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A Review of Avast! Wretched Sea by The Good Ship

Ration My Rum! Something of a Post Office Box mix up courtesy of the local Postmaster meant this CD didn’t land in my hands much sooner, but I’m happy it did.

The Good Ship are no doubt Australia’s newest exponents of maritime Indie Folk. More fun than keel-hauling Angus & Julia Stone under the hull of a heavily barnacled clipper – maybe with the Able Seaman Nick Cave releasing the rope of one side, and Bosun Shane McGowan pulling up the rope on the other under the watchful eye of the Captain Eugene Hütz.

Avast! Wretched Sea is subtitled as a work of Undulating tales of woe and intrigue. Indeed they are.

After many months at sea, we approach port with A Harbour Fair, a rousing anthem to gambling, grog and loose women.  Frantic fiddles and homebound hollering set the pace in this slick shanty.

Spanish horns and straight vocal delivery subtlety mask the true bawdiness of A Few of My Favourite Flings, showing that one can still have a girl in every port.

The demonic domains of Davy Jones Locker are captured in the rocking three-step Sea Monster, over the skeletal jangle of dancing castanets.

6000 Cocks is a tragic ‘working girls’ lament with a catchy sing-along tune, though you may want to be careful where you sing it. Public transport is not a good idea.

Cougar culture and the tragedy of mutton-dressed-as-lamb is pondered in a country-ballad-like 18 When You’re 44. Lock up your mothers…

You’ll have a tea-bagging good time with Don’t Kiss Me With Your Lips, and a pick up line guaranteed to either get you laid or arrested.

The waltzing Tavern Song is a rollicking good folk tune that is a wonderful musical advocate for extended trading hours down at your local.

Slow and wistful, No Shortage of Company opens the bloodied and broken heart of the rejected. Misery indeed loves company.

The previous tune is almost a segue into Bury Me, a tune dressed with moments of rousing spiritual gospel, with counterpoints of delta blues fatalism.

These lads and lasses of Good Ship must be sailors because the next song, I Can Make Her Laugh– full of beautiful melodies and harmonies, is also replete with sodomy and pearl necklaces. You heard me.

Cut Off My is a psychopathically sordid love tale with wailing violin and sinister military snare, no doubt deserving of a Tarantino film clip of its own. Being stuck in the middle is easy with no limbs.

Last Song of the Night brings our journey to an end, the thankless job of a musician in front of an uncaring audience, disappearing slowly into their beer glasses in melancholy and indifference.  Whatever happened to the Piano Man?

Avast! is now out on Autumn Recordings and a selection of tunes available for a listen at The Good Ships myspace site.

Upcoming gigs include

3 Oct 2010      Peregian Originals     Peregian Beach, Qld, AUSTRALIA
8 Oct 2010     BAM Festival     Peaks Crossing, Queensland, AUSTRALIA
29 Oct 2010     The Troubadour     Brisbane, Queensland, AUSTRALIA
20 Nov 2010    Grace Darling     Melbourne, VIC, AUSTRALIA
21 Nov 2010     The Tote Melbourne     Melbourne, Victoria, AUSTRALIA

Go support some local Australian music ye Lily-livered landlubbers!

Fortune presents gifts not according to the book
When you expect whistles it’s flutes
When you expect flutes it’s whistles

‘Letrillas’ (1581) by the priest Luis de Gongora.

Thanks to the folk at Absinthesalon, we were supplied with a bottle of Nemesinthe, an absinthe produced by Liqueurs de France and distilled at the Timbermill Distillery in South West London.

As the product promotional speil goes, Nemesinthe Absinthe takes its inspiration from the ancient Greek Nemesis, although known as the Goddess of Vengeance and Retribution, Nemesis was also a distributor of fortune, in due proportion to each according to their deserts.

Well, my lotto numbers clearly did not come up tonight. And I obviously did something worthy of retribution to be presented with such disappointment.

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While enjoying the afternoon at the Absinthesalon, I had the opportunity to partake in a sneaky glass of absinthe, and chose to indulge in the Jade PF 1901 – yet another creation of the master, Ted Breaux.

PF1901 is a tribute absinthe to perhaps the most famous of absinthe’s, Pernod Fils, with the date reflective of the year that the famous Pontarlier absinthe distillery caught fire and was destroyed.

from the Melbourne “Argus”, 15 August 1901

This verte absinthe comes in at 68% alc/vol, in an attractive amber bottle with a ornate label highlighted in gold leaf.  The liquid was clear and intense in a convincing natural peridot colour, leaning more towards the olive yellow end of the spectrum.

