The democratic and daring artist-run gallery known as Firstdraft has some extraordinary offerings on hand this month. Diverse exhibitions feature creatures ranging from ambiguous objects to musical monsters. Marc Alperstein's abstractions lie somewhere between object design and colour-field, wreaking havoc with signification and the senses. Patterned material plays with optical illusion, confusing the ways in which we read and interpret objects. Be Jones' materials are slightly more mucky, blending the natural and the found into a new chaotic, disintegrating environmental possibility. In Ceremony, Julian Day has collected old and disused keyboards and employed them as organs, which combine to form a breathing body of sound. The gentle sound waves of each instrument, coaxed out via weighting on the keys, build and blend with each other to create a warm, dense sound-world — a musical atmosphere. This ensemble, which he titles An Infinity Room (or A.I.R for short), will perform on August 12 at 6pm for a mere $10 donation. Justin Shoulder has similarly created a creature, many in fact, but his own physicality forms the necessary body for these. In I Am Raining, Shoulder pursues his fascination with 'Fantastic Creatures', including Chimeras, Vampire demons and Fire Gods, and the collective mind from which they emerge. Between these four exhibitions, the artists question and clarify, soothe and disturb, surprise and affirm. Image: Julian Day, Ceremony, 2010
There is perhaps only one individual suitably qualified to lecture, in artistic terms, on both the early photographer Alfred Stieglitz and the-artist-who-will-forever-be-known-as Prince. Tracey Moffatt — pop cultural narrative artist extraordinaire, known for her film, photography and video works — fits the role perfectly. The link that Moffatt draws between these two glittering characters is their ability to make individuals famous, other than themselves. Stieglitz is renowned as an early proponent of photography in his own right, but perhaps more significantly as the key importer of European avant-garde to North America. Similarly, Prince wrote both Purple Rain and Nothing Compares 2 U, managing his own music career alongside those of Chaka Khan, The Bangles and many more. Moffatt's rare talent is in her ability to create potent and unusual narratives, while remaining cynically disengaged. We can only wait and see what gems she will extract from the exceptionally insightful comparison of these two characters.
There's something to be said for High School Musical. Ok, so it's not one of the greatest films of the last decade, but it did bring us Zac Efron. This young man is a spectacular triple threat — he can sing, he can dance and he truly can act. Thank god for Me and Orson Welles so we could finally see this last talent demonstrated. The film follows the path of the young Richard Samuels (Efron) as he skips school and gets himself involved in a broadway production by the great director Orson Welles (before his rosebud days). The play is Julius Caesar and the underlying themes of betrayal, tyranny and injustice that Shakespeare injected into his writing, are given new life, reflected in the narrative of this movie. Samuels falls for the girl and ingratiates himself with the cast, however he is let down by his naivety of the theatre industry's true selfishness. Claire Danes puts in an excellent turn as the singularly driven Sonja, and Efron is a delight to watch as his youthful confidence and arrogance are endearing and funny qualities. It's especially nice to see a young actor take on a far meatier role than any that we've previously seen him in, and even more so to see him pull it off. The show is completely stolen however by the spectacular Christian McKay — a relative unknown whose depiction of Welles is mesmerising. At one minute he's charming and full of love for his cast and crew, and at another he's a terrifying despot ruling all with an iron fist. McKay's Welles has a constant madness simmering just below the surface, waiting for the incentive to have it all boil over. Set in 1930s New York, this film also has a visual richness that makes it all the more enjoyable. The costumes and settings are beautiful and even Efron's slicked back hair is an attractive period addition. Though you may see the end coming somewhere towards the beginning, this is a highly enjoyable film with an excellent support cast, witty and fast-paced script and brilliant performances. Well worth a look in. https://youtube.com/watch?v=GQvq7eulfWc
Why do mountain monks make popular dancers? Following a life-long interest, Flemish/Moroccan choreographer Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui travelled to the famous Shaolin Temple and sought his own answers. Sutra is the result of that investigation. Zen Buddhism — or Chan Buddhism, as it is known by the Shaolin Monks of Henan — is a quest to find enlightenment within oneself, through physical and mental experience, instead of seeking it always in intellectual pursuits. Hard work and meditation are the Zen ticket to transcend suffering in this universe. They are also, as Sutra proves, a way to produce phenomenal dance works. Cherkaoui and his Shaolin co-performers seem to liquefy, their bodies flowing through forms that could easily snap the bones of the unenlightened. Alone, the performers would stun, but with sculptor Antony Gormley and composer Szymon Brzoska, this work transcends the scope of commercial dance. There is a constant sense of the world unfolding, reforming and blending upon the Sutra stage. Gormley's wooden boxes provide a strong support for the elasticity of the dancers, creating platforms, forests, pillars, coffins and lotus flowers that echo stories of the Shaolin tradition. Such simplicity, wordless and instantly understood, is central to Cherkaoui's collaboration with the Chan buddhists. He and his team have crafted a physical emanation of Chan experience, merged with European traditions of dance, and the result is an elegant unity. For your own taste of enlightenment, open your mind to Sutra this week. Image by Hugo Glendinning. https://youtube.com/watch?v=I_cMBDeIGAE
Sync, Rone, Reka, Wonderlust, Phibs, Meggs, Prizm, Makatron, The Tooth: somebody call Marvel and call for a mass retrenchment. Part street artists, part heroes of graffito, the underground collective known as Everfresh keep the streets of Melbourne colourful and free of aesthetic crimes, saving lacklustre walls one tag at a time. With an original approach to colour, detail and iconography, the elusive crew are bringing their indefinable brand of street art to a more portable medium, with the launch of the Blackbook as a sneaky peer into the works of these 'urban decoration specialists'. With candid photography of their hush-hush Collingwood hub and an inspired attention to detail that translates from their intricate streetwork, this little anthology from beginnings in 2004 is a creative keepsake of those stickin' it to the man and colouring the cityscape. In a launch more rare, exclusive and grand than a perfect shade of Crayola magenta, the gang are bringing their goods to aMBUSH Gallery this Friday in a celebration of the six years the ‘freshers have been adding their spark to the streets, with an installation, photographic prints by Josh Robenstone and bangin' tunes from DJ buds. With Melbourne already giving their beloved urban embellishers a send-off to boot, it’s time Sydney fronted a similarly welcoming embrace for these radical wallflowers.
