Russell McGiltons ‘Bombay to Beijing by Bicycle’ treads very familiar territory for anyone who has suffered medical misadventure in a third world country.

Certainly my experiences of simultaneous heat stroke and gastroenteritis on a 5 hour boat journey through Cambodia was my own Heart of Darkness moment that came flooding back, and serves as a permanent lesson as to why one should not eat cheese in a country with little refrigeration.

But this one man character & physical comedy extravaganza maybe suffers a little on the basis that it is a one fundamental joke routine – a twilight zone of flashbacks under the feverish spell of malaria. Maybe I was hoping he would get significantly farther than India in the routine – that certainly may be the case in the book accompanying the comedy routine (does that make it multimedia…?).

I’m not 100% sure whether I am comfortable with his stereotypical depictions of the folk he encounters – the cricket mad peasantry, the locals with vested family interests in local businesses, the doctors bordering on quackery and sex-mad Israeli tourists. Look, these things do exist when travelling in far flung places, as I well know first hand (albeit nymphomaniac Jewish princess are notably absent from my travels) – but does that make them a legitimate target of comedic ridicule from the vantage of Western economic advantage, or am I being too politically correct?

He is an excellent performer – and this hour long monologue is well conceived, written and performed. Best you go and make you own mind up.

I have been dying to attend something at the old Queen Theatre for years – it being the oldest surviving theatre on the Australian mainland, it is a mixture of preserved heritage fighting against the inevitable march of urban decay (not unlike many an old queen…)

What better place to sample offerings from UnSound, the Festival Within The Adelaide Festival showcasing some of the world’s finest dark ambient, experimental, avant-garde electronic artists that I never would have expected to see down here in the antipodeans.

First was duo Tim Hecker & Daniel Lopatin (the latter also known a Oneohtrix Point Never) who put the structural engineering of the Queens Theatre (and the scaffolding based stands I was sitting on) under severe stress by continually hitting their subharmonic mechanical resonance, risking a potential building collapse. Their weaving of low end frequency drone with sweeping high end attack, oscillating between harmony and discordance was not easily listening by any means – but perseverance brought revelation about the ability to manifest visceral intensity that is not reliant on volume alone.

The term ‘synaesthesia’ is often and easily bandied about when talking of the Laser & Audio show developed by Robin Fox, and I am not going to argue any differently. What this man achieves with a single beam green laser and synchronised sound treatments, diffused and refracted, demonstrates that minimalism is not necessarily synonymous with subtle. He traverses the gap between sound and form, to the point where they are indistinguishable. He is a master of Quantum Musica Universalis – instead of the planetary bodies his music arises from the dance of sub-atomic space, the violent exchange of charge and a confusion of causality.

Raime was a real discovery– noir down tempo techno sensibilities, it immediately invoked memories of my early exploration of electronic acts such as Morthound and James Bernard. With their visual montages of elemental destitution, desolation and resurrection, it was like the Queens Theatre was a natural performance space for them to inhabit, their particular aural offerings birthing renewal from fallen forms.

Lastly we had a rare performance of Trinity, manifested by Lustmord (Brian Williams) & MFO, being a commissioned exploration of the stark emotional space, cold visuals and inevitable dissolution of an old age arising from the nuclear weapons research program in the New Mexico desert . This definitive Atompunk audio / visual manifesto lowers a thick cloud of melancholic reflection over the observer, framing close scrutiny of fine lines between the salvation and destruction of civilization. Mr Williams’ chthonic invocations churn and regurgitate from below, punctuated by sonorific howling wails dropping liking divine tears – unable to extinguish the all-consuming incandescence that eventually erupts behind our performers.

One could not but walk away from tonight a little numb, intellectually and emotionally exhausted. Every bodily sense tangible and metaphysical was tried and tested. Big Kudos to the Adelaide Festival for curating a wheel within a wheel, the likes of which we have never seen.

We first reviewed Fetish Burlesque last year, and they got a fair bit of attention amongst the traps and have needed to scale up venue size – great to see a local act evolving and building on success.

Due to an unfortunate mis-reading of the start time I got to Fetish for Burlesque late to miss the opening act by former-Miss Burlesque SA 2012, Dezzie Damned…but more on her later.

Fortunately for me, host Jethro Heller’s sly comedic double entendre laden monologues gave me enough time to slip in to see the remaining proceedings.