My first long inhale was something of a surprise – to be honest I did not get the usual herbaceous hit of many absinthes, rather this absinthe had some similarities to a fine Pinot Noir.  It was an integrated perfumed nose, touches of violet and other sweet floral notes. It actually initiated discussion about the use of wine as a spirit base and to what degree this can influence the taste of an absinthe. The other surprise was I could smell a certain pleasant minerality that usually I only taste and generally seek out as one of my benchmarks for quality.

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Burlesque Beauties, by Kitty Kemble’s Mirror Mirror Company, at La Boheme has made something of point of difference in Americana inspiration, whereas many a burlesque and cabaret troupe give a good nod to the stylistic themes of Vegas, this performance took more cues from New York.

Chair routines, and somewhat tame but aerobic Feather fan performances to the likes of All That Jazz, show where a good dose of the aesthetic was pitched.  There were some very good traditional French style tease routines and acrobatics amongst the dancing, the latter quite commendable given the restricted stage area.

The Broadway nod continued with a rendition of New York New York by a shirtless, buff and highly capable male cabaret singer, Jesse James, with him really hitting his strides and owning the performance space by the second number, a soulfully delivered Cry Me A River.

Singer, Madison K, is a stunning performer who really impressed me with a particularly striking cabaret number involving murder and comedy – singing while manipulating a corpse on stage is no mean feat.

The laughs were maintained through some other well delivered cabaret favourites by other performers,  Whatever happened to class? and a witty fashion advice number with an unsuspecting audience member ending up as a Corey Worthington clone.

Again we have hit that interesting question of continuums between other forms of dancing, Show Girl routines and Burlesque.  Maybe one of the things I like about burlesque is that it is often a celebration of ‘beautiful imperfection’. The character portrayal, physicality and the delivery of routines have a certain realistic quality that are within the grasp of any woman (or man).

As a result, when I am presented with burlesque performed by athletically buff and stunning performers, delivered with a certain military precision, sculptured perfection and style of choreography I would normally associate with other exotic dance forms, it does give me moment to pause.

Maybe I feel we weren’t quite teased enough…that the bridge between performer and audience had not quite been traversed.

Did you know the domestic adoption and use of the vibrator preceded the home vacuum cleaner by nine years?

Neither did I?

And that once upon a time medically administered manual masturbation by your local doctor was the standard treatment for women suffering genital congestion and hysteria and that it was not regarded as anything to do with sex?

But could you claim it on Medicare?

All these tit bits, and historical pink bits, are contained in cabaret song and delicious silliness in this production by Isabel Hertaeg on “the little death”, La Petit Mort – The Orgasm.

Accompanied by her talented pianist, Geoff “Magic Fingers” Urquhart, this sexy siren, a metaphorical and literal Lady in Red, gets us into the mood with a good dose of Luciferian lavisciousness as she serenades the Devil’s horn.

Alternating between story and song she takes us from period Germanic art song dripping frank Freudian connotations to lesbian laments for labia left behind.  If I could critique one thing, it would be that the strength and delivery of her dialogue maybe didn’t carry the gravitas or conviction of her singing, less vamp, more vixen.

La Petit Mort has two more shows, 11 & 12 March at the Promethean Theatre.  Grab a ticket, but not yourself, and see why this show received rave reviews at the Edinburgh and Melbourne Fringe Festivals.

On the related topic of vibrators, and the absinthian cultural mores of neo-Victorian Steam Punk, here is a website by a creative genius who has managed to bring the two together.

Dear fellow supporters of free expression,

I have had a review, a less than complementary one at that, sitting in the draft file for a while now, not quite sure when to post it. Circumstances seem to have emerged such that it seems timely to make a comment about a certain establishment in Adelaide owned by the Booze Brothers chain, known as The Boho Bar.

Located on Unley Road, a hop skip and stagger away from Adelaide city, The Boho Bar describes itself thus on its website

“Indulge your sense in true bohemian spirit. Boho incorporates the nostalgic elements of the circus, the old burlesque sideshows and classic, bohemian cabaret theatres - and mixes them with a sleek, modern service and a kaleidoscope of sounds, light and movement. Its menu is bursting with colour & flavour with a fantastic selection of tapas style dishes and platters. Lavish, cheeky, sinister and enticing…”

I attribute the Adelaide Fringe for the rise in local Boho Chic, which in itself is not a bad thing, but when a venue seeks to make this its raison d’etre, well – I expect a certain standard to be achieved.