Following Godard's advice that "all you need for a movie is a gun and a girl," J Blakeson's feature debut is as spectacularly suspenseful as it is deceptively simple. He uses a kidnapping scenario to show off his impressive hand at writing, mise-en-scene and direction. The film's opening five minutes immediately convey a confidence in style and tone as well as a cool professionalism that is echoed by the plotting kidnappers Vic (Eddie Marsan) and Danny (Martin Compston). Gemma Arterton (Clash of the Titans, Prince of Persia) is their titular victim, and her brave, compelling performance proves there's much more to her than a mere damsel in distress. This is a thriller that you won't want to spoil by knowing too much (perhaps even avoid the trailer). Instead just settle into a cavernous cinema and let Blakeson's superb precision chart the course of Alice Creed's creepy, claustrophobic and at times darkly comedic disappearance. https://youtube.com/watch?v=vbeJl3dt0Aw
Once again it's time to embrace the shhhh and brush up on the beginnings of cinema. Australia's Silent Film Festival has arranged another stellar programme of pre-talkie classics, including Australia's attempt at a Hollywood epic, For the Term of his Natural Life (1927). This is in fact the third adaptation of Marcus Clarke's famous novel, which tells the tale of two look-alike men, one wrongfully accused for the other's murder and sent to a treacherous penal colony on Van Dieman's Land. It's also incredibly exciting to see Yasujiro Ozu's Passing Fancy (Dekigokoro - 1933) on the programme. The master of construction and character, and the hugely influential director of such cinematic gems as Tokyo Story and Floating Weeds, Ozu was a comparatively late adopter of sound. As his 23rd silent film, Passing Fancy looks at the relationship between father and son with a lighter, more comedic touch than his later odes to family. Other festival highlights include a Buster Keaton marathon, the groundbreaking piece of German expressionism The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920) and, from before there was Rob Marshall, Cecil B. DeMille's Chicago (1927). The festival is also running a lecture on 1920s fashion as well as live music accompaniment and introductions for each screening. https://youtube.com/watch?v=odCaLSKbu3o
Renowned for bringing us some of the best music played on radio, FBi has now announced for your pleasure the Changing Lanes Festival, a funraiser which will take place in Newtown at Eliza Street, as well as the Courthouse and the Zanzibar. Presented in association with MAPS entertainment as a part of the Sydney Fringe Festival, Changing Lanes will include street performers, artists, food and market stalls, and of course a great band and DJ line up including Tame Impala, Bridezilla, Bagraiders, Gay Bash DJ's and many more. The event is strictly 18+. A limited number of of first release tickets are now on sale, with a discount for FBi supporters.
Those with a passion for anime have something a little more than a passion. Obsession is perhaps a better word. So while I may be frustrated waiting for the next season of Mad Men, this is nothing compared to what those awaiting the sequel to Evangelion have suffered. Luckily for them, the leading purveyors of anime here in Australia (namely Madman) are importing the latest flicks straight from Tokyo to be screened in cinemas in our own backyard. The line up includes Summer Wars, blending summer holidays, teenage romance, mathematics and avatars into a whirlwind adventure. King of Thorn is a action horror-thriller drawing on the disparate genres of science fiction and fairy tales. The highlight, however, is arguably Evangelion 2.0, with 1.0 being screened also for those of us who are slightly less educated but keen to catch up. https://youtube.com/watch?v=55Uu73VSXMk Image: still from Summer Wars, courtesy of Madman films
20,000 leagues oceanbound, the idea of a deep sea arcade is just too delightful. Blips and barnacles, Pacman and pufferfish, nautical gangs of amused teens surrounding pinball clams — now that's a party worth the dive. With a killer new single, another hint of a forthcoming album, and a name that simply screams aquatic adventure, Sydney nu-psych, be-bop, Beatles-pop outfit Deep Sea Arcade are back for Spring with a dangerously contagious 7" vinyl to launch. As the highly anticipated follow-up to zingers Lonely In Your Arms and the effortlessly infectious Don't Be Sorry, DSA's latest offering Keep On Walking brings the same brand of psych journey and trippy rock that has seen airwaves and audiences efficiently lose any sense of crowd decorum. A glorious fusion of The Turtles, The Easybeats, The Zombies and any other significant 'The' circa 1965, the classic vocals of Nic McKenzie and his troupe of catchy anglerfish successfully join the host of retro throwbacks rearing their heads of late, with the likes of The Drums, Hungary Kids of Hungary and The Big Pink similarly bringing twangy back. It's nice to think of DSA as 'controlled psychedelia', as their swirling bop of a sound agreeably spinning the senses without straying too far into shoegaze virtuosity. With the launch of their freshest single for a measly $5 at Oxford Art Factory next week, the fivesome's well-packaged Sixties-esque storytelling is a dish best served in courses, with appetizers and entrees rolling from fellow Sydneysiders Wim, Sleepyhands and DJ Marty Doyle. Mad props for local produce. As the fivesome continue to release the pieces of their anticipated LP track by track, the novelty of a vinyl launch is nothing short of appropriate, as this five-piece are slowly but surely making themselves as collectible as McCartney merchandise. But in all seriousness, any band that cites their middle names as 'Time Chamber', 'Cyborg' and 'Treasure Cat' is not something to pass up without a quick snorkel. https://youtube.com/watch?v=Sh6bh7lY6Ms
Is there really any difference between peddling illusion and flat out lying? In real terms probably not, but when you witness the artful wiles of a skilled illusionist the sheer charm and elegance of the performance surely renders the deception forgivable, doesn't it? This is the moral question that lies at the centre of Lying Cheating Bastard, the compelling new play by writer/director Nicholas Hammond and starring James Galea, the fast talking magician/actor/writer/musician on whom the script is based. When at a young age Jimmy Garcia (Galea) meets the man who will become his mentor and school him in the game of trickery, the young prodigy embarks on a luctrative career as a con man and card shark, discovering a natural talent for the art of deception. By the tender age of 27, Garcia had become the most successful con man in Australia simply by mastering life's game of chance. "I always control the variables and never leave anything to chance" he says "Oh yeh. And I cheat." Lying Cheating Bastard will be showing at Riverside theatres for five nights only so be sure to book in advance.
Reading between the lines is an underrated life skill. Sarcasm or honest concern? Compliment or sexual innuendo? Luckily, Griffin Theatre has chosen to spell it out for us. Between The Lines is ongoing program designed to draw out and dig into the Australian plays that make up Griffin's season. Currently on the list is an evening with Chris Mead (director of Quack, Griffin's latest offering), Sam Strong (Griffin's Artistic Director) and a range of mystery 'genre/cult experts' as they debate the strengths and drawbacks of zombies. The other option is The Undead vs. Deadwood: a series of film nights that any film festival would envy, with more zombies, A Country Practice and everything in between. Intriguing? We think so. Image: from Quack, photographed by Michael Corridore
Ms&Mr are a fortunate unity. A two-person singular-entity pursuing a single-minded dual obsession with sentimental film and science fiction. Continuing to write their shared history, lived in the parallel dimension of video art, 808.838 / grandfather paradox enlists the assistance of Richard's deceased grandfather and his 8mm films. This family icon enables the duo to play on the grandfather paradox, simultaneously creating and exploding their myth of an alternate universe where they have existed always together. This work also resurrects another deceased figure, recalling elements of Nikolai Fedorov's determination to transcend the limits of the 'possible' and conquer death through technology. Like a modern day Metropolis, this work is surreal, nostalgic and visionary.
