Dunstan Playhouse. Adelaide Cabaret Festival. 7 Jun 2015
Meow Meow crowd surfed her way on the upraised arms of an adoring Adelaide cabaret audience, out of the Dunstan Playhouse, five years ago.
Her return, again from the wings of Dunstan Playhouse, found her garbed in a gold diamantine glittered strap dress, one side ripped exposing her black bra.
Meow Meow dragged from a lock around her ankle a long, heavy chain, attached to an offstage trolley. Fussing with it she sat, then dragged it bit by bit into full view. On it, an assortment of cases and odd bric-a-brac; baggage of life, instruments of a vagabond songstress’s trade.
His Master's Choice finds Meow Meow indulging eagerly in songs of savage hurt coated lavishly in melodrama, excited expressions of spite and darkly contemptuous satire. Be it revelling in the savagery of romantic or familial rejection or the sickly sweet poeticism of a child’s fairy tale like death wish, Meow Meow treats all as a delicious feast of dark feeling to be desired.
The choice to be crushed, reviled, seek oblivion and be used is delivered with a blend of coaxing and pleading expressed nothing like the sound and feel of a weakened vessel begging.
Meow Meow insinuates pleasure and strength in downtrodden states. Delight ever palpable. The choice of sung language ups the ante considerably on this point, most particularly if it’s German.
The audience are playthings; be it seducing one person to gladly supply their glass of wine whenever requested or, especially in the case of one gentleman, coaxed to hold her microphone. The gentleman’s arm tucked under Meow Meow’s armpit; elbow and arm operating as microphone stand. Assured he was well tucked in behind her, Meow Meow worked her way through a sheaf of sheet music for voice, articulating aural phases of sexual congress and post coital bathroom etiquette.
Meow Meow’s voice strutted and prowled about her audience seductively, offering short bursts of romantically tinged vibrato alike to the sudden appearance of a warming sun in winter.
Winter it certainly seemed to be, as a light shower of black charred paper descended from the rig as she exited.
It was as if the reality of so many dark emotions had finally caught her.
David O’Brien
When: Closed
Where: Dunstan Playhouse
Bookings: Closed
