Freedman Does Nilsson
\nTim Freedman
\nDunstan Playhouse
\nJune 12.<\/p>\n
Waiting For My Real Life
\nColin Hay
\nDunstan Playhouse
\nJune 13.<\/p>\n
Murray Bramwell<\/p>\n
The Harry Nilsson story is as paradoxical as it is sad. He had great success; but his biggest hits were covers of other writers\u2019 songs. He was a brilliant vocalist, but never performed live. His first album was ignored by everyone – except John Lennon and Paul McCartney. He had an eight album contract with RCA Records and was paid $3 million not to make the last three.<\/p>\n
Tim Freedman, the other famous Whitlam, \u201cdoes\u201d Nilsson for the Adelaide Cabaret Festival- and he honours a great musician in the doing. Dressed in the signature Schmilsson tweed cap and sporting mutton chop sideburns, Freedman channels Harry, Brooklyn accent and all. Seated at the Playhouse Steinway, he opens with Everybody\u2019s Talkin\u2019<\/i>, written by Fred Neil and theme song of the hit film Midnight Cowboy<\/i>. The first of his string of cover hits, it is still Nilsson\u2019s most famous.<\/p>\n
But more intriguing is 1941<\/i>, autobiographical to the point of pain \u2013\u201cWell in 1941 a happy father had a son\/ And by 1944 the father walked right out the door\u201d; repeated in the final verse, where the dates are now 1961 and 1964 , and the father leaving is now Nilsson himself.<\/p>\n
Freedman narrates the Nilsson story \u2013 and the legend. How he divided time between working as a computer analyst in a bank and writing and recording demos such as Cuddly Toy<\/i> \u2013 a \u201cnasty song wrapped in sugar\u201d and a hit for the Monkees.<\/p>\n
And his creative collaborations with musicians like Randy Newman, at that point a little-known, but much admired, composer. Nilsson recorded Simon<\/i> Smith and the Amazing Dancing Bear<\/i> for his 1969 album Harry<\/i> and then followed in 1970 with Nilsson Sings Newman<\/i>, a whole LP of Newman songs, with the same mix of wordplay, irony and satiric deadpan which characterised Nilsson\u2019s own musical style. Freedman delivers a memorable version of Living Without<\/i> You<\/i> from that collection.<\/p>\n
Perhaps it is Freedman\u2019s account of Nilsson\u2019s connections with The Beatles which piques our interest in particular. Dating back to 1967 and Pandemonium Shadow Show<\/i> ( featuring She\u2019s Leaving Home<\/i> and a virtuoso pastiche of Beatle sounds with You Can\u2019t Do That<\/i>) Nilsson became the Fabs\u2019 favourite interpreter. Nilsson met up with them when he went to the UK \u2013 about the time that John met Yoko. He and Lennon became close pals, later for a time he played (as coincidentally, did Colin Hay) with Ringo Starr\u2019s All Starr Band (and Ringo even paid to have his teeth fixed!)<\/p>\n
But it was around 1974 when the Lennon \/ Nilsson antics became notorious in Los Angeles. Their Lost Weekend lasted for eighteen months and cost Nilsson his reputation and his health. Freedman uses Lennon\u2019s raw Plastic Ono lament, Isolation<\/i> as a litmus for that time. Nilsson\u2019s huge success with Nilsson Schmilsson<\/i> is now evaporating, his refusal to perform live, and tendency to self-sabotage conspire towards his increasingly lonely decline.<\/p>\n
Tim Freedman\u2019s narrative is unsparing in describing how a great career is careening downwards, but the songs ever remind us what a clever musical spark Nilsson was. From the perky metronome of Gotta Get Up<\/i> to The Puppy Song<\/i>, from One<\/i> (is the loneliest number) to Without You<\/i>, the sheer verve and yearning of his melody and the sweetness of his vocals are here splendidly interpreted by Freedman. Nilsson has been done, with a little touch of Schmeedman in the night.<\/p>\n
With Waiting for my Real Life<\/i>, Colin Hay is here to tell his story for himself. It is June and Friday 13th <\/sup> – an auspicious date in more ways than one. Forty seven years ago to the day, in 1967, Colin Hay aged fourteen, arrived in Melbourne with his family \u2013 emigrating from Kilwinning in Scotland.<\/p>\n On stage in \u201cMr Dunstan\u2019s Playhouse\u201d, dressed in a raffish red tartan jacket, his receding hair still spiked in punkish tufts, Hay is immediately engaging as, setting up a likeable riff on his acoustic guitar, he begins to bind his storytelling spell. With his tangy Scots accent he talks about his early experiences in Australia and his formative influences- first in his father\u2019s music supplies shop in Scotland, then as he begins to build a reputation as composer and front man for Men at Work, one of this country\u2019s most rapidly successful international acts.