Roarhouse Review @ ESPLANADE HOTEL, Wednesday 29th of July, 2009
Cassandra Harvey is a freelance writer from regional Victoria. Cassandra's
gig review writing is influenced by her profound hearing loss and offers unique
perspective.
Heading down into the 50's style Espy Basement, complete with pugs'n'pussies wallpaper, Roarhouse MC Fur Wale opened the show dressed in style, her version of "black tie" suitably groovy.
Opening performer was Brett Nulty, the supreme solo bassist whose fingers rippled across the instruments neck matching the supporting drum machine with amazing riffs. As the crowd started to build up, Naomi Downie took to the stage, her pre-performance nerves disappearing as her bond with her poetry strengthened her voice. Her "Sounds of Yes" poem was profound. Cass Jones received massive kudos from the crowd, not to mention a loud cry for an encore! Her Missy Higgins style performance was supported by her gentle but strong voice and excellent rhythmic handling of her acoustic guitar.
Dr Ruff Respect got a round of whoops when he took rap to the stage. Following the Doctor, Sarah Mackintosh showed off her fantastic finger-picking skills on her electric guitar, the beat and rhythm came through without any drum support necessary. The issue of modern human interaction disasters was brought to our attention by Steve Smart through his spoken word poem titled "WOW", leaving us in no doubt that dope and computer game addiction is hazardous to the average friendship. Many points for his ability to do voice characterization!
The night wound down with cover band Gizmomania who appealed to those in the audience who like kicking up their heels to the old timer stuff. Special mentions go to facilitator Marjetka and photographer Martin for their swing-hop-kick style dance.
By Cassandra Harvey, 253 words.
Roarhouse Review @ 303 Bar Northcote, Thursday 16th of July, 2009
Mario Stylemachine, what a stylemachine you are. Mr. Mario is the second Roarhouse solo bassist act I've seen, and so different from the other it reminded me that this instrument is worthy and capable of a far more varied solo life than given credit for. Mario had a great subtle feel and warmth in his fingertips that suited his finger-picking style perfectly. His lines were pleasing melodically and harmonically (the latter is a hard feat for the single lined, 4-stringed bass) and reflected an array of different styles and influences, both classic and contemporary. But what I liked best of all was the way they seemed to arise out of space, thoughtfulness and musical instinct rather than bravado and ego-centricism.
Tony Creedon - what a joker. I'm on to you Tony! I saw his straight expressionless face crack this time. As he had the audience in stitches with his dry unimpressed take on life the occasional smile flickered across his eyes. You're too funny even for you Creedon. His voice is dynamic ranging from a low operatic rumble to a high tenor whine, like the final gusts of air escaping a balloon. Mario Stylemachine sat by his side and played along at Tony's brusque orders and managed a decent bass solo, at a shout, which was amusingly cut in half. Very entertaining.
I think 'Shit In Your Eye' may well be becoming the Roarhouse anthem.
James Jackson had a lot of shouting to do himself and a need for someone to hear it. A lot of political wish-wash was exposed for what it really is, in a scathing sarcastic satire in poetic form. I loved his piece about his love of spoken word: a calling rather than a choice; a blessing he clearly hasn't ignored. James spoke with interesting levelledness; monotone but not in the least bit boring - it created a demanding urgency and pulse that made your own rhythmic inclinations cling on……then when he finally did drop the tone, or raise it, it was all the more powerful for it. A skilled and knowledgeable wordsmith.
My Imaginary Heart returned and proved that she's a much loved favourite of Roarhouse. Fi began singing to a noisy boisterous audience, but by half way through the clicking of glasses had ceased, the babble had faltered and stillness hovered over us as we were once again captivated. She is folky and English and beautiful but I'm not sure that exactly explains it. Her magic is in her aura, it's unpretentious and doesn't demand anything at all, she sits there and seems to sing to herself, and we feel like we've stumbled across her unexpectedly in a twilight forest somewhere. The songs are going from strength to strength and it's great to start recognising them and be able to sing along.
Craig Wright blew us away again with his dignified trumpet sounds tonight. He obviously works hard on his art and has a huge array of contemporary and old-style tunes to pelt out - none of which I can actually name, sorry Craig. He is very accomplished indeed with a strong full tone, awareness of musical phrasing and subtleties, and skilled embouchure. Everyone was clearly impressed. Would like to see more of you Craig - and maybe hear a self-written tune too…?!
