there might have been a feeling of superiority: we thought ourselves better than them.

In the 1970s there was a significant divide between urban and rural Australia. There is still a divide, but it is no longer a vast chasm. As a traveller in the 70s for example you wouldn’t find a café with decent food or coffee in the towns along the highway. There would be the roadhouse with pies, pasties and chips and not much else. Country towns were for filling up with fuel, bad food, and perhaps a short walk to stretch the legs.

As I grew older (and perhaps smarter) changes were afoot in rural Australia. Increasingly a more engaged and socially aware cohort took up residence in country towns. Food outlets with decent food and coffee started to appear alongside the trusty roadhouses. Art and craft shops proliferated and served as small galleries to display local goods and art works. Some towns like Kimba in South Australia put more effort into making their towns destinations in their own right rather than just transit locations. Accommodations improved and provided more choice than just  the bog-standard hotel or motel.

The outward appearance of towns became more interesting. Older buildings with possible heritage appeal were restored, plants appeared on footpaths, statues, works of art, and information boards became more prominent and were more intent on conveying the town’s story. There was more focus on offering meaningful distractions to coax the traveller to stay a while. Larger towns had cinemas or theatres suitable for live performances.

And the people started to look different. Country towns began to have some residents who looked as if they could fit right in in places like St Kilda or Paddington. They started to look like places where someone used to city life could feel quite at home and find people there who they could identify with. The gaping chasm between city and country life was closing.

Then some smart person hit upon the idea of silo art! Many Australian towns are dominated by these very tall concrete towers that store grain. It turns out that the surfaces of these vast structures make ideal canvases for telling a story in pictures. So, in small towns like Coonalpyn between Adelaide and Melbourne, for the first time ever tourists would stop to view the silo art and maybe have a coffee or lunch at the café that sprang up across the road from the silos. As other towns jumped on the same bandwagon the concept of Silo Art trails was born, where one could now visit a chain of towns in reasonable proximity and view all the different types of silo art available.

The arrival of the COVID-19 virus was a further step towards the gentrification of Australia’s country towns. As people were encouraged to keep their social distance from others many quickly realized that the best place to do this was in country towns. Together with the technology that made working from home an option for more and more of the workforce, many urban dwellers upped sticks and relocated to the country.

I don’t know if rural people feel any resentment towards these city interlopers, but the net result of these incremental changes over the last 5 decades and this more sudden COVID induced population transfer means that for me country towns are now far more worth a visit. I don’t feel they’ve lost their soul or too much of their rustic character, and they have become places where  I no longer feel like an alien when I walk down the main street. I did once.

I acknowledge that this in part may be because of my youthful insecurities, and a somewhat biased blindness towards country life that lessened as I grew older. Perhaps country towns always had these attractions (theatre, food, culture etc) and I just never stayed long enough to notice.

The Ugly One

Famous Last Words Theatre
Slingsby’s Hall of Possibility

Fri 9 May, 2025

Staging a play called The Ugly One in this sensitive age when you may no longer call a spade a spade seems a little provocative.  It must be some kind of metaphor surely? Well yes and no – as we shall see.

Entering Slingsby’s Hall of Possibility is a treat in itself. It was good to be there early and soak up the atmosphere of a space that could indeed make many things possible. Four vertical lighting strips shone on the performance space and left enough ambient light for your eyes to roam around the intriguing space.

The cast of four each make their separate entrance down a tall stairway. Three of them will take on multiple roles but the ugly one, Lette, plays himself throughout. The grandest entrance is reserved for Lette’s boss, Scheffler, who strolls down the stairs like the belle of the ball.

Between her, Lette’s wife, Fanny, and Karlmann, his assistant, they need to address the delicate issue of telling Lette that he will not be presenting his company’s latest breakthrough at an upcoming convention because his face is a liability. That is, he is extremely unattractive.

It’s excruciating to witness as everyone squirms around this unfortunate reality but eventually the truth is out and Lette immediately insists on undergoing reconstruction surgery. Which as it turns out is fabulously successful and unleashes a chain of events that have you questioning who here is really the ugly one and other relevant questions about identity – how important is it that we look good? Or at least, feel like we look good? If you had a ‘better face’ would you be a different, or better person? Do others treat good looking people better? Are good looking people more likely to be more successful in life?

Rather than directly confront them these serious existential questions are inferred in the mayhem that follows Lette’s miraculous surgery. There’s plenty of humour embedded in the dialogue and a wonderful irony in the fact that the players themselves don’t realise how shallow they’ve become. Virginia Blackwell is near perfect as the supercilious boss and unscrupulous surgeon floating around on an air of superiority completely oblivious to things like ethics and feelings.   James Starbuck does a great job of playing a Lette who is initially hooked on the idea of being beautiful but undergoes something of a redemption as he comes to realise there may be other more important things in life. And his sexy presentation on connector plugs was hilarious!

