Amelia Pawsey has been living in a sharehouse with three others: her two housemates, and Heephah, a 60cm-tall taxidermy fox purchased from the Art Gallery of Ballarat. The fox has been watching - and not-so-quietly judging - Pawsey and her housemates for several years, so it was only natural that her debut solo cabaret would be dedicated to it in Love Letter to Heephah.
The structure is straightforward enough, with Pawsey discussing an event or situation in a sharehouse before performing a song. We get numbers about how cutlery should be organised in a drawer, and the realities of privacy in shared living, including “Hymn 69”. She uses a mix of live guitar and pre-recorded tracks, which allows the storytelling, physicality, and songs to move into spaces that would not be possible with guitar alone.
Pawsey has a knack for writing deceptively simple lyrics that draw the audience in while remaining grounded in relatable domestic scenarios. As the show progresses, the situations become increasingly odd and expansive as we shift from sharehouse tensions to nights out and club scenes, and dealing with exterminators over a rat infestation in the ceiling.
There are, however, a couple of songs that pull away from the sharehouse dynamic, which feel disconnected from the rest of the cabaret's tone. One about her housemate wanting a baby sits somewhat awkwardly beside her otherwise tight observations, and another revolves around cooking for a man she has been on a date with, which is missing the impact of the other songs. The more successful material stays focused on the pressures of shared living and the independence she finds within it, particularly in the standout “The Man of the House”, so it would have been interesting to explore those further.
Love Letter to Heephah is a charming and inventive debut that thrives on its eccentric premise and Pawsey’s ability to turn mundane sharehouse frustrations into engaging musical storytelling. While the occasional deviation from its central concept undermines its cohesion, the strongest moments are those firmly rooted in domestic chaos and the absurdity of communal living. This show suggests a performer with a clear comedic and musical sensibility, with the potential to refine and develop her creative practice.
The structure is straightforward enough, with Pawsey discussing an event or situation in a sharehouse before performing a song. We get numbers about how cutlery should be organised in a drawer, and the realities of privacy in shared living, including “Hymn 69”. She uses a mix of live guitar and pre-recorded tracks, which allows the storytelling, physicality, and songs to move into spaces that would not be possible with guitar alone.
Pawsey has a knack for writing deceptively simple lyrics that draw the audience in while remaining grounded in relatable domestic scenarios. As the show progresses, the situations become increasingly odd and expansive as we shift from sharehouse tensions to nights out and club scenes, and dealing with exterminators over a rat infestation in the ceiling.
There are, however, a couple of songs that pull away from the sharehouse dynamic, which feel disconnected from the rest of the cabaret's tone. One about her housemate wanting a baby sits somewhat awkwardly beside her otherwise tight observations, and another revolves around cooking for a man she has been on a date with, which is missing the impact of the other songs. The more successful material stays focused on the pressures of shared living and the independence she finds within it, particularly in the standout “The Man of the House”, so it would have been interesting to explore those further.
Love Letter to Heephah is a charming and inventive debut that thrives on its eccentric premise and Pawsey’s ability to turn mundane sharehouse frustrations into engaging musical storytelling. While the occasional deviation from its central concept undermines its cohesion, the strongest moments are those firmly rooted in domestic chaos and the absurdity of communal living. This show suggests a performer with a clear comedic and musical sensibility, with the potential to refine and develop her creative practice.
Read our interview with Amelia here.
SHOW DETAILS
Venue: Trainscendence 5-6/48 Easey St, Collingwood
Season: until 19 April | daily except Wednesday 6.15pm
Duration: 55 minutes
Tickets: $28 Full | $24 Conc
Bookings: Melbourne International Comedy Festival
No comments:
Post a Comment