The Stoneybrook Duo returned and were as pleasant as always, a happy couple singing old favourites. They have great voices which really offset each nicely: no one leads too much, and neither vie for more of the limelight. Yep, they still remind me of Johnny and June, and I'm sure I'm not the only one.
The night ended with Days of Brahm,
a four piece male-only rock band. They had catchy, well-designed songs with
great rhythm and section changes, and not a small resemblance to Pearl Jam
and other Seattle-based rock groups. Tight and very professional sounding,
easy to listen to. And most important of all they got the crowd rockin'. A
good band.
Review by Jo Robinson
Crazy Chix, Roarhouse Review @ ESPLANADE HOTEL, Wednesday 27th of June, 2009
It was a sunny, cold winter's
day, and the crew arrived early to set up for the headline annual event of
female representation on the stage. Our small crew of dedicated volunteers
prepared the cosy basement for the arrival of talent and their presentation.
The stage was draped with lights, cameras were checked and tested, sound lines
run and computers jockeyed up to speed. The venue background music ground
out distracting pop classics as I finished draping the audience benches with
multi-coloured glowing grains of wheat and forced down a white wine. As the
artists began to arrive I could feel the fear. Every ache and breath had meaning,
'am I saying the right thing, am I normal, and am I in love?'
I was given the gift of some friends, and familiar Roarhouse faces filled
the room. Marjetka opened the space with an introduction and a blurb about
what Roarhouse is and does. The night was about women, their representation,
art and growing from the margins to the mainstream.
Justine Sless then took the helm
as the evenings MC. Her humour immediately set the tone and all were endeared
by this community workers non-threatening shoes. The jokes came thick and
fast: Sex, Howard, Dogs, Community. Introducing the first act with a two liner:
"My mother married a pig farmer, which was awkward because she was Jewish."
Initially No began the performances outlining her background of overcoming
gender stereotypes about trumpet players with a vacuum cleaner tube. It is
a 'horny' instrument. Stretching our vocabulary to "percipience".
Some bits of music and hilarious dirty jokes later, initially found humour
in family infidelity. Animal imitations summoned amusing illusions before
her wounded vulnerability came to the fore with a personal story of drug dealers,
mental health facilities and needles. The set finished with a song about freedom
in ones own country, and Bali.
Our MC filled the gap, wondering
out loud if her husband had divorced her because of her muffin top. She ruminated
that he had clarified the issue, explaining the divorce was because she was
a whinging, nagging, sarcastic bitch.
With seamless transition the Monkey
Brigade took over the space, with co-ordination and grace. Black hats and
overcoats suited the dramatically music to a tee, as they danced on the floor,
taking the audiences breath away as they stripped off for their second piece,
the ironic 'Valley girls go shopping.' Sexy leotards and wobbly high heels
had us wavering between desire and ridicule.
Our MC could really identify with them.
Wendy Butler had just had her
64th birthday. A local personality, her poems about the Gatwick were dripping
with character. Wendy really knew what she was doing, as she led her listeners
into a world of trivia, and descended through petty insult into a major life
crisis. Her gritty picture of life on the street showed the world from a lesser
seen perspective, giving voice to the working girls, who provide 'an essential
service'. Wendy reminded us that even in the margins and fringes, there is
romance with 'speed dating at the Gatwick', and has us wondering who is serving
and protecting and who is the danger with 'A bad, bad, man', and finally the
tragic humour of Salmonella poisoning in the 'biggest food van in the west.'
The modesty and empathy with all
relationship problems was clear.
Dale and her band cleared a space on stage and banged out 'Stinky girl', verbally
spraying us with her bodily fluids. Dale played some classics from her Bi-Polar
Bear's days, one about the mundane joy of a new pair of shoes. The musical
conversation continued with a response to One of Heidi Everett (Spidey), then
the daring transgression of 'James Bond is a Necrophiliac'. The manic set
had a few rough edges, but Dale's heroes were clear, and I think everyone
can relate to her analogy that the system is like the effect of a cistern
on the S-bend.
The room was very crowded by this
stage and the gig moved into a different phase as Dale was followed by the
quieter Lady Lash, and some of the focus shifted from the stage to a more
social feel - friends catching up and swilling a larger or two, laughing clasping
each others arms. Not to diminish Lady Lash, but she relieved some of the
tension in the room. The jamming and lyrics like "Jugular blood dripping"
were a rap riot, punch and spot on.