The play skips along at a good pace. I really enjoyed the simulated surgery scenes. They managed to be brutal, humorous, artistic and elegant all at once. Just one example of some clever direction from James Watson.

So yes – ugly can be seen as a metaphor here, and that it’s not just something we see on the outside of a person. And while some may be gorgeous to look at, perhaps the old cliché is true that beauty really is only skin deep.

A fine piece of thoughtful, entertaining theatre in a great venue.   

This review also published in The Clothesline.

 

Notes from New Caledonia and Vanuatu (November 2015)

Noumea

Travel: the waiting game. Noumea. Hotel Nouvata. Lobby. 40 minutes till shuttle bus for airport arrives. Heading to Vanuatu. Should already be there. Chanced to look at my email before boarding shuttle for early morning flight. Got up at 5:00 AM for this purpose! Only to read the flight had been cancelled. Only the second time this has happened to me over the years so I consider myself lucky.

Wasn't so bad really. I went back to bed for a couple of hours and subsequently had a nice walk around Noumea. That was my plan for Port Vila today but it will be dark when I get there now. Quite a fascinating blast to be here in Noumea. One can live a life so ignorant of things that are just so close. Just three hours flying time from Sydney and you’re in the French Pacific. English very much a second language here but everyone speaks it well enough. Just 44% of the population of New Caledonia are descended from the Kanakas - all of whom came here from Vanuatu. The remainder are French, or the progeny of French plus locals:  ‘burgers’ as they are called it Sri Lanka. People of mixed blood. Noticeably missing are the big-framed, overweight people found on other Pacific nations. I assume the French influence has been significant here and that equals education which equals better diet/exercise which equals a beautiful streamline version of Pacific people. Curious to see where Vanuatu fits in the fat/ weight scale.

So out here, just a short hop away from Australia is this pretty, French speaking version of the Gold Coast. Actually it's nicer than the Gold Coast, and though the local culture has been well and truly relegated to second place under the French elite, there is at least a local culture and things seem harmonious. (Note: I learned later this was often far from the truth.) 

I wonder if the men beat their wives and partners here? And what of Islamism? Honestly out here it's like jihads, terrorism, the Taliban etc don't exist. Travelling tends to remove you from the news cycle, and I’d need to turn on a TV or read a newspaper or monitor news feed to hear about the Islamists and I'm tired of them ….

…… wait there's more. New flight to Vanuatu went ahead as scheduled, but no driver at the airport to get me. Air Vanuatu have lost one of its ATR aircraft to a broken engine. So all their scheduling has been thrown into chaos - all of their flights have been rescheduled, handed over to Aircailin, or cancelled. My flight today to Luganville has been rescheduled to two hours earlier. I rang Emmanuel in Luganville this morning and he said he would pass on the new details to his son. Alas he didn't show up at pick-up time at the hotel so I think I'll ditch his services from now on. I thought the family connection was a nice touch but it's already an unreliable connection or maybe I just didn't give him enough Vanuatu time?

Port Vila

I had a lovely morning wandering around Port Vila. And it was with great relief that I woke up this morning able to do such things. There was an episode in the middle of the night that sent me scurrying to the toilet a few times. No pain - just dread that it might be the start of several days of inconvenience but when I woke all was back to normal. Alleluia! Think it may have been the fish or mashed potato (made with milk) but who knows? The fish was wahu and I loved it - juicy and tasty.

Port Vila Airport

So here I wait (and write) once more at the Port Vila domestic airport. Very casual. Laid back. Airport officials in thongs and high viz jackets. No fans turning but I've found a spot at the end of the building with an open view of the terminal, and the hint of a breeze every now and then. Quite pleasant and entertaining really. Just 45 or so minutes to kill then to Luganville on Espiritu Santo where the whole reason for my being here will suddenly be real. Conversations tonight I assume with Emmanuel about how we run the workshop. I'm looking forward to his input to help and finalise the fine detail for the week. There's still a few blanks.

And ….. I have seen enough of ni-Vanuatu to know the workshop will be slower than I thought. (I'm an expert after 24 hours!) There is a cultural difference - that's no surprise -  but the surprise is often in the nature of the cultural difference. I'm still working on it but they don't appear to process information the same way I might. And it is slower, but that's just because they're thinking something other than about the words I'm speaking! It's fascinating. It’ll take me all week to figure it out I'm sure. As well as everything else we're supposed to achieve.

