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Ok - we have been a little quiet lately, and the only excuse I’m going to provide is that when one has a young addition to the family in the first years of his life, it really throws plans for regular absinthe consumption out the window. Now he has more of his own independence, I can indulge more in daddy’s little helper and bring back some regularity to what’s on in Australia with regard to absinthe and associated cultural mores.

I have been sitting on this particular absinthe for too long - the wife is out, the child is having his afternoon nap, ginger & garlic beef stew on the slow cooker. Time to break the seal.

This Swiss baby is, according to the back label, hand crafted by Claude-Alain Bugnon, “one of the first clandestine distillers to come out into the open after the Swiss ban on absinthe was lifted in 2005″. It is a Swiss meadow in a bottle - over a dozen aromatic herbs in the making. I must admit upfront, as a trained herbalist such products tend to be favourite of mine as I untangle the dispensary upon my tongue.

I pop the T cork - this 68% alc/vol absinthe greets me with sweetened hyssop notes, a light touch of mint in the air, characteristic anise, antique leather armchair. But a dominant aroma of a freshly opened box of pipe tobacco mushrooms into the air, moist, just shredded to release the aromatics, rich like treacle. Not sure if I should smoke it in a pipe or drink it?

I pour a sample, and it is almost yellow. Citrine or Chrysoberyl. It is naturally coloured, but it is certainly a unique hue.  When drinking alone I sometimes defer to the careful pour from my water decanter, which does tend to be a bit quicker than a fountain drip, but this is not a quick louche absinthe. It resists my aqueous invocations.  The level goes up and up before the first tease of transformation. Patience. Patience is a virtue. About 3/4 there it blossoms, swirls of opaqueness that soon transforms into a veritable mothers milk - thick, solid, almost impenetrable as the spoon disappears into its veil.

To the taste, I first note a soft saltiness wrapped up in a more gentle beguiling wormwood bitterness.  And then, for a minute you fear that there may be an impending and unfortunate alcohol burn in the back of the throat - but no - it halt on the edge of the precipice and instead melts down your neck like a thick anise linament, warming, therapeutic, but no more than that.

The aroma on dilution is principally anise & fennel, the texture on the tongue is thick and gracious reflecting the appearance of the louche. I do think there may be more complexity hidden and weaved on the nose than on the tongue - but do not mistake this as meaning the taste is at all boring.

For a complicated absinthe it seems to try not to complicate the taster, which can be a risk for absinthes of this style. It does have a very good length - continuing to please in the minutes after the taste.  And then, as the absinthe in the glass warms a little, the tongue and snoz are teased with that cheeky mint again - more like a Persian Spearmint tea kind.

By no means an entry level absinthe, but I think accessible to those on all rungs above on the ladder - the training of the nose and palate I believe will unveil more and more surprises in this absinthe.  A welcome back for me, openly taunting me with what I have been missing.

Angelique Verte Suisse was kindly provided by Absinthesalon.com.au for review

Austrians aren’t exactly world-renowned for their production of absinthe, so today’s review should prove to be something of an adventure for my taste buds. In front of me is a bottle of Absinthe Montmartre, which comes from the Schnaps Museum in Vienna, a location that quickly provides intrepid absintheurs with a devastatingly obvious clue as to the distiller’s area of expertise.

Yet on we go, undaunted and curious.

On opening the dark and slender bottle adorned with a home- (or museum-) made label, a sweet cinnamon note tickles the nostrils, overpowering the base alcohol. A dark mix of olive and opaline with a hint of turquoise fills the bottom of the glass, appearing only slightly artificial. A gentle sip confirms the schnaps-like origins of the drink, albeit with a higher alcohol percentage, weighing in at 65%.

The louche doesn’t work very well with room temperature water, but once it’s refrigerator-cold there is a surprisingly satisfying movement of oil trails to begin with. Unfortunately, disappointment quickly surfaces as the water level rises, with the final louche appearing thin and translucent.

Sugar helps to blend the herbs together but the flavour still comes across as a smile curve on a graphic equalizer—or the sound from a cheap stereo system—all alcohol burn and cinnamon. There is the small saving grace of a lingering dryness from the wormwood but much more of an unwelcome citrus note than the usual unifying anise and fennel. I’m not even sure that fennel has been used here at all.

It’s not the most horribly crafted absinthe as it’s apparent that the makers have spent time tweaking the formula, this being the Cinquiéme (fifth) Edition. But a few years ago I tried the third formulation and if the memory of my taste buds serves me correctly, there isn’t a lot of difference. I’d say the word ‘Edition’ is more of a replacement for the word ‘batch’.