I’ll say it up front, The Boho Bar is to the French Parisian Café and Burlesque Hall what PJ O’Briens is to Irish Pubs. It’s a plastic paddy pub in a beret. Instead of fiddles, road signs pointing to Dublin and hurling sticks, its repro-french furniture, bad stage sets and cabinets with early 20th century entertainment flotsam and jetsam. Strip back the superficial fleur-de-lys patina and you would have a standard steel framed, television lined sports bar.

Yes, they serve absinthe, or rather ‘absinth’ – of the most atrocious and overpriced kind.  More to the point they seem happy to charge an extra $5 on each cocktail for using “King of Spirits Absinth” which isn’t fit to disinfect my toilet basin, and nary a true absintheur would disagree (i.e. so bad we find it hard to justify purchasing a bottle to review). And they burn their absinthe for heaven’s sake, showing their schtick for cheap theatrics extends to the bar.

Now, the downward spiral has continued, with this establishment being reported in the Adelaide Advertiser as now implementing a “No Drag” policy.  Sorry, come again?  A bar that supposedly embraces the “true bohemian spirit”  is bothered by cross dressers?

The paper reports that Male-to-female transgender retail worker Susan was refused entry to The Boho Bar while out with three non-cross-dressing friends.  When she contacted Booze Brothers co-director Leon Saturno two days later seeking an explanation she was told there was a new policy that “no cross-dressers would be allowed anymore”.

Well, I think the more discerning Bohemian in Adelaide can probably find much more accommodating neo-Bohemian establishments in Adelaide that serve much better absinthe anyway - but it shits me that an establishment riding on the coattails of an attitude and aesthetic, that by its very nature embraces and promotes individuality and difference, may allegedly be implementing a policy of discrimination.

Might I suggest that all within the Burlesque arts and Bohemian culture think about reposting the Adelaide Advertiser article on their blogs and websites. Perhaps this will let Mr Saturno know exactly what the community thinks about his policy.

Methinks maybe it is time to relegate Boho alongside the likes of other theme restaurants like the Medieval Dirty Dicks ?

What is burlesque? What is neo-burlesque? Where do allied performing arts interface and intersect with either, or both?.

Circus. Cabaret. Vaudeville. Show Girl/Boy. Dance. Physical Theatre.

Why am I asking?

A Deli Burlesque has thrown up some challenges to me – about what I expected to see, versus what I saw.  Performers Emmaline Macartney and Gemma Falk presented a series of vignettes that straddled a number of genres, some sitting within traditional territory, others less so. They themselves describe it as a show of cross-pollination. And it is only natural, both are devotees and proficient in no small number of disciplines. As the late Robert A Heinlein wrote “Specialisation is for insects”.

Just to cover a selection of the performances

“Babes on Bikes” was a Newton-Johnesque routine on exercise bikes that exuded 80’s jazzercise glam, but at the same time was a little open ended as to the intended narrative.

“Bride” was a solo piece by Gemma Falk that mixed mime and dance in a story arc of the descent into deadening domesticity often hidden beneath the happy billows of the wedding gown.

“The Underwater Hula-Rena” was a standout hoop routine by Emmaline Macartney that made this prop an aquatic metaphor to great effect.

There was more than a cursory nod to the traditional arts, with an elegant and sensual “Lady Bird Fan Dance” by Ms Falk, that was a dancing wildlife documentary complete with David Attenborough commentary.

Emmaline’s most striking physical theatre piece, albeit minimalist, also invoked something of the sensuality of burlesque. Titled “MADE (Pandora is…)” , like a forest dryad she emerged from the foliage and sprouted into a natural bloom, counterbalanced by the eventual decay and decomposition, a return to the metaphorical humus. It was quite a powerful performance, and again seemed to achieve their lofty aims of developing a neo-burlesque style that draws from very different performance traditions.

Because what they are doing is so new, I think there may be some expecting more traditional fare who might react negatively to what was performed. But I think you need to let it incubate a bit, question your own preconceptions and biases, and question whether burlesque is really a museum exhibit or a tradition under active evolution.

Remaining performances are sold out but keep these two on your memory list - I suspect there will be further Dawinian transformation in Fringe Festivals to come.

The Promethean Theatre, an Edwardian era Church, one time Liquor Trade Union Hall, now a gothic grey and plush velvet performance venue, is an excellent and intimate location for a witty night of bad German accents and cabaret.