<\/p>\n Drawing from his eleven solo albums and the meteoric three recorded with Men at Work between 1981 and 1985, Hay, in grainy good voice sings the title song from Wayfaring Sons<\/i> (\u201cDon\u2019t go out in the night\u201d) then a slower tempo, almost ballad version of Who Can it Be Now ?<\/i> and his laid-back homage to the beach life \u2013 Beautiful World<\/i>.<\/p>\n Of course, his waggish humour and sardonic take on the world steers his commentary from tales of a friend being chased by a shark as prelude to Beautiful World<\/i> to self-deprecating anecdotes of mistaken celebrity. Those \u201cdidn\u2019t you used to be \u2026?\u201d encounters : In that band that recorded YMCA<\/i> ? In the Flock of Seagulls ? The group that sang Turning Japanese<\/i>?<\/p>\n There are dozens of stories and they are fun to hear – the Aussie Scots outsider at the Grammys , momentarily meeting Little Richard, then later as a soloist, getting to know Zach Braff, the creator of the TV series Scrubs <\/i>– in which Hay (an occasional film and TV actor) appeared several times – and director of the movie Garden State<\/i>, with its highly successful soundtrack which included Hay\u2019s song I Just Don\u2019t Think I\u2019ll Ever Get Over You<\/i>.<\/p>\n Needless to say Down Under<\/i> is a mine of jokes and reminiscences \u2013 although the bitter \u201cKookaburra sings\u201d copyright infringement case is not among them. \u201cWe<\/span><\/i>wrote this song,\u201d is his only comment, \u201cwhatever you might have read.\u201d He has stories about performing at the Sydney 2000 Olympics, of playing solo in Brazil, where he has a strong following, of an international tour he had to cancel and all he had left was a box of t-shirts with his name misspelled \u2013 Colin Hat.<\/p>\n This was the first time I had seen Colin Hay play live, although his reputation as a raconteur has long preceded him. And it\u2019s all true. He is a troubadour and storyteller who draws in an audience and conspires with them with wit and surprising candour. Hay talks about his battle with alcohol and how fellow heavy drinkers don\u2019t want to take it seriously, he also talks fondly and reflectively about his parents and sings There\u2019s Water Over You<\/i> as a tribute to his father.<\/p>\n From his 1994 album Topanga<\/i>, he sings Waiting For My Real Life Begin<\/i>, \u201cAny minute now, my ship is coming in,\u201d a meditation about expectations which he links to the strange phenomenon of rapid success and its equally rapid evaporation. It is hard-won wisdom and genially expressed. Colin Hay has found his real forte as a travelling singer holding an audience in the palm of his hand. Closing this excellent show, accompanied on his Gryphon 12 string, he sings A Simple Song<\/i> – and makes a very special talent look easy.<\/p>\n The Barefoot Review online June 17, 2014.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Freedman Does Nilsson Tim Freedman Dunstan Playhouse June 12. Waiting For My Real Life Colin Hay Dunstan Playhouse June 13. Murray Bramwell The Harry Nilsson story is as paradoxical as it is sad. He had great success; but his biggest hits were covers of other writers\u2019 songs. He was a brilliant vocalist, but never performed live. His first album was ignored by everyone – except John Lennon and Paul McCartney. He had an eight album contract with RCA Records and […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[31,5,9],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2431","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-31","category-archive","category-cabaret"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/murraybramwell.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2431","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/murraybramwell.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/murraybramwell.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/murraybramwell.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/murraybramwell.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2431"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/murraybramwell.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2431\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2432,"href":"https:\/\/murraybramwell.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2431\/revisions\/2432"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/murraybramwell.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2431"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/murraybramwell.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2431"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/murraybramwell.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2431"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}