The night had variety if nothing
else and Sandy Jeffs shifted us back to spoken word with award wining poetry
from her book The Mad Woman in the Attic. Sandy's Thesaurus of insanity covered
all bases, and, as a writer I had a special affinity with her descriptions
of classical literary mad women. It was something to witness Sandy embody
the prophetess Cassandra as she seers us with her words. Finally from her
2001 book of poetry, we were given the humour, pathos and cultivated articulations
of the machinating midweek tennis ladies.
Another cultivated woman stood under the lights next. The Baroness, with her
awesome Scottish accent and Jimi Hendrix jacket, jauntily jogged us through
romance and comedy. A little house on the prairie kilt dress and squeeze accordion
were all indicators of such refinement.
The baroness plays again next
month in a show called "The Anorexic Chef".
Heidi Everett arrived on stage with some technical glitches, leading off with
'Still running away'. The crowd were excited, and the familiar 'Happy Song'
did not disappoint. There was rambunctiousness, and the pockets of high expectations
clashed with poor attention in others as the night lengthened and disharmony
emerged. A powerful social feeling emerged as I fielded questions from a gang
dude about where the 'lesbian show' was.
The ball rolled on with a Femme Fatale with a Wendy Matthews voice and Courtney Love attitude. Her powerful voice with dark tones and lyric were moving in a thinning crowd. Key changes seemed to make prophesy of lyrics like "you'll be sitting on your own, and you'll see the colour red." Friendship and urgency came through with what seemed to be a Kurt Cobain tribute: "you need to know how to love yourself before you say 'I love you'". Her ability to embody judgement and convey history did not distract from the anger of such songs as "The Pig is on Fire." Her power chords, walls of sound, flats (E?) and drops were all 'a bit witchy', but there was a certain truth in her closing song 'fear is the greatest evil of all.'
The end was near as our lubricated
comedian in the top hat and red dress told us about water saving and how naïve
Evian water drinkers are. With an international accent and go jump attitude,
the whole room was roaring.
Roaring turned to anticipatory voyeurism as sultry cabaret performer Isabel
Hertaeg steps on stage in a red dress. Her piano accompanist seemed theatrically
demure (or submissive) in comparison. Her monologue starts with the science
of sex, anatomy and social norms through the sixties and seventies. Her lecture
notes were delivered in song, gasps and facial demonstrations. She certainly
claimed all those years of deprivation, turning phantasms into satisfying
musical orgasmic crescendos. The audience were living vicariously.
If Isabel was to being woman by
night, Justine Sless is woman seen in the day…after day…after day. She is
an (extra) ordinary home-making, child-raising, book-making, crumb-fighting,
grouping-and-piling-clutter-from-all-surfaces feminist. We are relieved to
relate to Justine's domestic continuum. We enjoy her ingenuity of blending
and sponging junk mail into pulp fiction from her Bench Press Publishing House.
It is heartening for her flashbacks of naïve younger yesteryears to create
a spontaneously inspired melange of (extra) ordinary sex also. Justine's clever
wit and resourcefulness of waging the war against crumbs gave the audience
complimentary sponges to take home on departure in pursuit of Microwave feminism.
The final showcase act of the
Crazy Chix night ended with Rebetissa, a Greek, folk-music, belly dancing
trio of lovely women. Decorated in colourful, sequined costumes their display
of shimmying hips and undulating arms gathered the crowd into a last dance.
Scarves of the rainbow adorned the remaining crowd. Rebetissa's celebrations
of woman were uplifting and moving…literally. A fantastic end to the Crazy
Chix Showcase.
Roarhouse delivered another successful night; an eclectic array of artists
to a diverse crowd and run entirely by its volunteers. And that raffle??
Reveiw by Sam Robb and Nilgin
Roarhouse Review @ 303 Bar Northcote, Thursday 11th of June, 2009
Air Embolism returned with their space-like, psychedelic, British-and-Proud showcase. Paula plays washed out chords and pushes and pulls the pulse as she pleases, backed by ….., an accomplished player who colours her oceans with arpeggiated waves and an equal splash of spontaneity. I love watching her sing, she is totally engrossed in herself, as I am in her, and sounds in spirit like Pink Floyd with a voice harbouring a dash of Bjork's eccentricity and a dose of Kate Bush's vibrato. Ultimately though, Air Embolism are very, very much themselves.