Desert Rose has no doubt been reading the Poisoner’s Handbook for this routine as she drugs and does away with some poor soul, all the while swaying and swinging to heavy trip hop electro beats. In fact there is something of the minimalist charm in Ms Rose’s routines, particularly in her follow up Pin Up style tease which she does with restraint, tease and a tinge of dark melancholy over a heavy reverb laden guitar playing “Bang Bang”. Despite the rocked out end of the routine ending with a major pastie failure – she kept a certain composure and continuity that makes me think we will see a lot of good things from her in the future (and I mean artistically, not anatomically, dear reader…)

Roxy L Danger’s first routine had her emerge to stage in Art Deco splendour, like she had just been ripped off a statue mounting. Strutting over an up-tempo version of “Do Right”, wielding a striking pair of scarlett fans, she demonstrated high poise and grace. Being adept in light & shade her follow up routine was a Vodou-Noir tale of esoteric manipulation, seduction and revenge – the victim becoming torturer underpinned by Marilyn Manson’s cover of “I Put A Spell On You”. Woman, versatility is thy name.

The divine Ms Dezzi Damned never fails to impress – a grand entrance and costuming style having a certain Cruella DeVille presence over some impressive dark ambient sounds laying down some gravitas. What followed over screaming metal shredding, was a gorelesque erotica extravaganza as she channelled the very essence of Elizabeth Bathory in all her regal glory. Imagination is what marks good burlesque these days, not just by the numbers routines, and Dezzie showed why she took our last years State crown.

Troupe producer Skye Williams deserves kudos for pushing the production smarts up a notch or ten, and we look forward to seeing what 2014 brings.

See the remaining performances while you can.

Let me just say up front that Luna Eclipse & Sapphire Snow are, as far as I am concerned, the Reigning Royalty of Burlesque in South Australia, and while we will have many a deserving Princess crowned annually as part of Miss Burlesque, and rightly should they be held in high Regal regard, Luna & Sapphire hold a hereditary title between them that will only be passed on by retirement or accidental defenestration.

There are shows that may have more glitz, expensive sound and light shows, and military precision routines. But what they often lack is humour & comedic timing, creativity, intimate audience connection, and when it counts, an unabashed sensuality – my friends, the Peaches & Gin crew consistently offer this in spades and serve as a benchmark by which I judge much other Burlesque.

At The Movies, hosted by Lady Cara & Rowan Watts, is becoming something of a Fringe tradition, and glad I am that it is an evolving beast, and not a static act replayed annually.

An introductory Gentleman Prefer Blondes number, all ablaze in red sequins and to the tune of the country number “Little Rock” was show girl strut at its finest.

Lady Cara threw in a clever cover of Kate Miller Hiedke’s Facebook song “Are You Fucking Kidding Me?” just to show that cabaret can evolve past dreary renditions of Mein Herr. (Hooray).

Call out routines include a highly erotically charged, and funny, Predator Burlesque performance that will stir confusing feelings of xenophilia amongst the geek set. The ante was upped even further when “Harry Potter and the Love That Must Not Be Named” takes to the stage, all phallically Freudian with wands at the ready.

Like the sacrilegious Mary Poppins routine, the girls offered up spoonfuls of sugar, and not only did the medicine go down, like a hormone filled teenager abusing dextromethorphan cough syrup I’d happily go back for another bottle.

We at Absinthe.com.au like all things Parisian (except the Parisians themselves who rudely announce “There will be no supper! Go away come back later” upon entering one of the few places serving absinthe in the whole damn city….which is why my sojourn there hasn’t featured here. I’m still bitter, bitter as the harshest wormwood, can you tell?!).

Ahem.

As the Gods of Wikipedia tell us….

“Grand Guignol – was a theatre in the Pigalle area of Paris. From its opening in 1897 until its closing in 1962 it specialized in naturalistic horror shows”

And thus sets the raison d’être for this charming and funny show, ”Grand Guignol”, by Dave Bloustein – the man who you probably don’t know better as part of the past writing team of Good News Week and The Glass House. See, he comes from good breeding (I looked at his teeth before the show and I can assure you dear reader he is in excellent form).

What unfolds is not so much a regular stand up comedy show but a narrative. His skills in improvisation, segues and wide array of head attire brings together a collection of very different stories with a decidedly understated Edgar Allen Poe approach to gothic horror.

While the contrast between the content can be as stark as chalk and particularly fine fragrant blue cheese – ranging from a Mummy’s Curse to the Factional Follies of the ALP Faceless Men, Dave has a certain machine gun delivery of extensive comedic monologue that makes you unsure how much is scripted prior, and how much might be inspiration.

I liked what he is doing– and this show needs a full audience to carry the atmosphere. So get out there and see him.