Producer and co-star Martin Dingle Wall calls The Nothing Men "a rusty nail, one inch punch of a film," and there's honestly no better way to describe it. Set in a dingy factory in the final two weeks before it gets shut down for good, the story sits with the erstwhile workers as they are forced to wait on their redundancy payouts. With cards, beers and a midday visit from the lunch truck their only entertainment, former foreman Jack (Colin Friels) and his men fritter their days away with the crassest forms of 'secret men's business'. That is until mild-mannered David (David Field) arrives and his last minute transfer is enough to turn Jack's corporate conspiracy theories into full-blown, deadly paranoia. Set between Jack's worker blue singlets and David's crisp white shirts is the secretly tortured Wesley (Dingle Wall) and his physical and emotional shades of grey. Already sitting at a slight distance from Jack and the rest of the beer-swillers, Wesley finds a fellow chess player and cultural kindred spirit in David, as well as a decidedly more devastating discovery. It is here The Nothing Men asks its audience to accept a key coincidence, but in doing so writer-director Mark Fitzpatrick seeks to plumb the darkness of desperate men's souls. In both writing and setting, The Nothing Men has a distinctly theatrical feel (indeed the screenplay has been adapted for the stage), but as the first Australian production to use the RED camera, the film also attempts to use the cramped location to innovative, cinematic ends. Powerhouse performances by Friels and Field further elevate this local fare to gripping heights, as combustible cocktail of grief, suspicion and old-fashioned bullying coalesce in the most bluntly terrifying climax. https://youtube.com/watch?v=LvGB4_QLn0A
In the fine traditions of extracurricular activities and Madonna (no, we are not linking that for you), Serial Space has assembled a crack team of smart people from the local arts and music community to decide once and for all "Is Lady Gaga an empowered female pop icon or an emaciated trash-mole?" Initially perceived as being merely the one who doesn't wear pants ever (as opposed to the ones who just often don't), Gaga became FASHION and found her way onto the cultural radar of those who like to intellectualise their consumption of pop culture as well as those who like to shout about people on the internet. She's met the Queen, talks publicly and non-judgmentally about being celibate as a personal-political stance and carried a teacup everywhere for a while. She also released some songs. Don't pretend you don't like Bad Romance at least just a little bit; her music career hits that Justin Timberlakey point of being kinda disposable but distinguished by an ironically cheesy sexed-upness strong enough to make some of us realise that taking things seriously isn't a precondition for liking them. She has gimmicks, sure, but are they all there is? Are they enough her own that they become legit? Is she breaking the mould of pop music by being an image auteur, or is she a faux-iconoclastic pastiche of attention-whoring dressed up as Performance Art? Let's settle this once and for all.
Remember the good ol' days, when American teen flicks depicted gangly teens with real problems and real teeth? When high school misfits preferred to swap witty anecdotes at detention to sing-alongs at the glee club? When a vampire was only a vampire once he donned wayfarers and a leather jacket? And when we were all pretty certain we'd be riding hoverboards to work by the time we hit 30? Those days may be gone, but they are not forgotten. In honour of the late Corey Haim, that movie guy Marc Fennell (Triple J, The Circle, Hungry Beast) is hosting an '80s flick-fest of the greatest cult classics the decade had to offer. His stellar selection includes After Hours (1985), The Lost Boys (1987), Blue Velvet (1986, RIP Dennis Hopper), Big Trouble in Little China (1986), The Blues Brothers (1980), Back To The Future (1985), The Breakfast Club (1985), Sixteen Candles (1984) and Die Hard (1988). And to squeeze a little more '80s-geek out of us all, He-Man, She-Ra and Voltron cartoons will feature in between movies. Entry to three movies as well as The '80s Are Back exhibition at the Powerhouse Museum will set you back $30. Attendees are invited to get into slumber-party spirit by wearing their best PJs — with prizes for best dressed (bedhead mullets are highly recommended). I'll be in attendance with my good friends Heather, Heather and Heather. https://youtube.com/watch?v=hsv_NQFbQzo
In my experience, tiny little things are usually either adorable (e.g., kittens, outfits for small children, cupcakes) or something to do with science: bacteria and atoms and the level of interest you have in hearing a recitation of the digits of pi. And some wonderful things are little and smart and cute, like Nancy Drew, or an iPhone, or these sculptures. Forty-six Australian and international artists are contributing works for this show within dimensions of 6x6x6 and created using rapid prototyping tools and models. Yeah, those. Duh. All the pieces have been designed using incredibly complicated 3D modelling software that allows for really intricate and delicate virtual constructions, which are then turned into objects using 3D print technology. Like, you hit 'print' and a sculpture comes out. Creating art in this way explores the possibilities of what artists and designers can do with emerging technologies and opens up a new set of questions about the boundaries between the craftsperson, artisan and artist. They're also amazing-looking little pieces, some of which the artists will be seeing 'live' for the first time at the show. The differing artistic practices of these sculptors and their varying levels of experience with this kind of technology make for an interesting survey of its potential applications.
Jessica Watson's return to Australia has firmly aerated the compost that is the Australian obsession with heroism and "Aussie battlers". As pub lunches and five o'clock wines turn into fisticuffs over whether she's worthy of the title, it does raise the question of why we need heroes and what it takes to qualify for hero status in this country. Now set to travel intrastate, Performance Space's NightTime opens the artistic forum on this juicy topic. Curated by Lara Thoms and Jess Olivieri, NightTime: Everyday Hero will use live performance, participatory live work and video to slice open our desire for heroes and expose its quivering vitals for all to weigh and judge. Who will be found wanting, and who will be crowned hero of the millennium? And, ultimately, who will be paying $1 million for the exclusive interview? Image: Hubub by Justin Shoulder. Photo by Mat Hornby.
Sweetness and illustrations of girls with rosy cheeks and emerging Australian artists and craftspeople and who doesn't love the Beatles? The online community and store Leeloo are putting on what's probably the cutest show of the year. There are paintings and pictures and a pop-up store and a play on the opening night, all themed around — hang on, the gallery isn't the only ambush here — it's themed around break-ups! Totally sad and not cute, guys! Starting from the 40th anniversary of John, Paul, George and Ringo going their separate ways, the basis for the show expanded into all kinds of separations from all kinds of partnerships, however the contributors wanted to approach that. There are 16 artists involved, displaying three pictures each in a space that's been curated to look like the living room of a couple in the midst of becoming not-a-couple. The opening night features a performance of Short & Sweet finalist Anika Herbert's A Toothbrush Tale (We'll Always Have Peach Tiles) and the subsequent days will see samples of Leeloo's online stock for sale alongside the art. Frankie magazine and the Finders Keepers helped put this on, and, who am I kidding, it's totally going to be delightful.
She’s launched her own iPhone app, recorded a track for the latest installment of the Twilight saga, and is the “cue empowering moment” audio hot pick for reality TV and news producers, but if you look past the promotional hoopla of Florence and the Machine, you’ll find the raw talent of a young (only 22!) singer/songwriter with a set of lungs so powerful she could wake Sleeping Beauty. Over the past two years, Florence Welch has gone from touring the London pub circuit with her former Machine, Rum Shebeen frontman Dave Ashby, to upgrading to a four-piece band and headlining festivals all around the world. Her debut album, subtly entitled Lungs, is a mixed bag of musical styles that encompass both the solo performer who can bring a small auditorium to their knees and the more theatrical, costume-changing, moon-crest straddling, Kate Bush-esque Florence and the Machine. While tracks 'Raise it Up (Rabbit Heart)', 'Hurricane Drunk' and her cover of 'You’ve Got The Love' salute ‘90s dance anthems, it is tracks like 'Girl With One Eye' and 'Kiss With A Fist' that truly summon the fire in Florence’s belly and are delightful to watch her perform on stage. If you’re already booked in to catch her at Splendour, then I can only suggest that this is an artist well worth experiencing in a more intimate setting. With each breath, Florence takes her audience to a higher place, playing her voice like an instrument that has no need for extra percussion other than the delicate twangs of the harp that sits beside her. She plays her Splendour Sideshow at the Enmore Theatre on August 5. Tickets for the fourth and final show, at the larger Hordern Pavilion, go on sale on Tuesday, June 8, at 9am.