Along came Brett Nulty, bass extraordinaire, who introduced himself with confidence and ease. He sang the praises of Roarhouse and described his creative method before embarking on an enticing journey through the unknown terrain of bass-line melodies. His timbre was like metallic reverb; his genre a cross between post rock and everything else; his rhythms a cascade of changing tempos that never….lost…a beat. Good viewing. Brett is looking for a drummer and singer to play with so if you're interested, contact Roarhouse.
The Maxine Clarke Duo presented a powerful combination of music and poetry. A concoction of silky voice and in-your-face lyrics were mixed with raw, earthy beats. Maxine spoke with curvaceous, playful intonation that shaped her lines with sharp peaks and smooth crests and was matched absolutely spot-on by Robbie's drumming and pounding. She spoke of her people; spoke for the Speechless and the Silent; told of Mama Reggae; the African plight; and my favourite…'Mr President [Obama], no disrespect to your wife but… I'll show you where I hide my weapons of mass destruction….' ! Smouldering, passionate and self-assured. She had everyone hooked.
Watermelon Man showed us his playful alter-alter-ego Octopus Man tonight clad in seven foot long tentacles swirling from his waist. He flounced around the room to upbeat music, inviting unwitting audience members to grab a tentacle each and taunt him. At first they were unsure. But soon they flung, he flung, they became more and more resolved, and in a final united effort they managed - to floor - the Octopus Man. And why the hell not.
Finishing off the night was Sarah Eida and her band, a trio of herself, drums and bass. Sarah has great sultry presence and a voice like an even darker Tori Amos. And what a band. The bassist was strong, the drummer nimble, lucid and snazzy, with an acerbic touch on cymbals and high hat. He set the wind behind the sails and sent them cruising along to good catchy grooves and songs. Very tight, very professional, I hope to see them again and would definitely pay to do so.
Review by Jo Robinson
Roarhouse Reviews @ ESPLANADE HOTEL – BASEMENT BAR 27th of May, 2009
Dean Lombard began the night singing softly to a small crowd. 'Simple song'
gently eased us into the performances. He followed with lyrics that are like
a mantra to a generation who feel like we have been kept in the dark "I
don't know…" Dean, a community worker in the Port Philip area, and long
time Roarhouse supporter treated his beautiful wooden electric/acoustic blues
guitar like a part of his body. He took us on a journey, harmonising pleasure
and pain with powerful chords, fully in control of his awesome voice. Finishing
with the metaphysical 'Eyes (are) the windows of the soul', his rhymes struck
the audience with feelings of kindness and love, harmonica wailing with him
on his chest with virtuoso competence.
Sam Robb clown performance (soon to be written by another writer.)
Another repeat performer followed Dean; Initially No, who had put aside her trumpet this week to take up her own acoustic/electric guitar, this time with a gleaming steel resonator. Initially's off-beat rhythm kept us guessing and hanging on every word. Entertaining themes; sci-fi and haunting, conveyed her enjoyment. Relaxed on stage, Initially engaged with the audience with a poetic patter between songs. 'Red Alert, Red Alert' with choppy attack and ironic delivery pleaded "It's really not his fault, no it's really not his fault." Hilariously, Initially can take a love song, apparently sincere, and extend the aching, loving, to wanting to swallow the person and wear them like a second skin, which is really pretty frightening.
Max, the 11 year old son of a
Roarhouse volunteer Carla, managed to get in a couple of jokes, before 9pm,
when the Espy were about to evict under age visitors. His innocent jokes will
get good mileage in coming months, I am sure:
Q: How do you sink a submarine of idiots? A: Knock on the door.
Q: Why did the sultana go to the dance with the raison? A: Because she couldn't
find a date.
The halfway point in the line-up was occupied by Craig Smith who supplemented
his acoustic guitar with the kazoo. Everyone could identify with the everyday
topics of his songs, such as a 'chicken parmagiana pub meal'. Jocular, rhythmic,
rolling along songs evokes the scene and says it all with 'YUMMY!' Craig's
vocal confidence and variety came across clearly with some harmonica and a
song about a car being hit by a tram in Balaclava road. I think it was the
modest 'ordinariness' of the content that was so endearing.
Max provided the trinity of humour with:
Waiter, waiter, there's a spider in my bread,
Yes, we put it there to take care of the fly you said was in your soup.