 

Housework: The Hard Work of Democracy

CC image courtesy of Nigel Paine

Housework
Dunstan Playhouse
State Theatre Company
Tue 11 Feb, 2025

It was a little unnerving to watch a show trashing the inner workings of democracy just as the world’s foremost democratic state across the Pacific is busy dismantling theirs. The timing is exquisite.

So too is the timing of the pacy dialogue between the six cast members of Housework. Set changes are marked by a loud military style drum beat and a ticking clock. The pressure is relentless and the need to get your message out quickly is paramount. When not firing messages at each other MPs and their staffers are racing down the corridors of power to the next confrontation.

A wonderfully cold, hard, and grand set design facilitates these multiple movements and adds a gravitas that belies the petty intentions of the building’s inhabitants. One may enter politics with grand delusions about making the world a better place but any optimism is quickly worn down by a realistic pragmatism. Cynicism trumps naivete as negotiations become a process of conniving, backstabbing, tit-for-tat I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine. This is the sad, but at the same time hilariously funny, source of humour for plays like Housework.

We’ve seen it before in TV shows like Yes Minister and Utopia – political absurdity is a rich vein of humour that never seems to tire, but at some point, beyond the laughs, one wonders whether this kind of democracy is very productive. It’s convoluted, slow going, and spits out professional and personal casualties.

Shannon Rush’s smart direction and an innovative set manages to convey the impression that there are crowds of people in the house: MPs, staffers, ministers, protesters, cleaners – all buzzing about taking care of business.

Emily Taheny is simply wonderful as the Chief of Staff for a federal MP as she controls all movements and narratives around her boss with perfect grasp of tone and manner. She pays attention to every little detail as a senior staffer, and consummate performer. She’s a joy to watch. Franca Lafosse is excellent as the hapless junior staffer and her excitement at being at the coalface of politics is endearing and infectious. She quickly learns the game – perhaps too quickly – and pays the price for crossing boundaries.

Susie Youssef as the MP shows great comic timing with several funny one-liners, and it was a nice touch to have Sunitra Martinelli play the part of both cleaner and Prime Minister. After all, someone has to “clean up all this shit”!

Despite all the wheeling and dealing, the blame and accusations, the conniving and backstabbing, the characters seem ultimately to care for each other somewhere. There appears to be tacit recognition that they are trapped in a system that brings out the worst in people and underneath it all that they might actually have some respect for each other.

And what’s it all for ultimately? The love of democracy? The good of the country? To make people’s lives better? The final scene provides the answer with brilliant simplicity!

Great theatre –  superbly functional set, humour in spades, and a witty and insightful play perfectly executed by a first rate cast who didn’t miss a beat.

(This review also published on The Clothesline.)

Ships and Norway

 

The first time I ever heard of the country Norway was when I was a young child in Port Lincoln perhaps 8-9 years old. We lived in a house that overlooked Port Lincoln harbour and we could see all the ships that came and went. My father was the local top cop and because of his high profile in the town he often got to meet the captains of the visiting ships that came to port. So there was an occasion when this ship called the Nidar came to Port Lincoln and I learned that it was from Norway. This became significant because for the first time, through Dad's connections with Captain Larssen of the Nidar, we were able to go on board and have dinner and we were given a tour of the ship. As you can imagine it was quite a special occasion and something I've never forgotten. In addition every time the Nidar came to port Lincoln it would blow its horn three times when it came into port and again three times when it left. Captain Larssen said this was his way of saying hello and goodbye to us when they came and went so we felt quite special when we heard that loud barp barp barp noise across the harbour rising up to the hill where we lived. It was Captain Larssen sending us greetings.

So my first memory of Norway was to do with ships.  Fast forward 60 years and I'm finally in Norway. I'm in the waiting room of the Roros railway station. I'd been walking around for a while and it was pretty cold so I thought I'd just go in there and take a break. I figured that it would be  warm and I could defrost before continuing my walk. This really friendly guy (see photo above)  was in there with a companion having a few beers in the corner of the waiting room and offered me a drink. I declined the drink but lingered to have a chat and he was really friendly. He spoke excellent English as many Norwegians do and he told me how he had first heard about Australia from his father. His father was a sailor or seaman and had travelled the world on ships in the Merchant Navy and said that the best place he ever went, and the best people he ever met were Australian and this guy in the waiting room, his son, was telling me this story and how because of what his father had told him, he'd always wanted to go to Australia and was very pleased to meet me there in the waiting room of Roros railway station! I said well you don't look like you're that old so you've got plenty of life left - maybe you could go to Australia and see it for yourself and he held up his beer, looked at me with a great big smile and said, “I drank all my money.” So a sad story in a nice way;  he was obviously a drinker and perhaps a heavy drinker - it was about 1:00 in the afternoon and he obviously already had a few and he said that was a pretty regular occurrence where they go to that waiting room at the station and have a few drinks.  But we both kind of realised that we shared a connection.  My first experience and my first thought of the country of Norway was associated with ships and his first introduction to Australia was also through ships and people sailing the world. It was just a really nice interlude, not quite magical, but a very warm moment where it felt very nice to be in Norway. I felt welcome.