Parlour Song is an exercise in suburban surrealism, the stuff of American Beauty and Desperate Housewives. Exploring the tangled web between three neighbours in two couples, the plot swerves between the utterly unbelievable and the eerily relatable. Dale is a lovable larrikin, responsible for a car wash chain and the mental stability of his eccentric friend, Ned. Ned's difficulties stem from a deteriorating relationship with his wife and the absurdity of his belongings consistently disappearing without explanation. The plot thickens as Dale becomes entangled in Ned and Joy's relationship, making it impossible for him to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground. Imagery permeates the script as well as the production, with recurring references to lemons, scrabble and demolition. Carefully constructed soundscapes interact with projected video, turning what could be a tacky YouTube-watching section into a strangely moving experience. Matt Dyktynski channels his stand-up comedy skills in his portrayal of Dale, an often hilarious performance which serves as the linchpin of this production — but the star is the script itself. English playwright Jez Butterworth's reputation precedes him; the twists, turns and tender moments of Parlour Song prove it's all deserved. Image by Patrick Boland.
In 2003, while handing me a burnt-copy of Broken Social Scene's You Forgot It In People, a friend provided the following caveat: never trick yourself into thinking you know exactly what Broken Social Scene are going to do next. It was obnoxious advice, but true nonetheless. Kevin Drew and Brendan Canning's sprawling musical collective is an unruly beast, covering an exhausting amount of stylistic ground on record and in live shows. Forgiveness Rock Record (BSS's first proper LP in five years) does not provide an exception. It travels from frenzied to ambient to anthemic and back again, in just under an hour. BSS are coming to Australia this winter for Splendour in the Grass, and while their accompanying sideshows probably won't be among the most-hyped, they should be. Over the years Broken Social Scene has comprised as many as nineteen musicians (including Feist and members of Stars and Metric) and only ever as few as six. They've provided songs for movie and television soundtracks, and scored several films. Since its release, Forgiveness Rock Record has garnered a waterfall of critical praise, and if a collection of (poorly shot but tantalising) YouTube clips is anything to go by, BSS will please in a live setting as well. Tickets on sale Friday, May 14. https://youtube.com/watch?v=ahqkDBeN1FU
In games of “would you rather?”, I was often asked “would you rather be blind of deaf?”; after seeing Antony Gormley’s Firmament IV, I wonder why the game never included “... or forego the ability to perceive space?” First installed in the below-ground gallery of White Cube Mason’s Yard in March 2008, this is the concepts’ fourth outing. 1030 steel balls, each the size of a shot put, and 1849 steel elements are welded together to create a non-regular, polygonal structure that meanders and struggles to fit within the white cube (the structure measures over 20 metres in height). Look away now if you don’t want the surprise to be ruined, but the structure is representative of a human in the foetal position. Duh! Within the four walls of Anna Schwartz’s gallery space, the man-in-the-form-of-a-molecular-structure creates a “double space” that disturbs precisely because it proposes occupation before our own subject-inhabitation. The graphic outline of this figure is reminiscent of a shed snake skin; it even resembles a banana peel, with its insides consumed. One is reminded of Le Breton, who noted that in some societies the body does not form a boundary, but is open to flow and exchange with the environment. Most will not be able to resist the temptation to climb through the delineation of this figure. The perceived expansive force of Gormley’s sculpture is undeniably impressive. One more push, and it would break through the embryonic white walls. Any why not indeed? Run down to Anna Schwartz before it does, because this work, if liberated, loses all its potency.
Do you like pina coladas? Getting caught in the rain? Do you like making love at midnight, in the dunes on the cape? If just one of those things is true best dust off your grass skirt this Saturday, because the Tiki Two are throwing a clambakin' shindig for your vintage pleasure. Playing everything-a-go-go, including surfing birds and rocking billies, the Tiki Two will be joined at the Tiki Taboo by Space Party, a band billed as "surf rock gods". If you're not too busy doing the frump or the shag on the dancefloor, there'll also be hula girls and limbo on hand for those happy to put down their fruity cocktail for a moment. And, a word of advice, I wasn't kidding about the grass skirt: there'll be prizes for best dressed. Start preparing that half-coconut bikini top right now.
It's no coincidence that the words amorous and amoral sit so closely together in the dictionary, and Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky explores this sentiment through the passion of an affair between its two title characters. It opens in 1913, with Coco (Anna Mouglalis) attending the Paris debut of Stravinksy's (Mads Mikkelson) new work The Rite of Spring, one of the most famous instances of audience rioting in the 20th century. The combination of Stravinsky's intensely rhythmic score, primitive aesthetics and choreography expressing a pagan ritual of a young girl dancing herself to death caused outrage amongst the top-hatted patrons, whose fistfights were eventually broken up by police. This scene is captured in perfection by director Jan Kounen, whose balance of fury and elegance is a well-crafted thrill. It is a shame, then, that the film's peak is also it's opening. From that initial sense of fire and fury, Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky cleans itself up as the Russian Revolution takes its toll and Stravinsky flees back to Paris in 1920 with family in tow. Chanel, with ulterior motives hidden in her delicate cloche, invites them to stay at her Garches villa. His children settle in to their new life but his wife, ill with consumption, rightly expresses an immediate desire to leave. A certain tension builds between Chanel and Stravinsky, both strongly independent but controlled by guarded desires. Mouglalis, it should be noted, is the former face of a Chanel perfume, and one of Karl Lagerfeld's muses, giving the production of the film the intimate detailing of connections. The styling and locations are stunning, but the film itself lacks passion, which is not the usual emotional base of adultery. This is a film that will satiate those who are happy to be swept up in the style of Paris in the '20s, but, akin to Mouglalis's cat-like indifference on screen, there'll be no cause for rioting down the aisles. https://youtube.com/watch?v=0xh719Kzeec
No longer must you while away the hours in dark, ornate rooms, whispering the words of Keats, Byron and Shelley to yourself like a mantra. Closet Romantics, now is the time to confess. Shroud yourself in mystery and prepare for your hair to be gorgeously windswept: your chance for irrational dalliance is at hand. Air your aesthetic preferences, flamboyant dress and emotional baggage in the bright, sunlit gardens of Vaucluse House for this themed, 19th century picnic. Don your costume and bring along a prepared picnic basket — or, if this proves too logistically challenging, simply pre-order one from the House's tea rooms. Debut your most intimate poems or opt to listen to those of the masters, and apply your talents to sketch or paint the surrounds. The more sporting among you can test yourselves at a game of croquet, while those more leisurely may prefer to enjoy the strains of Beethoven and Schubert and perhaps a spot of conversation. And if you're historically curious, or simply seeking a mysterious corner, tours of the house will also be on offer. Image by Daniel Boud.
You may remember a little thing called the Global Financial Crisis. It happened a couple of years ago, resulted in $900 extra dollars in the piggybank thanks to Uncle Kev, a nation-wide spending spree and cheaper plane fares. Crisis? Bring it on! You might not be so casual about a Great Depression, however. After the 1929 New York stock market crash, Australia was plunged into the kind of poverty that would make Charles Dickens choke on his gruel. 'Skint! Making do in the Great Depression', at the Museum of Sydney, is a collection of artefacts, testimonials, photos and sound grabs from that time, the depths of which found one-third of all men unemployed and families forced onto the ‘susso’ (sustenance relief), into humpytowns or even the caves along the coast beneath Bondi. ‘Making do’ was an absolute necessity — whether that meant petty crime (being a “shonk to survive”, says one lady in a video excerpt) or simply stretching old socks into rugs, gasoline drums into kitchen cabinets, packing crates into natty chaises. It’s the kind of mentality that was totally absent from the GFC, partially due to the pervading economic theories of each time, one favouring deflationary over inflationary tactics. Whatever the cause, the Great Depression was a time in which our resilience and imagination came to the fore. While some of the propaganda posters of that time promised “gloom to-day, joy to-morrow”, that was not to be, and the effects of the Depression lingered until World War II. A certain Australian je ne sais quoi grew from the difficulty, however: a ‘making do’, and doing it bloody well.
