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REVIEW #1

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A c-production between Black Swan and Company B Belvoir, this new production has a great cast led by Christine Anu and Casey Donovan and featuring Aljin Abella, Hollie Andrew, Jimi Bani, Kylie Farmer, Kenneth Ransom and Oliver Wenn.

Casey Donovan steals the show with her hilarious performance and her ability to take us from side-splitting laughter to moving moments. The vocals of course are a stand-out in particular those of Christine and Casey and I couldn’t help wanting to boogie in my seat to the classic Motown hits including Stop in the Name of Love, Chain of Fools, Sex Machine, and Respect. Under the musical direction of Peter Farnan the tunes included a good mix of ‘true to form’ renditions as well as some great re-workings performed by the musical talents of Simon Burke, Ben Collins, Daniele Di Paola and Andrew Weir.

Directed by the very talented, Wesley Enoch, The Sapphires serves as a reminder of the missing link in our ANZAC culture which often neglects to mention the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders who fought in all of Australia’s major conflicts, as well as those who served as nurses and of course entertainers. Indigenous servicemen and women were our invisible war heroes and have been missing from our history, having once been banned from ANZAC day marches, plays like The Sapphires serve to remind us of their sacrifices and contribution.

Having said that, the political undertone in The Sapphires is very under-played and instead it is a celebration of the talents, humour and bravery of entertainers during war time as well as a good excuse to sing up a storm and reminisce about the girl groups of the sixties.

The costumes are fabulous and the set design while minimal is highly effective. The only down side to The Sapphires was that sadly the June performance I went to see was one of the last for this production so I couldn’t go back to see it again. However, there are rumours the play may have another run, and if it does, make sure to book your tickets early.

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 REVIEW #2

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While, I know this might sound un-cool, the Street Warriors somehow manage to make hip hop seem like fun without making you feel like you’ve stumbled into a Hill-song convention. Their lack of pretence makes their brand of hip hop hipper than the often try-hard, not to mention mysogonistic attitudes associated with this genre, while their political lyrics save it from crossing over to the daggy side. If you’re still not convinced that it’s ok for hip hop artists to smile and have fun, let’s face it, artists such as 50 Cent and G Unit, who the Street Warriors recently supported, aint going to book no nerds to share the stage with them.

While the ‘joy’ of their live performance doesn’t necessarily come through on their CD, it’s still well worth listening to the well produced tracks on Unstoppable Force. The 13 track album, offers a versatile mix of deep beats, tribal energy, street raps and RnB and is chock full of guest performers, including Anthony ‘Choc’ Mundine, on I Rep For My Mob, number one New Zealand band Nesian Mystik on Leave it To Me, and Troy and Trevelyn Brady on My Life With You. There is also a reworking of the classic Goanna song Solid Rock which features the original backing singers as well as Goanna guitarist Shane Howard and vocals from ex-Idol Shannon Noll. The final track on the album, Blackfellas, is a bonus track included from an earlier EP when the brothers were part of the group Local Knowledge.

Their first track, ‘Firestorm’, sums up the band’s ‘mission statement’: ‘step by step you do it, town by town you show it’ and is testament to their seven years on the road playing not only to city crowds but remote audiences as well. As a result, Street Warriors were recently nominated for the Deadly Award for Outstanding Achievement in RNB and Hip Hop at the 2010 Deadlys.

Unstoppable Force is out now – visit www.streetwarriors.com.au for stockists.

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The Combi Descending
 

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Besides being the smallest evil genius in the world – or at least in the West; since China had opened its borders to business and tourists it was becoming increasingly apparent that it had always nursed the greater portion of the world’s marvels – young Canute was also the most dependent. He depended in many ways and, to a humiliating degree for an evil genius, on the goodwill of that woman Eva; whom, at least, he found he could command effortlessly with even his limited range of commands: “goo”, “gaa”, “goo-goo”, “gaga”, “brrrt” and “waah!”

The 90-minute intense encounter with the seldom visited stratospheric altitudes of the higher calculus passed in what seemed an eyeblink and Canute became aware once more of the mundane world about him.

“If only she were aware,” mused Canute (in an undertone that to the woman Eva’s ear sounded like “boo-boo, baa-baa, wheeee, shploot”), “of the extent to which my suggestions, inserted surreptitiously into her subconscious as I bloot and blurt my dinner down her blouse, have commanded her actions after dark over the past two months, she would have a veritable conniption!”

“And that fellow she insists on describing as ‘your daddy’; pah! Why, even as I lie here snug in the double satisfaction of having advanced in my latest meditation towards a credible melding of the Reilly-Bent proposition that dark matter is really just a really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, dark shade of grey, with the results of the Victorian Onospheric Metrical Investigation Team’s (better known within the scientific community as The Unfortunate Acronym) experiments with socks (published in the Journal of Inefficient Causes as “Socks and the Single Girl”) and having filled my nappy with delicious warmth, ‘your daddy’ (pah!) is on the trail of that kidnapping scoundrel Skeet Roadkill and soon I expect to have Splinter once again in my hands!

He took the opportunity to practise his evil laugh, which to the ear untrained in infant evil ingenuity sounded like: “Tinkle-winkle, oogie-woogie bleet bleet.”

“Ooh, my little darlie-warley fruity Canutie is awake, is he?” The woman Eva had appeared at the side of his cot and was thrusting her face down upon Canute’s, invading his personal space in a frighteningly wanton manner and filling his ears with drivelling nonsense. Suddenly she withdrew and uttered the only word that filled Canute Pendelbury with dread for he knew what humiliation was to follow: “Phew”.

At that same moment, Skeet Roadkill was suffering the double irony of crisping up nicely inside the port-a-barbecue that had been Vance Splinter’s pale-blue combi van and of making his exit from our story simultaneous with his entrance. From the ledge above the gorge, a sinister figure watched as the burning vehicle slowly sank beneath the water’s surface. Skeet’s blackened features pressed against the driver’s side window.

The figure, satisfied that “VW” had become Skeet’s epitaph, dropped the butt of a cigar into the dirt, crushed it under his boot, revved his Vespa and tootled off towards Port Campbell at a devil-may-care 45km/h.

Bute Pendelbury had asked Skeet nicely for the key to Vance Splinter’s apartment and Skeet had laughed in a very hurtful manner. Hence Skeet’s precipitous plunge from the ledge and life. Now the key lay securely in Bute’s shirt breast pocket.

TO BE CONTINUED

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