If you do come back with a bottle from a wild European tour that happens to include Vienna and the Schnaps Museum, I’d definitely recommend taking it with sugar and ice-cold water. It will give you enough of a hint as to what absinthe can be, but don’t expect your Green Fairy to look like Juliette Binoche—this drink will conjure forth someone more along the lines of Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Montmartre was provided for review by Absinthesalon

After much of the Classical style Burlesque I have seen over the Fringe it is good to counterbalance things with some modern form neo-Burlesque - and yea verily, it is even better when it works. There have been some real hits and misses in years past. Tonight was the former, not the latter, I am happy to say.

Consider if you will the tradition of Chamber Opera, small ensembles of performers and musicians performing stories designed for a small venue.  The concept of Chamber Opera actually fits very well with neo-Burlesque, and particularly tonights performance, Burlesque Assassin.  We have a house band consisting of stripped back drums, indie-jazz double bass and jangling shoe-gazing guitar - this being Sydney band The Knife Waltz, the lead singer for which, Nikki Nouveau prowls onto stage like a diamonte spotted Snow Leopard, bullwhip in hand.  The reverb laden sounds layered with Nikki’s voice touches on sentiments of PJ Harvey and Blonde Redhead, with certain noir Lynchian qualities.

I’ve seen a few Burlesque shows this Fringe, and some I have openly pondered about how well the mood has been set by the Master of Ceremonies, what I believe to be a critical role. They are no less than a Ringmaster, an Orchestral Conductor even.  Look and learn would be MC’s.  The Dolls House Master of Ceremonies (or is that Master of Seduction?),  is the wonderfully androgynous Johnny Castrati, a dandy indeed and resplendent in a frock coat with dual peacock motifs (cocksure compensation perhaps?).

But he promises us much. “Less David Jones and more Carnivale!!” he proclaims to my welcome relief, my growing anticipation.

Thus the tone and tenure of the evening is set, and the foundations laid for the entrance of Flavella L’Amour, corseted in period garb and parasoled like Marie Antoinette, who teases wonderfully by appropriately pacing her routine, losing not an inch of kapow in the process, across a soundtrack of 1920’s jazz, modern rock and then swing.  She will push the ceiling higher later in the evening with a sassy cabaret jazz routine climaxing in her adornment in her trademark pet python, its random wandering across her curves producing a natural snakeskin garment that moved and reacted to her gyrations.

Karrey Dolly gave us an ‘Edwina Scissorhands routine that was cleverly constructed, although her movements in this routine and her follow up Middle Eastern Gogo Explosion occasionally had timing issues, which need to be forgiven as she was last minute a stand in, and she clearly was committed to delivering a solid performance.

Zoe L’Amour Princess of Pain & Daredevil Diva fulfilled provided a nice contrasting hard edge darkness to the otherwise bright display through acts of masochism, illusion and daring – mousetraps on the tongue, consuming razor blade laden apples, climbing a ladder of swords bear footed and tongue kissing an electric metal fan.  The girl is hard. Well hard.  If this wasn’t enough she proved that battery operated love toys are no match for a mains electricity powered angle grinder thrust into an armour clad groin.

Lastly, to the crooning tunes of Just A Gigolo, our psychopomp extraordinaire Johnny Castrati emerged from his chrysalis to reveal Australian Burlesque royalty, Rita Fontaine who gave us a full contact Gogo shimmy and shake that threatened to undermine the building foundations.

A Dolls House was Burlesque in a Mexican wrestling mask that slammed us into the canvas repeatedly, leaving us much too delirious and weak to tag out.

A Dolls House has their last performance on tonight, 12 March, at 11pm - SOLD OUT

The premise seemed good.  Naked cabaret comedy performance with piano accordian.

I never thought I’d say that nudity can never compensate a wanting performance, but there you go.

It started well, as a bold bump & tease entrance, a slow disrobing behind a strategically placed accordian (a nice change to balloons).  But then Liz Skitch, our femme fatale protagonist for the evening, delivered her particular mix of songs, stories and comedic one liners, clothed in bad musical paisley behind a maddening novelty oompah bass line that had me convinced that at some stage she was going to deliver a “I say, I say, I say, my dog has no nose…” routine.

If you are old enough you may remember comedian Jean Kittsons ditzy character Candida Royal on the Big Gig – remove the leotard, give her German instrumentation and you get the picture.

Look, much of the audience seemed to be laughing and were enjoying it tremendously, so what do I know?

I just didn’t find the stories particularly clever, the songs were loosely constructed and the expected punchy one liners had the aim of drunken haymaker in the front bar of the Ettamogah Pub.

Skitchtease has one more performance this Thursday 11 March 2011.

I would like to use this review of Adelaide-based Syrian Oud player Adnaan Baraky as an opportunity to make a comment on the multiculturalism debate, and this so called notion of “assimilation”.