While children all across the Western world are developing adult anxieties and sex drives, it is becoming more the case that grown-ups are turning to their inner kid. Office suits are being given crayons and play-doh and asked to recreate Gumby rather than focus on KPIs and maybe, at least to me, that's one of the best things for society. Michael Gow, author of Away, has crafted a tale about Roland Henning, a playwright who finds his creativity blocked, perhaps permanently. Thanks to Nina, a psychologist (handiest dramatic device in the history of Western theatre), Roland unlocks his past and the personal catastrophe that snapped the neck of his inner child. Toy Symphony promises to be both playful and serious in its approach to a great tragedy — that we inevitably lose the creative spark of youth long before we realise its importance. Fight the good fight and reignite your inner ankle-biter before the end of this week.
Audiences attending this, the first of Sydney Dance Company's 'New Creations', will find a double-bill that draws on very different parts of the human being. Adam Linder, Australian-born and German-based choreographer, has tripped into the well of collective unconscious and brought back a series of visions that explore the fractured nature of our identities. In contrast, Rafael Bonachela seeks the physical energy of human breath and how this muscular activity can create a colourful palette of emotional states. These pieces are not a simple mind-body split, however. Linder's Are We That We Are demonstrates the physical emanations of a psyche in conflict, opening with a beautiful image of a man-as-horse (Richard Cilli) led ceaselessly through his dressage paces by a resolute trainer (Emily Amisano) to the point of collapse. From this establishing theme, Linder's piece traces multiple connections between the primitive animal consciousness and the higher, often fragile, states of human sensibility. This is best captured in the duet between Linder and Charmene Yap, who flow and grind upon one another in a sex-act both gentle and bestial. The overall sense of Are We That We Are is a grungy engagement with the mind in crisis. Nick Schlieper's lighting douses sequences in colour washes, strikes at dancers with side-on strobes and, in the later stages of the piece, dominates the space with a flying lighting rig, all of which give a rock concert attitude to the stage. Jordan Askill's relaxed, streetwear costume design — tight jeans and loose t-shirts — equally conspires towards this end. Bonachela's 6 Breaths switches the mood from grunge to elegance, in a collaboration with Italian composer Ezio Bosso's beautiful score for six cellos and a piano. The piece opens with a mesmeric animation by Tim Richardson, constructing two static lovers out of particles — ash or dust, perhaps. While Linder's piece is character driven, Bonachela's main thrust comes from his epic states, where all thirteen performers control the stage at once. Moving in unison, this chorus maintains the more traditional expectation for a dance piece, although there is a very touching duet between Richard Cilli and Alexander Whitley at the heart of this piece. This classical, elegant theme was carried through 6 Breaths by Schlieper's lighting design, which constructed rows of light pillars both upstage and downstage to showcase the performers as their own Greek-like pantheon. Matching this were the costumes of Josh Goot, a Sydney-based designer, who created a modern, black-marbled shift for the dancers, equally evocative of the brief cuts of classical Greece. Bonachela and Linder's 'New Creations' is a well-curated pairing, designed to provide an equal dose of provocation followed by a gentle return to comfortable territory. However, this at times takes a step too close towards being something-for-everyone. Overall, my impression was of a night with exciting flickers amidst a mood of unchallenged meditation — worth watching for those in need of relaxation. https://youtube.com/watch?v=XmLlQjYzz0Q
If gypsy-punk, moustaches, thick Ukrainian accents, screaming guitars, tongue-in-cheek lyrics and singalongs squeeze your proverbial squeezebox, then this is the show for you. Gogol Bordello are a multicultural ensemble that started out in Manhattan's Lower East Side. Their members range from Russian accordion players to Scottish-born Hong Kong Chinese percussionists, to Ukranian-born political refugee Eugene Hutz. Hutz is the enigmatic front man and founder of the band, the one that looks like a poster boy for moustache wax and revolutionary military wear. And Gogol Bordello is the epitomisation of Hutz's outlook and political beliefs — a punk rock party that takes Romani roots and introduces them to a wider audience within tales of sordid debauchery and America's absurdity. Gogol Bordello and Hutz himself have been documented heavily in film and have crept into popular culture: docos chart the band's career and Hutz's yearly sabbatical to Eastern Europe (The Pied Piper of Hutzovina), and Hutz starred in Madonna's directorial debut Filth and Wisdom and played the lovable, honky Alex in Everything Is Illuminated, which also features the band's music. The band live up to their gypsy ideals, touring non-stop, their live show a chaotic mix of accordion and fast-paced punk jams with thick Ukrainian patois, dancing backup singers, and a 50-something-year-old shredding on the violin. https://youtube.com/watch?v=elyQ4ShVw-Y
If we believe the American travel writer Paul Theroux, "travel is glamorous only in retrospect". It is on reflection that we beautify and sculpt our previous experiences, assembling the pieces into stories that can be passed on to other ears with, well, a kind of retrospective glamour. Fiona Tan, an Australian-born artist living in Holland, approaches the past with a similar inclination; history is used imaginatively for films that seem to be alluring for the very patience they convey. In fact, spending a considerable time in the glow of Tan’s A Lapse of Memory (exhibited at the National Art School Gallery) and Disorient (shown at Sherman Contemporary Art Foundation), confirmed a rare skill with the moving image — although not much appears to happen, her stories are nevertheless compelling. In Disorient, we follow a curious camera as it moves over sensuous and eclectic objects, arranged both chaotically and specifically, in an indeterminate space. Audible is a steady and inward voice, and as we listen to the narrator reflect on distant and unfamiliar lands, we have to suspect that this collection of objects are the imagined rewards and treasures of an early adventure. After some lightweight research, it's revealed that this voice is in the service of Marco Polo, the 13th century merchant and writer of Description of the World (or Il Milione) who introduced Europe to central Asia and China. Polo was more or less a loner, and his language reveals an observant isolation, which Tan accentuates with her arrangement of sequestered objects. Similarly, this rather subduing theme of isolation is continued in A Lapse of Memory, where we move through an extravagantly regal but aging palace with Henry, Tan’s invented character who performs senility and eccentricity with effective persuasion. Here, Tan narrates the film herself, revealing to us some thoughts behind the images and the confused Henry, while also remaining vague enough to deny total explanation. This magnificent context congeals with the antiqued Henry to form a kind of Vogue Living portrait of dementia. While I should warn you that Coming Home requires time, it would not be ill spent with Tan’s images; you just have to think of the glamorous reward, in retrospect of course.