If Dave Bloustein had a certain nervous energy about him that suggests a closet sociopath, then Cath Jamison, clearly In 2 Minds, is a Hannibal Lector trying to decide how best to serve your brains on a plate.

As a comedic-mentalist she plied many a clever routine that makes public liability insurers nervous. But broken glass, razor blades and viscious looking sporks are but the tip of the icepick through your skull. Aside from her obvious proclivity to being gaffer taped, in this sight deprived state she performed many a mind trick with the audience, albeit par for the course tricks but very necessary sign posts of mentalism skill, the kind that momentarily suspends one scepticism and takes you along for the ride.

The finale certainly sealed it for me – a trick providing a script for an evening that could not have been known in advance. The kind of frustratingly clever trick that makes you want to strap her to a woodpile with a flaming torch demanding a confession on how she does it and whether Satan would accept a time share arrangement, like Club Med, on an available soul.

Check her out while you can.

By golly, Illure is a bit of a hard show to really pidgeon hole.  It’s not really Burlesque – more Show Girl. But even that is not quite right – there is some strong vocal performances here that root it in fine Cabaret tradition. Maybe Cabaret is a misnomer – illusion & stage magic weave their way through every part of the performance, that you might be tempted to call it a musical magical show, but then that is not quite on the money. Vaudeville ? –  and yet even that seems a limiting term.

So let me shoot the damn pidgeon.

Those of you who have followed previous reviews of Burlesque & Cabaret at the Adelaide Fringe would be aware I have often cast a level of disdain at (semi)professional dance companies and production outfits providing high rehearsed but emotionally sterile performances that are about as ‘fringe’ as a tonsure cut on a monk.

Today I have had to re-evaluate some of those preconceptions. I like it when a production causes me to do that.

Illure is clever.

Yes – it has high production values that certain other Fringe participants would envy, but it is not a show that hides behind light and sound to compensate an absence of narrative and innate ability. Yes – it is sharply rehearsed and slick, but glory be, the performers know how to connect and engage with an audience.

Additional bonus points are awarded for the use a real backing band –and their musical mastery allowed them to chop and change between jazz, Klezmer sensibilities, latin and classical in a beats notice, seamlessly.

Libby O’Donovan, all Elizabethan frills, blues growls and Ella Fitzgerald swagger was definitely the principal regal figure of the evening holding Court.  I would say stage magic may be the domain of the court jester – yet Illusionist-Dancer Charli Ashby was no ones fool – sexy, sassy and swift of hand, beholder of the eye.  Ranging from nifty card tricks to more technically difficult cage & box switcheroos – what is important here is not whether you have seen these tricks before but rather the originality in context to which they are presented.

Supported by a sensational troupe of dancers – that may I add made me rejoice in the fact that they all looked very different physically, in movement, in their forte dance styles, and yea verily, the projected personalities.  I should not really have to make such an observation, but some acts I have seen in the past seem to be characterised by carbon copy chorus lines devoid of genuine expression.

This is one worth getting out for, Fringe Dwellers – it may not have the same ‘edge’ I often look for in Fringe, but it is highly entertaining and manifests enough variety to put it well outside the box in many ways.

The remaining shows are Friday 22nd, Saturday 23rd and Sunday 24th February at the Adelaide College of the Arts, Main Theatre, 39 Light Square.

So the next absinthe I need to tell you about, Libertine Amer 68, is certainly a talking point.

A product of the Paul Devoille Distillery and from their website they state:

“Libertine is based on the traditional recipe of our distillery dating from the turn of the last century. Its color is 100% natural and the plants used include absinthe (wormwood) itself, green aniseed, star aniseed, etc.

Each of the ingredients is individually steeped and then individually distilled. The resulting mix of distillation leads to a second steeping with plants to produce its distinctive green color.”

While this is a product with some tradition and history, there has been debate over the decade amongst connoisseurs as to whether it is a “true absinthe” because it is based on the blending of individual distilled macerates.  (As an aside, this is how the eyebrow raising Moulin Rooz from Australia is made, and probably highlights the risk of this method in that the wormwood bitterness can be too overpowering).

That debate aside, it is something of an absinthe that has polarised folk, probably of more genteel tongues.

Taking a deep breath - wow, something wild on heat. Musk. Sweat. A boudoir after an summer’s afternoon orgy.   This will produce a strong reaction in some folk.  It will intrigue others.

Amber Yellow in the glass. Autumn leaves.

Slowly we dilute with sugar. Pour some sugar on me indeed - it remains defiantly hot, sticky & sweet. Nothing tempers the hormonal surge emanating from within. It louches to a shade of a sepia photograph capturing another time and place.