Alice White then provided sophisticated spoken word with humour and a little bit of naughtiness. Her conversational stories took us on journeys to zebra crossings, where the public abuse of a lolly pop man made her wish she was a tattooed thug. Alice sang into being worlds about 'the dust that killed the dinosaurs', seguing neatly into; her family and 5 year olds and model airplanes. Cate Ahrendt mounted the stage with her flute and the duo wove labyrinthine patterns with sound and superb breath control. The room was totally silent as the convoluted sonic problem/solution twitters and haunting flats resolved into soaring phrases. Alice's celebration of everyday joys was rendered with maturity and profundity. The jazzy collaboration was a marriage of old England and our 'new world' - "Neither did you rise up through the floor, nor you did" about meeting her Australian husband.
The night reached a pinnacle with
Etoile Marley. Stylish, with a smooth sweet voice, we never lose sight that
she is a human being, an embodiment of what the rest of us aspire to. "All
of the ways I find to be happy" was exquisitely simple and the high quality
sound conveyed the subtly of her talent to the room. Tough themes like jealousy
were shown in scenes and straightforward situations - a train station employee
never reads the news from grief… Etoile's guitar work was immaculate and the
boundary between her and the room dissolved as she seemed not to be singing,
but to be being sung by harmony. New to Melbourne she flattered those Melbournians
who want to see themselves as denizens of a gritty city, with losable ways.
Her playing got dirty with pulpy plucking and despair of salvation. Her finale
was an explosion of ecstatic rapture - Etoile's 'Down and Dirty'.
As Marjetka confirmed for us, Etoile has "A sultry, deep, mature, lovely
voice."
The final act, a two piece 'band' - Duck's in the mud, were Emy Connors and Jimi Powers. They were good looking and had stage presence beyond their years. Etoile left a smoking crater after her set, so it was with amazement that after a nervy "I believe another way", Emy's voice filled "True Holidays" strongly and then poured out passion against the Sudan/Dafur war in their third song. She closed her eyes and cast catch lines like "Silence is as good as consent, so let's yell" and dragged the audience's ears and hearts up onto the stage with her like flapping flounders by feel. Dreamy "Sensing my sunrise" was followed by a spice girls cover with a unique colloquial interpretation. Emy's open smiling face and unaffected fashion sense won over the room and they ran through Somali rap, lulling "Fly away" and finally "Pirates", got the audience involved.
By Sam Robb
Roarhouse Review @ 303 Bar Northcote, Thursday 14th of May, 2009
The 7pm free slot was snapped up by bass player Brett Nulty who did the extremely rare: a solo bass gig. He improvised along to a backing drum track for 20 minutes with barely a note wrong. His lines were funky, rock, not just a little infused with Jaco prowess, and intricate. Now if you were to assume continual uninterrupted bass might get boring, think again, for Brett’s rhythms changed continuously as his thoughts and moods shifted, he had that much control. Very impressive.
One of my favourites Tony Dowling jumped on stage next. He always feels like a warm blanket and a good book to me, clad in beret and checkered jacket and a gentle, warm voice. Would it be a mistake to call it wooden? Not him, he’s far from it, but a voice that resonates like a middle note warbling in a cello. He sang folk classics and original originals like a true story teller.
Craig Wright is a well known musician in the area (saw him advertised all the way over in Upwey) and for good reason. He has a strong, distinctive voice with great tone and plays great guitar, switching from rock to swing fluidly and effortlessly. He was really professional, made you sit up and think he was something special. Backed by Adrian from the Stoneybrook Duo, a winning pair.
Remember Watermelon Man? If you’ve seen him perform you would not forget. He had a new act for us this evening with ‘New Rain on the Mountain’. He dragged himself onto the stage with boxes or something for feet and bright paint slashed all over his body. And what did he say? In about five variations, “I was on the mountain for 4 HOURS. I nearly lost my mind. Do you understand?” What can you say to that?? He awakens carnal stirrings in people through the way he uses his voice and what he doesn’t say. What a strange and captivating man.
Adrian and Mary, aka the Stoneybrook Duo, were the Jonny and Jude of the evening. They gave us a wholesome, pleasant array of sounds and songs spanning from the political ‘Planets of the Brink’ to Adrian rocking out to ‘Walk on Through to the Other Side’. Great voices, good playing, and you could tell they were really into it and each other (always good to see).