For many actors, it is playing Hamlet, Macbeth or Lear that marks their career success. Perhaps not playing them in the local church town hall, but certainly on a recognised stage and with a substantial audience these are Shakespeare's big 'uns. Which means there is a an awful lot of expectation going into the performance that it live up to the Bard's best. John Bell's Lear, fortunately, wasn't a disappointment. Though Bell might have become the name synonymous with Shakespeare in performance, in Australia at least, the company hasn't always lived up to expectations. But playing the titular character himself, John Bell comfortably embodied the arrogance that defines Lear, while never falling prey to a melodrama (this is the third time the actor has played Lear, so he should have it down by now). It seems it's a Bell Shakespeare company policy that actors will not attempt a false British accent when delivering their lines, which is a welcome relief; however, Susan Prior's Cordelia did stand out as being someone who has all too recently attended elocution lessons. King Lear, for those unfamiliar with the story, is the tale of an old king who splits his kingdom among two of his three daughters after they profess their love for him. His third daughter, unwilling to play his game, is banished. As in any Shakespeare tragedy, what follows is conspiracy, eye-gouging, betrayal and death. The staging was sparse but poignant — the play opens with a round elevation spinning centre stage, matched by a spherical curtain that circles it, creating a perfectly Shakespearean image of the world' s players being no match for the heavens that control us. While this does suggest that perhaps Lear's downfall comes not from his pride but rather from a force beyond his power, which would not be this reviewer's take on the situation, it reflects a recurrent theme in the play. While by no means perfect — indeed the production ends with a fizzle where a bang should be, and earlier scenes lose their impact as a result — as a rendition of one of Shakespeare's most famous tragedies, it is a thoroughly enjoyable production. The banter between Lear and his fool is fast and witty, Regan and Goneril are perfectly malevolent, Edmund is as conspiring as Edgar is noble and all in all the result is a solid and suitably tragic production of Shakespeare's arrogant king.
It's the documentary that caused all the fuss at last year's Melbourne International Film Festival. The one that resulted in a diplomatic scuffle, three Chinese directors withdrawing their films from the festival, and the hacking of the MIFF website to the tune of an estimated $50,000 in lost ticket sales. Now it's time for Sydney to see what all the fuss is about. Andrew Urban is hosting a one-off Q&A screening with the film's writer/director Jeff Daniels, presenting the story of the tenacious Rebiya Kadeer and her ongoing struggle against the Chinese government over the contested Xingjiang region — the ancestral land of the ethnic Muslim Uighur people. After six years in gaol and a subsequent six spent in exile in America, Kadeer is a passionate and complex leader who has been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize and also made headlines during the July 2009 riots in Ürümqi. https://youtube.com/watch?v=qxiGQ9uacgs
Putting birds beside guns may seem a dangerous move, ripe for violence. Actually, it makes for quite a nice dialogue between two new solo exhibitions at the recently relocated Gaffa space. Dan Simon likes playing with guns. Canons, bombs, axes and chainsaws also feature in past and present work. The obvious overtones of violence and destruction are a field within which Simon plays, re-presenting these objects in different ways. By recasting, remoulding and (figuratively and literally) opening up different weapons, an innate aesthetic is exposed which has little to do with the social constructs hovering around them. I was lucky enough to see one observer explaining, in simple terms, the operating mechanisms of a semiautomatic to his young daughter. Be careful not to mistake Simon's fascination for worship, however; context is acknowledged and subtly teased out in different ways. On a slightly lighter note, a walk into the next gallery reveals Andrew Ensor bringing the humble doodle to a whole new level. Bird Brain explores a feathered fascination, through a plethora of twig-like sketches with blobs or scratches of colour. The focus often strays from the birds themselves in a deliberately absent-minded way, providing visual representation for fleeting thoughts or child-like associations: pirates feature alongside pigeons and penguins. Foolishness is fun, and we don't at all mind the weird and wonderful ideas that crop up here. Image by Andrew Ensor.
The very large building that is Customs House is currently filled with a number of very small worlds. The first of these is the city model: covering the centre of the ground floor, this is an unavoidable part of your visit. Accurately reconstructed, the city of Sydney is splayed out like a toy town underneath your feet. Slightly strange, sure, but we've all seen architectural models before. It isn't long before your gaze starts wandering and a hypnotic sight draws you towards the right side of the room, where the real action is happening. Bright screens play randomised scenes of Sydney life in what appears to be miniature format. It is bizarre and hypnotic to see all this familiar detail as if you were playing Sim City. What initially seems like a simulation soon gives itself away. Surely those citizens are too lifelike to be Lego? These scenes too complex and random to be animation? What you are in fact watching is Keith Loutit's series of short films featuring real, everyday people and places. By playing with time and focus, Loutit creates the illusion of miniaturisation, which he uses to make familiar sites seem strange. It's a disorienting technique, which feels simultaneously uncanny and nostalgic to the observer. Mardi Gras, Bondi Beach and Hulkmania are highlights among the spectacles, but with so many to choose from, you're certain to find something close to home.
Sliding into the slipstream of the coming Sydney Fashion Week is a festival of a more irreverent, grass-roots variety. An event about "culture, creativity and bringing people together", Sizzle is Bondi's answer to the much-loved Surry Hills Fest. The four-day festival will cover just about every angle in celebration of the arts, beach culture and Bondi's unique community. Events include the re-painting of the infamous graffiti wall by some of the town's most celebrated artists, as well as exhibitions, live music, pop-up cinema and a classic Bondi garage sale on steroids (the biggest ever, they say). Local businesses will be showing their support by offering community cards redeemable during the slower winter months, and select cafes and restaurants will offer up a customised dish inspired by their love of Bondi. Of course, what would a Bondi festival be without a surf comp of some kind? Curated by Sam McIntosh of Stab magazine, pros and plebs alike of any age are encouraged to get a 'soft-on' in a pirate-themed soft board competition featuring special guests and VIP judges. So, if you've had it up to your Balenciagas with fashion caper and are craving some artsy street culture and a bit of barefoot fun, park your car in the next suburb, wander the streets of this beachside beauty and discover what New Zealanders have known all along. https://youtube.com/watch?v=XQRtFvUBTQU
Bigger isn't always better; unless, of course, you're Tony Stark. And taking the lead from their titular hero, director Jon Favreau and screenwriter Justin Theroux (Tropic Thunder) have crammed more explosions and stars into Iron Man 2 than is superhumanly possible. This suped-up sequel has an awful lot of fun gallivanting around with big guns and even bigger egos, as the likes of Scarlett Johansson, Samuel L. Jackson, Mickey Rourke, Sam Rockwell and Don Cheadle join the party with Robert Downey Jr., Gwyneth Paltrow and Favreau himself. The storyline follows on immediately from the first film, with Russian rival Ivan Vanko (Rourke) threatening Stark's monopoly on privatised peace with his menacingly public display of iron man technology. Nursing a bruised ego on top of his already broken heart, Stark struggles to find a cure for his rising blood toxicity, alienating Pepper (Paltrow) and Rhodes (Cheadle) in the process. Meanwhile, a politically ambitious competitor, Justin Hammer (Rockwell), unites with Vanko to show Stark up at his own technology expo. If all of that sounds like a lot to cram into two hours, then you're absolutely right. After the relatively sedate origin story, Iron Man 2 cranks the dial up to 11, jumping around at an impressive click to work in the characters, and all but elbowing out the original cast in the process. Paltrow's Pepper Pots may get bumped up to CEO of Stark Industries, but her role is woefully downgraded to mincing around in Louboutins and shrieking in distress. The sexually charged repartee between Pepper and Stark that invigorated the first film is barely present, though it is partially reassigned to Pepper's replacement, the sultry provocateur Johnasson as the Black Widow. With Downey Jr. getting a lot less screen time, Rockwell steps up to entertain, playing Hammer as a mealy-mouthed weasel who is abundantly generous with his fake tan. Rourke is suitably malevolent and Johansson impresses in her action scene, with Samuel L. Jackson on hand to deliver his trademark cheese. And for purists, Cheadle's appropriation of Terrence Howard's original role is reflexively dispatched in his opening line, "It's me, I'm here. Deal with it. Move on" As a sequel, Iron Man 2 delivers in scale, enthusiasm and a soundtrack of thumping base. Not all the amped up action works (the fight between Stark and Rhodes feels laboriously manufactured), but ultimately this is Robert Downey Jr.'s gig, and he effortlessly entertains as the narcissistic, nihilistic rascal you love to envy. The film's standout scene is Stark's opening senatorial address, where Downey Jr. sizzles in his character's cocksure antics. If only Favreau had given us a bit more Stark to go with all that Iron Man. https://youtube.com/watch?v=siQgD9qOhRs
What would happen if Peter Rabbit ditched his little blue jacket, stopped playing games with the duck and went crazy? Well, he’d probably be shot, dipped in formaldehyde and stored in a New Zealand museum awaiting Neil Pardington’s photographic exploration, The Vault. Taxidermy animals have always scared the bejesus out of me and Pardington’s wide-eyed rabbits, dopey looking deer and fine-feathered friends make you ponder their life and death. The front gallery of Grant Pirrie, like a diorama of death, confounds with elegant, large, robustly coloured photographs admirable in spite — or perhaps because — of the subject. Birds’ plumage is precisely preserved and as monkeys swing and play and the polar bear and bison advance, you feel the suspended grandeur and energy of these animals. The adjacent room is filled with photos of dismembered mannequins (one clad fashionably in a hat and fur) which are somehow more sinister than their zoomorphic counterparts — maybe because they resemble us and have been stripped of everything, even their hair.