Supported by the virtuosic Berlin Cabaret Micro Orchestra (read three piece jazz ensemble), Gerhardt, Lux and Rudi play up to every hokey hun caricature straddling the Weimar era and period of Nazi ascension.

Gerhardt was the charming, crooning Master of Ceremonies for the evening, with plenty of bad-but-good puns and blue banter. Lux is the resident alcoholic lush, strutting the stage in fishnets, corsetry and wine bottle belting out her particular penchant for American jazz numbers. Overplayed to the max, but then I think this is a necessity (even if her German accent seemed to be sliding at times into Slavic territories like all so many invasions of the era).  Supporting act, the Tin Can Alley, are an extremely talented and ageing decadent duo who specialise in catchy cabaret – from well known standard such as “Non, je ne regrette rien”, or more obscure Indian show tunes about oversized tomatoes (in Hindi!)

The gangly, shy and awkward Rudi, however, steals the show.  One minute delivering operatic overtures with Wagnerian largesse, next (un)dressed as ol’ Adolf himself in a fetching negligee.  His voice is either angelic or infernal as the tune and context demands. Glorious stuff.

I’m not sure what it is about this particular company of performers, but the average age of the audience was closer to 60, which I found curious – but maybe the “classic” form of Weimer cabaret holds an appeal for the older set that differentiates them from the new generation of neo-cabaret. At the very least it demonstrates that the cabaret and vaudeville arts still hold a broad appeal across many generations, and that the Fringe is not just for the young and tragically Boho.

The Berlin Cabaret have two more performances this Fringe - alas all sold out. But keep an eye out for them at other events such as the Adelaide Cabart Festival.

Bogan’s are funny. And so are Catholics (thanks Tony Abbott). Regional centres where the world is as big as the town limits are will always be funny as long as it is mixed with a dose of nostalgic & affectionate pathos.

Make it into a musical gala and you have WrongTown.  Think of the Andrew Sisters after a drug binge. Performing in an outer suburban Westfield. Outside a Supré.

But oh, these girls can sing.

Why a musical tribute to the Snowtown Murders in the form of the Beer Barrel Polka (aka Roll Out The Barrel) has not been done before is beyond me?  If tour buses can now stop at the infamous disused bank in Snowtown so tourists can sniff under the door, then I say enough time has passed for us to laugh through song and wimsy at one of the more recent episodes in Adelaide’s Bizarre Murder Capital scrapbook of infamy.

Of course the mid-North Coast’s very own “Summer Bay” with industrial slag & drag, Newcastle, is not forgotten.  And if it wasn’t for the fact that Jetstar has tricked many a passenger flying to Melbourne, by taking them to Avalon Airport instead, well, would anyone know that Geelong existed?

But far from the industrial and residential wastelands often portrayed, these places are hotbeds of intrigue, with a song in the fractured heart of all these places: married mothers discovering lesbianism, Catholic schoolgirls in need of confession, burgeoning drug cultures amid Americanisation of white bread rural youth and suburban murder tales worthy of their own ballads.

WrongTown is your town. Admit it -  you grew up, got trapped, maybe escaped, and possibly returned to places like this. And when you can acknowledge that, WrongTown will stay in your mind for all the right reasons.

The promise of music, magic noir, comedy, escapology and modern vaudeville drew me to this performance held at Live on Light Square.  I came away feeling like a promise had not been quite fulfilled.

I would like to emphasise though the ability of many of the performers cannot be faulted. The first magician, Jamie, while being a bit of a nervous chap was very adept, and certainly his confidence and projection carried increasing weight as his performance progressed.  Consuming a banana full of razorblades and a classic escape from a straight jacket was well executed adorned with some quite witty banter.

Matt the Mentalist came across quite reserved and shy, but this is part of an act where the harmless introvert unexpectedly proves an uncanny ability to dig into the unsuspecting mind, innocently read body mannerisms and reveal that which is hidden – or have an unwitting audience member perform some quite dangerous acts.

Then came Dan the comedian.  Billed as confronting and politically incorrect, frankly he was a bore who told dirty jokes that related modes of transport to sex acts with a complete absence of comedic timing and delivery. This was the evening’s achilles heel if anything.

Concluding the evening was the most debonaire MC/magician Kamal who delivered some nicely delivered comedic moments amongst some quite simple but impressive trickery. If the whole performance can infuse a good lick of his delivery and savoir-fair in future it will solidify the dynamics for their next performance on the 12 March 2010.

I must sympathise with the performers though, in that the venue decided to start the doof doof music of its neighbouring dance club before the performance had even finished – rather bad form I thought.