Tom Richardson is probably the most discerning poet I’ve seen at Roarhouse (an ingenious lot anyway). This time he chose continual prose, a poetic story about himself and one very troubled girl. He just wacks you round the face with his disarmingly understated truths about things. He talks about love so that you’re reminded how little you understand. I was fairly troubled by the time he had finished, and that’s a compliment. He’s a riveting soul.
Vicuna Coat were the second boy-girl singer-songwriter duo of the evening and they were very entertaining. They sang, quarrelled, strummed and – was there a flute in there somewhere? Nice songs, I especially liked the Roxette cover……
Review by Jo Robinson
Roarhouse Reviews @ ESPLANADE HOTEL – BASEMENT BAR 29th of April, 2009
Roarhouse…
As the day slipped away, the temperature dropped to a wintry chill. The air
was crisp outside but the atmosphere at the Espy basement was electric. Serious
carnie acrobats, muso troubadours and hardware toting techies congregated
in the cosy confines. Familiar faces filtered in, new punters buzzed about
eagerly anticipating the beginning. Last minute preparations were made, Carla
on the door introduced her son and the positive family energy rounded out
the whole scene.
First cab off the ranks was Bron, an emerging singer songwriter with a relaxed, powerful voice. 'Hey Little One', she sang about the companionship of pet dogs. 'Forget-Me-Not Skies', a sad-sweet song about not being able to be with the one you love. Then Bron cheered up with a lovestruck serenade, followed by the tragic 'Cat's Eyes', an old song about a girl who witnesses a friends death and seeks revenge. For her finale Bron invited her friend Joe onto the stage for a duet. Bron attends a mental health song-writing group - for those who have availed themselves of mental health services and/or those sympathetic. The group runs on a Wednesday between 1-4pm at Sol Green in South Melbourne. The group is facilitated by an experienced musician, Phil, of the Bi-Polar Bears.
Our next performers were Air Embolism, a duet on electronic key synthesizer, draped in a union Jack, and electric guitar with an effects pedal, and lots of note bending. The apparently casual sound scapes relaxed the audience and built to a dual ringing and rumbling. Our passionate tartan clad key player began to wail, chanting "Sort it out", like a mantra. The duet played two long sound scapes, and this reviewer agrees: "she say's things on it"
Gemma White bared her soul in a brilliant, courageous set of poems about travel, life and love. Gemma, a former RMIT radio presenter came fully into her stride as the room hushed. There was; blood on the typewriter, she spoke of nothing - love - loss, loving London, seeing the world in slow motion and an excursion to Edinburgh, called in the old tongue Idenunfel. Gemma's performance of her Guardian writing exercise opened up a whole other Pandora's box and revealed to us one of the exciting directions this talented young poet could go in. Finally 'The joggers and the immaculate lambs' concluded the reading with a humorous back-flip in her scathing criticism of exercise junkies - "I have become one of them."
Our charismatic MC Anthony Dynon reminded everyone of 'Roominations' - Thursday's at 12 Noon, on 3CR 855am radio program for and about the issue that effect and are of concern to the mentally ill and those marginalised by housing issues, unemployment, racism, and other obstacles.
My Imaginary Heart once again captivated the audience conjuring grief recovered in Pieces of Heart Missing, and plunging us into the profound with Depth. The story unfolded with her evocative lyrics 'captive, stained, compromised', and she nailed herself to the crowd's ears, admitting we are all classifiable, yet courage still is possible. Her only cover supported her crafted songbook with 'My love will turn you on, I called your name.' Aware of her stage presence and pushing her limitations, Fiona stood for her final song and had her listeners eating out of her hand.
Our final solo musician was Tony Creedon, the understated troubadour who blew us all away with his simplicity and impact. He had some support from Joe, who was on the stage for one song - Two Ways. Creedon's song 'Shit in your eye' Was both bitter and funny, and he followed the theme with a compassionate apology for his friend Fang, who suffers Turrettes.