No offence to anyone who may have been born with the surname Conway, but in the world of Andrew Lancaster's new film Accidents Happen, it is an unfortunate birthright. The film opens with Billy Conway witnessing the tragic demise of his elderly neighbour at the hand of a barbecue and a bit too much accelerant — and it all goes downhill from there. After this disturbing event, the Conway family head along to the cinema to try and distract young Billy from the vision of his melting neighbour; however, due to their incredible bad luck, another accident befalls the poor Conways, which will have far reaching consequences for all of their lives. The rest of the story follows the older Billy (Harrison Gilbertson), eight years after the accident, dealing with life in his own particular way when his mother, brother and father have all given up or escaped from reality. Filmed in Australia with an all-Australian cast and crew (bar Geena Davis and the writer, Brian Carbee), it's confusing as to why they decided to use American accents and pretend that the whole thing was actually shot in the great US of A. But this is something that you can get over, just, if only just, to give the whole thing a bit of a chance. Starting off as a short film, (which perhaps it suited this form more, though that wouldn't allow for as many of Mamma Conway (Davis)'s spectacularly confused pearls of wisdom), this story is a bit of a slow burn. While I found myself beginning this review in my head halfway through the film, I also got quite caught up in the story and there was a definite tear by the end. Not many of the characters are entirely likeable, but that is often the point. The film is testimony to the fact that shit happens, and humans can only deal with this fact in the best way that they can — in that, Lancaster has certainly hit the nail on the head. And while its not perfect, neither are we, and so we might as well just get on with it and let ourselves get lost in the story and let the many accidents happen. https://youtube.com/watch?v=wHuDce7LYD0
Fashion. Never has there been such an infectious strain of creative expression, popping up in everything like flavour enhancer, sweetening the contents of artistic mediums it previously had not much to do with. But I guess that’s the beauty of this current era of post-post modernism: no creative field of work sits in isolation from another. Fusion has become the way of the future, and artists are appropriating other genres like music and fashion in unique and innovative ways. In celebration of artistic fusion and the relationship between fashion and the arts, Being Born Again fashion couture show will present 10 collaborative works of well-known Australian designers, including Akira Isogawa and Marnie Skillings, paired with equally esteemed visual artists such as Lindy Lee and Tracey Moffat, to name a few. The show will be held at the National Art School one week prior to Rosemount Australian Fashion Week, and artists will showcase their work on garments specifically designed to reflect their individual aesthetic, providing a unique, bespoke canvas for their compositions. Cited as “a visceral and intellectual experience at the intersection of art, fashion, music, installation and design” Being Born Again couture show on Thursday, April 22 is the first of what is intended as an annual event and will feature Miss Zahra Stardust on the trapeze, Andy Uprock with his ‘cuprocking’ light display concept and J.D. Reformer and Rosie Deacon with their respective gold and animal installations. The evening's musical cheer will be provided by Washington, WIM and Jack Colwell & the Owls, stacking up to a great night of artistic diversity.
The End is the story of the demise of a man. Alone, without purpose, this unnamed man is contained within the existentialist void, nothingness, hovering around the (literally represented) light of his existence. He is difficult, insane, unlikable and resists all attempts at kindness. At the same time, he is subject to unjustifiable cruelties, which he accepts in exactly the same way as kindnesses. In this play, Samuel Beckett overwhelms our critical judgment to present insanity as the only sane response to an insane world, an absurd existence which has no reprieve. Discussing 'the play' as Beckett intended is no accident: the Beckett estate is notorious for exerting pressure to ensure that productions conform strictly to the author's intention. Many will remember a notorious clash between Beckett's nephew Edward Beckett and Neil Armfield over Company B's production of Waiting for Godot. When chastised for his inclusion of "illegal" music, Armfield famously labelled the Beckett estate "the enemy of art". Eamon Flack's production of The End, on the other hand, is one which we imagine both Becketts certainly would have approved of. This is not at all to suggest that the play was "almost without direction", as I overheard one audience member comment; instead, it is a testimony to the imagination and arduous labour necessary to stage such a strong, compelling and moving production. Flack's direction works stunningly with Teegan Lee's lighting design to embody the 'void' and the character's struggle within and against it. Lee's subtle lighting surrounds actor Robert Menzies with defined black shadows, occasionally blurring and blending these to echo the character's confusion. At moments, cold white light pins Menzies to his stage marker, a small taped cross, or gently releases him into the inky blackness. Reductive movement places an emphasis on Menzies' physicality, and his control is nothing short of breathtaking. From the moment he steps (literally) through the door, the audience is captivated — even when we are completely alienated from the character, a simple gesture can make us laugh or fill us with shame. In its creative take on suspension, timelessness and the surreal, this production is a powerful, unique and intimate presentation of The End and Beckett's work as a whole. Image by Heidrun Löhr.
What do you do if you're going on that first date and your brain can't suggest anything better than "get drunk, go dancing, do it horizontal"? While some experts would recommend eating candles for dinner (or something along those lines), the creative geniuses of Rotozaza have a bit of amazing up their sleeve: Etiquette. Two audience members sit down at a table and each put on a pair of headphones. As simple as that, they're now the performers in an intimate show, carrying out the instructions whispered through their ears. Acclaimed from all around the world, this half hour will alter your perception of theatre's capabilities and the role that the audience plays within it. This may even get you laid.