A number of years ago I started to learn the Oud with a wonderful teacher in the Western Sydney Turkish community, which culminated in me joining their community orchestra as the token White Anglo-Saxon. I didn’t speak a word of Turkish, I was not a Muslim, I had never been to Middle Eastern country, I knew nothing of the culture – and yet I was welcomed with open arms because of my willingness to cross the cultural bridge halfway on account of my love of the instrument. And I came to learn and love that there is such a thing as a unique Australian Turkish culture, a thing in itself. This was for me represented best in a song composed in Turkish Classical style by my Oud teacher which sang the history of the Australian “Johnnies” and Turkish “Mehmets” fighting on the shores of Gallipoli. “Assimilation” as the critics of multiculturalism would have it, would prevent art such as this from being born in Australia.

During the performance by Adnaan, a highly skilled and creative artist with a learned musical pedigree, he spoke of composing his piece Melodies from the Other Side as the US Forces invaded Afghanistan, written for the dead on both sides of the conflict. He was unable to finish the song. Then when the US invaded Iraq, again he tried to complete the piece but was not able. Finally, after moving to Australia, he was so touched the tragedy of the victims of the Victorian bushfires he was able to finish the song, as if the spirits of the dead were saying to the living “Don’t worry about us, instead, worry about yourselves, for we are in peace”.

This is what is created in the crucible of multiculturalism.

Much of his new music being showcased tonight from his newly released album is born of his migration to Australia, of the search to find a means of expressing his Syrian heritage in the Australian setting. The Blues was not born here, but we are often happy to talk about an Australian Blues scene, and cultural context. Why are we then so hesitant about recognizing Australian-Middle Eastern culture and music, or Australian-African, or Australian-Asian for that matter?

There are songs of geographical dislocation, Ya Balady, of Sufic spirital ecstacy through Union with the Divine, Dinaan and well as traditional dances, Lawha. Through all these works and thematic melodies he conjures amazing taksim (improvisation) that carries one into deep meditative admiration.

Adnaan Baraky will be doing one more performance for the Adelaide Fringe on Sunday 13 March. Attendance would be all the more culturally enriching for you I think, an opportunity to pick up his CD while you are there.

Now, I like Dave Callan, MC for the Burlesque Beauties this evening – he is a funny bastard. But please Dave, please – no more clichéd Adelaide jokes involving Fruchocs, Malls Balls, The 5 Way Roundabout of Death or Iced Coffee. In exchange we will refrain from all Leprechaun, IRA and Michael Flatley jokes. I hope we have an understanding here?

The evening’s conviviality commenced with Lyra La Belle and Radha Leigh doing a ‘Bump and Grind’ Balloon adornment. Now, I’m probably too much of a hedonist because balloons pinned on full frilly undergarments aren’t quite titillating enough – the slow popping and removal to reveal what one can essentially see anyway left me scratching my head. This was followed by Lolly Dolly doing a grown up Shirley Temple ‘Good Ship Lollipop’ routine with giant novelty candy– which, admittedly, I thought a little “Sailor Moon Fetish” like, albeit quite innocent in intent I’m sure.

Thus the start, I will admit, had me worried that things might stay relatively safe. But then things got shifted into high gear and the girls made the rubber hit the road.

It is here I really need to mention Moon Daze singing a slow Billie Holliday ‘You’re My Thrill’. She smouldered, she was intoxicating, she prowled the stage and she made me sit up and take notice.

Radha, Lyra and Lolly brought in a good dose of Andrew Sisters tropical fun with ‘Rum and Coca Cola ®’  - it was sassy, it was sexy and made good continuity of burlesque sensibilities in the 1940’s blitzkrieg era setting, and hooray – pasties! I did mention my hedonist tendencies didn’t I? - oh, good.

‘Take It All’ - a musical number by the gorgeous Dahlia D’Frisco was an inviting, honest and upfront performance. This was followed by a mandatory gymnastic ‘Fever‘ routine, on chairs, draped by Lyra La Belle and Radha Leigh. Nice flow and form, maybe not scorching hot but a fever worthy of a pharmacy strength analgesic nonetheless.

There was no lack of good humour in the evening either – Lyra showing that Cos Play is now legitimate game in burlesque when dancing to ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight’, and Dave Callan proving he is the new driving force in Boylesque by nailing almost perfectly an entire routine to Beyonce’s ‘All The Single Ladies’ with support from the Beauties cast.

Maybe my main critique of an otherwise enjoyable evening is that some routines felt a little rushed. A bit more holding back, a bit more tease might up the intensity further  – but nor was it absent, accolades again to Moon Daze for hitting the mark bang on.

Burlesque Beauties continue their season until 7 March 2011 - and already sold out!

Many of you may not know the name Barry William Hale, but then surrealist & visionary art has never received the serious consideration it has deserved from the cuvée & canapé set. William Blake and Austin Osman Spare were not necessarily artistic doyens while they were still breathing, but then recognition is not the priority when the human canvas – that of the artist and the observer – cries out for transformation.