For me the highlight of the night was Manx (aka James), a carnie of ill repute, who, called back to NICA (National Institute of Circus Arts) when he went walk-about after his second year, was too wild to go to graduate third year. Taking the floor in front of the stage, the show started informally with soundtrack, strong beat, to which he dazzled with hat-tricks, juggling his bowler like mythical aura from hands to feet to elbows to head. Warming us up with his main skill, Manx oiled and swallowed two flat plastic swords, introduced us to his large contact juggling crystal ball momentarily, before pressing to handstand on his props box. This feat of balance and strength was, however just a warm up, and he produced a 12 inch steel sword, that he swallowed, allowing it to drop the last 4 inches into the curvature of his stomach, free of his guiding hands. Then, and get this, he pressed to handstand on his props box - WITH THE SWORD STILL INSIDE HIM!!! Removing the sword and letting the audience catch their breath, he then performed a contact juggling routine that would have made David Bowie proud. The finale, and please kids, don't try this at home, was astounding. He oiled a blue and a red fluorescent tube, the lights were dimmed and he swallowed them together. At that point, his throat was illuminated from within, and as one audience member commented - "That's indecent!"
From there the crowd thinned a little, but those who stayed on, after a short break, were rewarded with tunes from the talented four piece The Arvonauts. The atmosphere remained festive until the end, and the entire night was recorded, on Video and digital audio, by a dedicated team of technical volunteers and trainers.
Review
Sam Robb
Roarhouse Review @ 303 Bar Northcote, Thursday 16th April, 2009
One day, when the city of Melbourne has successfully been taken over by Seven Eleven's, you will stumble across an unobtrusive little milk bar in a side street somewhere and feel a vague twinge of discomfort as you remember happy days gone by...that's how I felt when I heard Fi sing. You know most female singers these days? All the same. Even the good ones. Same warble, same american twang, same overbaked sense of expression. Yes, the good ones are great at it, but it's still it.
Fi though was different. She had a discerningly familiar, archaic sounding voice at stark contrast with the masses. It was pure folk without the american twang. Pure, celtic folk, words projected linearly, no curves, no voluptuousness, they tumbled out like the first drops of a waterfall, straight down into the lyrical pool below. Remember Dolores O'Riordan (The Cranberries)? Fi had the top end of dolores mixed with the roots of Fairport's Sandy Denny, the very best singer ever. A beautiful combination.
She came along apologetic and forewarning the crowd that she was about to subject us to some very raw creations indeed. With a fair amount of timidity to start, she softly strummed thoughtful chords as she sang. As the first song built, the chords began to ring out and Fi's voice began to show its true colours; true potential. Although some of the songs were incomplete they had strong presence, mystical, gothic imagery, and she captivatingly kept the audience waiting as she foraged through forgotten lines. An enchantingly humble musician and performer with bags of potential. Keep going Fi.
Review by Jo Robinson
Roarhouse Reviews @ ESPLANADE HOTEL – BASEMENT BAR 25th of March
What a night it was… a night of Roarhouse combined with the intimate atmosphere of St Kilda’s Espy Basement, with surreal paintings of cats and dogs on the walls, staring at you like a menagerie of mad zoo creatures, hungry for a night of entertainment!
And quite satisfied they were, with the night kicking off with the exceptionally bizarre percussive band The Funky Turtles (not related to the aforementioned menagerie of mad zoo creatures… or are they?) blowing our minds with wild, cheeky songs like “Popcorn Brain” and “Sticky Beak” – kudos to Maria and Timbo for outstanding vocal performances! The whole line-up of fun, light-hearted songs from The Funky Turtles was certainly a top way to start off the evening.
After a short break, the musical entertainment continued with the magnificent Lady Lash and DJ Mz Rizk, with a stunning display of hip-hop songs. Lady Lash has a unique lyrical style that certainly grabbed the attention of every single person at the Espy Basement that night, and the bizarre hip-hop sound effects created by Mz Rizk added to the originality and brilliance of their performance.
Next in the line-up was Raz Solo, a poet-slash-comedian-slash- surrealist who gave us a terrific rendition of his avant-guarde poetry. Raz’s thematic poetry is upfront, straight to the point and, at times, quite cheeky! He has a natural performance style that totally works for him.
At 9pm, the entire Espy Basement stood still for a good half-hour as acoustic singer-songwriter Sarah Eida blew us all away with her atmospheric, breathtaking line-up of original songs. Picture a combination of My Chemical Romance, Missy Higgins, Avril Lavigne and a redhead with a guitar… quite an odd combination, but that pretty much sums up Sarah’s awesome performance.
Finally, a group of poets from Roomer’s, who were launching their magazine, gave us a brilliant delivery of a variety of original poems… mostly extremely funny, some quite bizarre, one in particular was extremely naughty, but that just added to the hilarity of the delivery… fantastic!