My Brightest Diamond is the project of singer/composer Shara Worden. You might have seen her open for Sufjan Stevens a few years back at the Sydney Festival: she was the coiffured, young songstress that did a mix of rock, punk and heavily orchestrated, operatic pop. You could put her in the same bag as Tori Amos, Kate Bush or even Bjork. She also played in Sufjan's band, and he puts out her records on the label that he founded with his stepfather, Asthmatic Kitty. Artists on the label share a common love of strings, pianos, harps and brass. They stretch the pop format, taking their roots in conventional songs and then experimenting with sounds and arrangements. This progressive approach has served Worden well, and has particularly caught the eye of Velvet Underground alumnus John Cale, who picked her to play a Nico tribute in Italy, and Cale's ol'-grumpy-bum partner in crime Lou Reed, who, along with Laurie Anderson, has asked My Brightest Diamond to perform at the Vivid Live Festival in June.
Alice Springs is not what it seems. For a start, it’s not the actual centre of Australia. It’s also not a sleepy, dusty, desert town — there’s a pulse and underlying ferocity that you can find only in the middle of something. What’s beneath the surface is what’s addressed in Alex Kershaw’s One of Several Centres. Filmed over a number of visits to the red centre, the work is a series of vignettes on unlikely characters, representing Alice through personality, encounter and landscape. He first visited Alice Springs years ago as a photographic assistant and, after subsequent returns, was struck by the gap between his experience of the place and familiar representations of it. One of Several Centres is a reimagining of the town; the stories are authored, but the characters’ reactions within them spontaneous. They raise more questions than they answer, making Kershaw’s tale unique, surprising and provocative. Hear about it from the artist himself, this Saturday 6 March at 2pm.
Dizzy after a weekend celebrating winning Best Track of 2010 at the NME Awards in London last Thursday (not to mention performing live alongside Lily Allen), the band that everyone in Britain is banging on about, Big Pink, have touched down in Australia and are playing the Metro Theatre on Sunday. Get out your lighters, this is the kind of soaring euphoric rock that could get entire sports arenas swaying. The duo will be performing their winning song, the infectious anthem 'Dominos' (which, despite it's initially irritating lyrics, I find myself humming in the car whenever it comes on the radio), alongside abstract, dreamy, electro-rock tracks from their debut album A Brief History of Love. Try and catch these guys before they no doubt return to Australia at the end of the year to play to the masses at the Big Day Out. https://youtube.com/watch?v=Kzsr3L9ggRM
Take one look at Tasia and you're her kitten forever. This Sydney burlesque star has shimmied her way through numerous eras — as one third of the Belladonnas de Lux and in her own international solo career — wowing audiences through the nostalgic exotica of the cheeky tease. When Tasia takes to the stage the world becomes nothing more than a spotlight and the feeling that you've smoked a whole ounce of Tom Waits through your ears. And now she's at the Vanguard to serve up lunch for three damn tasty, melted cheese evenings. Taking turns to plate up entertainment are Lillian Starr, Katherine Lambent, Erin Black, Anthony Howe and jack of all underground trades, Jay Katz.
In an awfully racist book called Voodoo in New Orleans, 1940s writer Robert Tallant describes a voodoo priest — a freed slave who claimed to be a Senegalese prince. According to the book, the priest claimed to have 15 wives and 50 children, and wore a frilly white shirt. He specialized in curses, clairvoyance and selling 'gris-gris'. His name was Dr. John. Around the same time as Tallant wrote Voodoo, Mac 'Dr. John' Renneback was born in New Orleans. He started out as a session musician, providing backing for Canned Heat, among others, and released his debut album Gris-Gris in 1968. This first record is indisputably his best and, although he has since adjusted his act, still indicative of Dr. John's essence. It is unrefined, noisy and more satisfying than a big bowl of gumbo. Dr. John has drawn much from his namesake's legacy. His 1960s stage persona was one of a psychedelic voodoo king, with robes, headdresses and the occasional chant. These days, he's swapped the robes for suits and hats but has kept the feathered staff and magical presence — he's not known as the Night Tripper for nothing, you know. https://youtube.com/watch?v=HL6fIpLYj4Y
The Scare inhabit a truly jaunty world of post-punk swagger. Their debut Chivalry and its scuzzed-out, big-haired, big-guitared rock was largely ignored by their brothers and sisters here in Australia. They didn't take it to heart; instead, they pissed off to the UK where they ate baked beans for a solid chunk of the last few years and built a following by playing club shows and festivals. They gave Australia another chance with Oozevoodoo, their second album — even enlisting our favourite Novacastra-vegan son Daniel Johns to produce it. This time around they stripped back the distortion and slowed things down to a danceable groove, working the angles into more, ahem, angular angles featuring biting guitars and wirey bass fighting it out underneath singer Kiss' attention-demanding vocals. Their new sonic approach took some cues from the Rapture and LCD Soundsystem, whilst also nodding their hat to Gang of Four and even a bit of early INXS (think 'Just Keep Walking'). It worked. Radio has picked up the album and the band have been relishing in the attention, performing at every big festival including a much-coveted rock spot on the Big Day Out. They have decided to stay true to the album format and are performing Oozevoodoo in its entirety over two nights at Spectrum. To win one of four double passes to see The Scare play in Sydney, email hello@concreteplayground.com.au with 'Scare' in the subject line and a few words on why you want to go. https://youtube.com/watch?v=VmDRDFIZE84
As Sydneysiders you should be goddamned proud of the Necks. They are one of our finest ever exports. Since the late 1980s when they started playing together in a school hall, they have released countless albums (including a new one, Silverwater), amazed audiences around the world with their live shows, and made film scores — whilst also individually releasing records and collaborating with a veritable smorgasbord of jazz and pop greats (see Tim Finn, the Sydney Symphony, Branford Marsalis, Paul Grabowsky, etc). Their live sets are the stuff of legend, with performances usually consisting of one hour of uninterrupted improvised music. The trio of Chris Abrahams on piano, Tony Buck on drums, and Lloyd Swanton on upright bass build layer upon layer of sound that can oscillate between masterfully cinematic, atmospheric music and brutal, dissonant noise, enveloping the audience into their trance like state without ever alienating them. I would suggest snapping up presales for this one, as the group only play here once in a while. https://youtube.com/watch?v=LWnpmmVWz7A
Mad Mel is back. After seven years off screen, he's stepped in front of the camera and into very familiar shoes, once again playing a police detective driven to the brink. Based on the 1985, critically acclaimed BBC miniseries, director Martin Campbell has returned to helm the feature film after screenwriters Andrew Bovell (Lantana) and William Monahan (The Departed) moved the action from Leeds to Boston. After his darling daughter Emma (Bojana Novakovic) is gunned down in front of him, single father and staunch Catholic Thomas Craven (Gibson) desperately hunts down every lead, even as they take him further outside the bounds of the law. Doing a deal with the devil (in the guise of shady gun-for-hire Jedburg (Ray Winstone), Craven soon finds himself in front of a pathological corporate figurehead (Danny Huston) and in the cross hairs of a nuclear conspiracy. While the premise intrigues and the performances are strong, Edge of Darkness ends up being decidedly less than the sum of its parts. It's as if more than just the British accents were lost in translation, as the six-part mini-series fails to resonate within the film's 116 minute running time. Plot holes and odd pacing do little to drive action or interest to the promised edge, and although it's good to see Mel again, audiences would definitely do better venturing back to the 80s, with the original series, and a couple of Lethal Weapons thrown in for good measure. https://youtube.com/watch?v=-HVYeDUd-gs