As I consume I am repeatedly assaulted with herb bombs, sweet & savoury, a tasty bitterness thrusting between the anethole like a black keyed pentatonic scale.  And then came a climatic chalky minerality, perhaps amongst the strongest I have experienced in an absinthe.

This absinthe does not pretend to be subtle. She isn’t there to seduce you, to beguile you with faint promises of mystical Elysian pleasures.  She is brutally physical. She is going to use her teeth and her claws to make it happen.

I hope you are up to it.

Now it appears I’m going to come into conflict with some of my peers, particularly over at the Wormwood Society, because I really liked this absinthe and my experience seems completely different to theirs.  Now, that may have something to do with the way my palate has changed after half a dozen years in the wine industry.

There are a lot of really good absinthes out of the market, many that have been important gateways for me, but that I would now class as ‘commercial grade’. They are consistent, dependable, maintain good drinkable quality batch after batch, but hardly a Magnum Opus.

In wine, a common fault is Brettanomyces which produces acetic acid and is a death knell for many wines. But.  There is a school of thought that for certain wines, at certain minimal levels, a bit of Brett can add complexity to a wine and is not necessarily a bad thing. But this is at the artisan end of wines, not for the average Joe. And even then the experts disagree as to who is sailing close to the wind and who is just making bad wines.

I give credit here to malcontent wine reviewer and protagonist Philip White who brought to my attention via his blog a pertinent proposition: “Taste is first and foremost distaste - disgust and visceral intolerance of the taste of others - Pierre Boudieu“.

Heritage, by Paul Devoille, is a hard green, a green of untamed wilderness and rolling unworked land, and the nose seemed only to reinforce this point.  After the pour had settled the most enticing aroma to hit me was a raw Elder Flower and Chamomile. Heady and harsh but then balanced by a delicate note of Honeysuckle.

As the louche unfolded it was brutally thick and creamy as King Island’s best. Delightfully, out of this arose a new savoury spice teaser touching my olfactory nerves, inviting me to explore further.

To the taste I immediately thought of Verte de Fougerolles as my nearest reference point, not inappropriate given the source. Only reinforces the artisan argument to me . Grassy fields, fresh herbs, certainly enough balanced bitterness for my taste and pronounced anise. But surprisingly throughout all of this, the Elder flower & Chamomile tango kept dancing on like it had just been poured, nothing was lost in the dilution.

Then at the very end of the contemplation, a nice chalky saltiness cuts through what would possibly be a cloying experience and lingers on the tongue.

This will not be to everyone tastes. Sure.

But this is an absinthe, I think, to the Bear Grylls of connoisseurs - who are willing to take a hard road to taste something challenging to others and finding some reward in the experience.

Just to reproduce the eloquent description by the fine Outré folk from their own website:

Outré Gallery is very proud to be publishing and producing a brand new book on artist Vali Myers.  In conjunction with the Vali Myers Art Gallery Trust, Outré Gallery is planning this release in September 2012 - with a book launch which will be celebrated with an exhibition of original artworks, display of diaries and relics as well as new prints.

Vali Myers was an enigmatic Australian-born artist who lived her life as a fiercely independent, brave, bright flame carving her influence through Paris, Italy, New York and Africa before returning to Australia in the twilight of her life.

Artist, dancer, animal lover, dedicated diarist, visionary, muse and powerful creatrix, Vali left a body of work which started with her early drawings in the cafés of Paris in 1950 right through till her death in 2003.

Vali had an incalculable impact on creative beings all over the world.  Her path crossed with many luminaries of the 20th century, including Jean Paul Sartre, Jean Genet, Tennessee Williams, Allen Ginsberg, George Plimpton, Django Reinhardt, Andy Warhol, Salvador Dali, Donovan, Patti Smith, Deborah Harry, Dee Dee Ramone and Marianne Faithful.

Known in life for her wild, flaming hair, intricate facial tattoos and loud gypsy jewellery, Vali’s indomitable spirit and authentic take on life continues to permeate through her art, inspiring and influencing those who fall under her spell.

Her exceptionally detailed drawings, delicately executed at night by lamp-light, often took many months, even years, to complete with a light touch, patient hand and a fine pointillist style.

This book includes many hereto unpublished drawings, photographs, previously unseen diary excerpts and reflections by: Carlo McCormick, Eileen Polk, Devendra Banhart, Donovan, Chris Stein, Flame Schon, Gianni Menichetti, Ruth Cullen, Julia Inglis and Nicole Karidis (Vali Myers Art Gallery Trust).

The official book launch will take place at