Over the years I have often found myself tripping into the path of his work. From some of his earliest showings in Sydney in the late 90’s to this latest manifestation conducted in collaboration with soundscape artist, Scott Barnes, and visual cortex metaphysician, Michael Strum, I am not necessarily convinced that I have ever stepped outside of a particular art gallery bound not by spatiality, geography or chronology. A veritable Chapel Perilous.

The contented ’spiritual’ middle class will continue to flock to the words of visiting Tibetan Lamas or the dances of whirling Dervishes and their ilk. For most, this will ever be pantomime, the gulf between the performer and audience as wide as an abyss. A devotion to secular-flavoured Catholic indulgences for universal peace of mind.

But what if you could be in a space where the bolted gates of your conscious and subconscious Self could be gently assaulted by wave after wave of drones and beats, epileptographic machinations, Gyuato growling & Lilithian cries, all resonating to sacred form and syllables that arose not from some ascetic Bodhisattva on an Eastern mountain, but through the endeavours of a genius wife-swapping Elizabethan mathematician of high regard who spoke to angels?

To further describe the work presented this evening, representing just two of twenty one works in development based around Dr John Dees Enochian Alphabet, would be subjective in the extreme. What will you get from it? I couldn’t say – these things sometimes take time to work the required neuronal sublimation. Look to Youtube, keep an eye out on Fulgar Press.

Maybe I’ll see you in the Chapel sometime?

When you want an evening of dark cabaret, a heady atmosphere like that of somewhere from the Deep South can’t hurt – and Adelaide’s weather has certainly come to the party on the eventide, a readily thickening humidity rolling over the Fringe site, amplified within the performance tent, pushed even further by the performances in Noir Revue.

Our Mistress of Ceremonies, the Blue Angel, an ethereal creature somewhere between Little Nell and Marlene Deitrich has promised us dark tragic beauties & troublesome fellows.  This they delivered and more.

Throughout the evening we had wonderful stylistic counterpunctuality between songstress Baby Blue Bergman & Dizzy, who delivered beautifully aching renditions of Blue Velvet and Bang Bang, set in a balanced dichotomy against the deep soul driven lamentations of Chantal delivering Blues in the Night and Folsom Prison Blues amongst her repertoire.

The theme of knife edge balance curiously continues amongst the routines of Paloma Negra & Missy – who together performed an erotically charged Chair Tango, reinforcing an old saying that the Tango is horizontal desire expressed vertically. When separated, each demonstrated no shortage of matched aerial skill – Paloma on the Delta Trapeze and Missy on a Trapeze Ring, the attention of the audience held not through circus trickery, but in the discipline each demonstrated in slow deliberate contortions.  The tightening of a muscle, a tendon stretched, maybe a bead of sweat delivering the fascination to the observer, each of us being compelled and drawn into the very restraint itself.

And old favourite, Mr Gorski delivers a new take on his amazing hat & cigar juggling skills.  Whereas the last time I saw him the routine certainly had a nod to the good Mr Chaplin’s physical comedy, Mr Gorski’s present incarnation presents a much darker, uncontrolled protagonist. Drunk, leering and pleasantly unwholesome, this Mr Gorski comes from a tenebrous corner of the psyche, a development I appreciate considerably.

Our required dose of tease was delivered in medicinal spoonfuls by Scarlett Jezebel and Sarina del Fuego - both together and in separate routines, some parts deliberately understated, some exorcising any need for subtlety.  Scarlett was resplendent in glory in her amazing Peacock Feather Fan bustle, azure magnificence as she swayed and bumped her way before us, peeling away the layers to our delight.  And the divine Ms del Fuego delivered the naughty and naughtier, forgetting the nice somewhere along the way. Her Perdita Smoking routine was sensual and a source of ignition (not only from the cigarette), while her fan routine held something of the Norman Lindsay aesthetic, like some dryad celebrating release from one of his etchings.

I would hasten to add that like shadows, the full range of noir sensibilities is cast only in the presence of a suitable light source – and tonight’s performance carried enough light and shade from each performer to emotionally move one between states of engagement, from awe to sympathy, through titillation and doses of whimsy.

The remaining performances are Saturday 19th and Sunday 20th February, I suggest you start your 2011 Adelaide Fringe off with a bang, bump and grind at the Noir Revue.

The Swiss are famous for many things - chocolate, wristwatches and half-assed neutrality. But one should never forget that many of the traditions of absinthe distillation were kept alive in the Alps of Switzerland amongst clandestine bootleggers when prohibition was enacted and operational.

These uncoloured La Bleue absinthes are quite a different style to many other continental absinthes, and La Clandestine Absinthe is no exception. The love child of distiller Claude-Alain Bugnon in Val-de-Travers, this particular incarnation of this very old style absinthe had its origins in a secret still next to his wife’s washing machine, before becoming the commercially produced and legally distributed product it is today.

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