Notorious polymath Tim Minchin defied expectations at Hobart’s DARK MOFO festival last night with a melancholy and heartfelt performance punctuated by only the occasional punchline.
Such was the anticipation, Minchin’s first Hobart show in years sold out in approximately 15 minutes. When the second was announced, it too duly sold out.
Now the night was finally upon us, descending from the buzzing mezzanine to our seats, we were met with DARK MOFO themed smoke and deep-red lighting surrounding a solitary grand piano.
Making an unassuming entry from the dark, barefoot and casually dressed in black, Minchin showed his trademark flair for the dramatic immediately. Approaching the piano with all the decorum of a classical pianist, as the spotlight sparkled on, he turned sharply to the crowd, grinning, much to their delight.
It perfectly summed up the expectantly theatrical larrikin that Australia had come to love. After saluting the crowd with a glass of red wine, he launched quickly into a new composition.
If This Plane Goes Down seemed a deeper metaphor for his personal and career failures. Wrestling with insignificance and reputation and legacy, Minchin tied together darker themes with charming self-deprecation, “If this plane goes down/remember me as someone who cared often/but not always about his hair."
Minchin monologued between tunes, taking the crowd on a stream-of-consciousness journey about his travels and projects. “So, I used to be a comedian. I haven’t played solo in Australia in what…”, Tim said, interrupted by screams of “too long!”, “…ten years? So, this is it, man, I’m back.” The crowd whooped and cheered.
He reflected on outrage and the public eye, and the irony of self-censorship by straight white men with privilege. He pondered out loud how it’s an odd time to be in comedy, where anything you say can be taken out of context, and the words people use can be weaponised.
Between ruminations, Minchin was quick to involve the crowd with old cabaret favourites. The Monty Pythonesque, high-tempo ditty F-Sharp and the cunningly clever Taboo (Ginger Song) epitomise the self-conscious social commentary that won Minchin so many die-hard fans Australia-wide. He had the crowd cheering and laughing along, throughout his razor-sharp metacomedy.
Minchin reflected that the mysticism of the language in spirituality allows preachers to disguise the absurdity of religion. He reduced the story of Jesus to a plain English sing-along, bringing together the crowd in an orchestrated choir, and even comparing himself to Jesus with bare feet and long hair.
Minchin cast a telling light on the fact that we live in a world where satire is virtually indistinguishable from reality, with philosophical quips about politics and recovering from disasters.
Reflecting on how his older tunes had aged with his audience, Minchin contemporised his lyrics hilariously. Many cheered as he rolled through songs that launched his fame some fourteen years ago. Summing up the chaos he wrings from his music, Minchin would let silence hang over the crowd after a particularly shocking lyric, as laughs turned to gasps. Drumming with his bare feet, he laughed off his several rusty mistakes as he embraced the delight of the performance. It certainly felt like he was back home.
The English-born and Perth-raised 42-year-old had matured somewhat in the years passed, with the self-effacing, narcissist stage personality of old colliding with the wistful prodigal son. I'm personally glad Minchin has returned from the vacuous depths of Hollywood after the critical acclaim of the theatre productions Matilda and Groundhog Day, and he delighted the crowd with feature track Grown Up.
After releasing I Still Call Australia Homophobic and Come Home (Cardinal Pell), Minchin reflected that MONA tied closely with his approach to music, “playing with words and numbers”. He discussed the MONA effect, his personal relationship with David Walsh, and his fascinations with probability and people’s tunnel vision when it comes to understanding the world. He compared the desert to the Derwent River, as a psychological barrier to the big city, which prevents people from realising they’re part of the world at large.
The latter half of the set was filled with touching and technically beautiful ballads which had the crowd entranced, a testament to his love for his wife Sarah. They bode well for the non-comedy album Minchin has in progress.
As Minchin took stage left for an encore, a stampede of thumping feet broke out in the crowd amongst the claps, for a triumphant return. All punters were left wide-eyed and with sore jaws.
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