Unfortunately I was unable to stay for the CD launch of Group 120, since I had to catch a tram to the eastern suburbs… I would have loved to have seen their performance. Well done to all performers and thank you all for quite an enjoyable evening!
Review by Anthony Julian
Group 120
Take 5 dynamic teenagers bursting with artistic zeal and a love of rap, throw them in a room with a mic and a backing track of beats, and what do you get? Flemington-based Group 120. They launched their new cd tonight....' ', and though the audience was small we were very, very entertained. Each member took a song and a chance to shine, fully supported by the rest of their clan, whose warm encouragement and mutual appreciation was well warranted, and reciprocated by the audience. Really humble, really entertaining and fun, really heartfelt. It ended well with free Style Philly's 5 word rap - such a connoisseur of words was he that he boldly asked the audience for 5 unrelated words (orange-shoes-palace-submarine-sunrise) and wove them together - with just enough logic - into a minute long rap. Rapturous.
Review by Jo Robinson
Roarhouse Review @ 303 Bar Northcote, Thursday 12th March, 2009
Featuring: M/C Anthony Dynon
Gary Ryerson
Em Connors
Dean Lombard
Tony Dowling
Thomas Richardson
Jona Byron
Donna and the Aspinauts
Well, well, well, my first experience of a Roarhouse event and I’ve been left with a lasting impression of what live music should ALL be about and a bagful of enthusiastic promises to get involved in every way possible.
M/C Anthony Dynon opened the night theatrically and humbly, showing that such a pair of adjectives can indeed be twinned. He introduced the first act, Gary Ryerson, a Footscray poet who shared years of life-experience with ideas floating out like advertising strips on the tail of planes; impossible not to picture. He really was very funny. Not a clown, just light-hearted about serious things. And sincere. A true story-teller.
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M/C Anthony Dynon with Marjetka Mcmahon
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Gary Ryerson |
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Em Connors followed, with the sweetest voice imaginable. Her voice reminded me of warm, earthy resin and the timid, innocent plight of an American country girl. I’m certain everyone in the room was plunged into wistful reminiscences of lost love and good times. Someone needs to find her a band and a record contract, fast. http://www.myspace.com/emconnors
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Dean Lombard was next up with a very English take on life as, well, him. He sang wryly about relationships in a way that left you thinking, You know what? He’s got a point there. Never saw it like that before, but yeah… His guitar was coarse and bold, pelted out in a The Smiths meets Elvis Costello kind of way.
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Who’d of thought you could have four consecutive acoustic singer-songwriters up and not begin to fidget and plan tomorrow’s sandwich fillers? Well, this is the gift that Roarhouse brings. Artists come from such random walks of life that no two acts could ever possibly be the same. Tony Dowling, the third acoustic performer, proved just this. He sang his heart’s tales, that much was clear, and had a voice remarkably akin to James Taylor’s. Now that’s no mean feat. And for me, it was like receiving a shot of serotonin that left me satiated and smiling.
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Thomas Richardson then rocked up fully clad in a huge and colourful south-American poncho. He poured out poem after poem, with no separation even for a title between. It was up to us to keep up. His ideas escaped his lips as a smattering of tumbling words and cascading lines, quietly enigmatic, you had to pay attention, just had to. A very talented guy. I was hooked.
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Jona Byron demanded the audience kept up its attention by bombarding us with highly demanding, hugely intense singing and stomping. His melodies were catchy, his riffs were great, he built his songs into a splendorous plateau half way through the song then kept us there unashamedly for several further minutes. The break that followed was a well deserved rest. Check him out on http://www.myspace.com/jonabyron
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Donna and the Aspinauts. What a funny bunch. The lady is a true entertainer. She told amusing tales of life on the edge of society and made me envious I didn’t join her there. Real life? Social norms and expectations? Pah! Look what fun I’m having! She expressed herself more with flailing arms and facial expressions than her voice, and began each song with a poem quickly captured by interesting and mischievous music. Tongue-in-cheek? Perhaps not. It cannot be genre-defined. I sincerely hope the lady is available for children’s parties. http://www.myspace.com/donnaandtheaspinauts
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Roarhouse? Should be known as Rawhouse. If you like your arts sugar-coated and the same, same, same, stay well away.
Review by Jo Robinson