Americana

Pokey La Farge

1) TRUMP 

Trump is back. Once again America has turned its back on decency, respect, and empathy and elected a morally bankrupt oligarch. It feels like a huge backward step in terms of the evolution of civil society. Furthermore, as someone else wrote, I cannot respect anyone who voted for this man. But it hurts to see a culture, a country that in so many ways was such a beacon in our lives sell its soul to the devil. Ironically so, as it is the religious right that helped propel Trump to power a second time.

2)      RIP GARTH HUDSON

A few days ago the final surviving member of The Band, Garth Hudson, passed away. Not just any band, THE Band. The Band who made history with Music from Big Pink. The band that backed Bob Dylan.  A band that according to many pundits changed everything. Eric Clapton was playing in supergroup Blind Faith when he first heard The Band and says he immediately knew he had to leave the band and do something better, more significant.

As we so often hear these days, God is calling the musicians of our generation home. But the passing of Garth Hudson feels like a milestone. The Band are the first of the significant 70s bands that have all passed away. All five members have left this earth. They have all played their Last Waltz. It feels quite numbing. Just another indicator that my generation is moving on. And it feels like just a taste of what it might be like to live long enough to see most of your friends move on before you.

The Band crossed many musical frontiers and accordingly their potential appeal was vast. They were part country, part bluegrass, part folk, part rock, part blues, part soul with even a sprinkling of jazz - largely due to the musical wizardry of Garth Hudson. So wide was their catchment pool they are hailed as having invented a new genre: Americana.

Levon Helm was the first singing drummer I’d ever seen and I marvelled at his ability to keep time and sing complex melodies. He led the vocals on what became an anthem of a generation – The Weight. The Band certainly wrote plenty of their own material but also adapted traditional songs like Long Black Veil for a modern audience. In songs like The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down they used events from American history to tell musical stories. Everything they did was different and hard to categorise, and frequently featured quirky lyrics: “Up on Cripple Creek she sends me”,  “I pulled in to Nazareth, feelin’ bout half past dead”.

Establishing a new genre is no mean feat. This, and the fact that their musical output was wide and varied, with several songs that are already considered classics (eg add Chest Fever to the abovementioned), the fact that they hooked their wagon to the Dylan phenomenon, and the fact they had the temerity to call themselves THE Band, should ensure their place in modern musical history will be acknowledged well into the future.

3)     A COMPLETE UNKNOWN        

I really enjoyed this fine movie about the life of Bob Dylan. It was also an emotionally exhausting experience that laid bare my conflicting sentiments about America. A Complete Unknown focuses on so many things that are great about America; so many things that have been part of our cultural DNA. So many things that I love and are entwined in my own identity: Woody Guthrie, Peter Seeger, folk songs. Telling stories of the people, defending the rights of the dispossessed, singing songs of justice.  And I felt anger growing inside me when I thought about the 74 million Americans that just re-elected Trump and in one foul swoop swept aside that America. The America of romance, dreams, and music. Trump has killed off Americana – at least for the time being.

There are stunning moments in A Complete Unknown that are deeply moving. One thing it does really well is make clear that these Dylan songs that have become anthems were all once played for the very first time. Joan Baez hears Blowin’ in the Wind the very first time in the kitchen of her flat and the look on her face shows that something amazing has just been born. The first time Dylan plays The Times They Are A-Changing at Newport Folk Festival people backstage similarly knew they were witnessing a pivotal moment in history. One of the greatest songs ever written was being born in front of them. It was profoundly moving and it was one of several times throughout this movie that the tears flowed.

Dylan really was remarkable. He really was somehow able to be the spokesperson of a time, of a generation. He captured that spirit and the dawning aspirations of millions and put them into spine-chilling words. Almost other-worldly.

It was an amazing time to be alive. My generation has seen so much transformational change. And until 2016 those changes felt like they were part of a world moving inexorably forward to a better place. But Trump’s re-election has once again shattered that myth. And maybe that’s all it was – a myth and not at all based in any reality. Maybe four years will pass, and the good ship America will right itself, and the world can move forward again. But I’m not at all hopeful. It might be that we need another Complete Unknown