Resistance is futile when Primal Scream unleash their bangers

MUSIC
PRIMAL SCREAM
Enmore Theatre, January 11
Reviewed by GEORGE PALATHINGAL
★★★½

Just about every legacy act does this sneaky trick: floor the accelerator about two-thirds through a set with a final explosion of hits and crowd favourites, leaving the audience feeling as though they’ve been to the best gig of their lives.

There are two things to note here.

First, for Scottish veterans Primal Scream, this closing run includes some of the most euphoric songs of a generation, in the best-known trio from their earth-shattering 1991 indie/dance/chillout album masterpiece Screamadelica, plus a couple of bona fide alt-rock anthems in the irresistible hoedown of Country Girl and the unstoppable Rocks. It is guaranteed: you will leave this show on the highest of highs.

Bobby Gillespie subscribes to the Bob Dylan school of singing.Credit: ©Martin Philbey

But the second, and perhaps more relevant, thing is that Primal Scream – or at least charismatic frontman Bobby Gillespie – don’t even see themselves as a legacy act. Yes, they’ve done the classic-album tours in the past; but whenever they put out something new – in this instance, last year’s Come Ahead, their first original collection since 2016 – it has often had that vital, risky spark of artists who want to challenge themselves and their audience. Remember, that’s how Screamadelica blew minds back in the proverbial day.

And so we have what proves to be a little too much latest-album work to do before we’re rewarded with what most have come to hear: some of it pulsating and terrific (the gospel-cum-disco of Ready to Go Home), some out-of-tune nonsense (including Melancholy Man, which crowd goodwill lets the band sneak into the encore), but most of it fascinating nonetheless.

You can’t completely ignore the fact Gillespie comes from the Bob Dylan school of “singing” – but that has rarely been an issue in the past 40 or so years. He does just about hold it together for the sublime I’m Losing More Than I’ll Ever Have, which is given extra soulful life by this tour’s not-so-secret weapons, the two female backing vocalists and a multi-instrumentalist (who plays jazz flute – jazz flute! – on Love Insurrection).

And when, finally, the vocal sample of Loaded (“we wanna be free/to do what we wanna do” etc) gets the party going after a couple of short-lived false starts (shout out to Jailbird), resistance is futile.

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MUSICAL
THE LORD OF THE RINGS – A MUSICAL TALE
State Theatre, January 11
Until February 1
Reviewed by KATE PRENDERGAST
★★★

Adapting Tolkien’s 1100-plus-page epic to a stage musical of less than three hours was always going to be a task as tough as that tackled by Frodo. However, where that halfling courageously conquered all odds with the help of his friends, this production directed by Paul Hart on the first stop of its Australia tour cannot surmount its challenges.

Foremost of these is best encapsulated in the character of Treebeard. The Ent is absent on stage, manifesting as a disembodied voice issued by someone missing from the program. That line about how it takes a “long time” to say anything in Entish? It is delivered at an egregious clip.

Many of the cast are all-singing, all-dancing, all-playing artists.Credit: Daniel Boud

So the rest of the production, while punishingly long, thumps together the key beats of the trilogy with a noble air; like a brassy court accordionist who tries a whole symphony in one galumphing, enthusiastic wheeze.

There is a literal accordion on stage played by an unlikely Legolas. Many of the 32-strong Aussie cast are actor-musicians: Pippin bows a violin, Elrond blows a trombone, Sam strums a guitar. Stefanie Caccamo’s Arwen plucks a harp and flaunts her limpid voice, and ensemble folk in the shadows are on flute, double bass, and drums.

Whether suspenders-wearing hobbits or ninja-nimble orcs, they are all talented players and heel-kicking dancers; their instrumentals (composed by A.R. Rahman, Värttinä, and Christopher Nightingale) are pleasing. From the book by Shaun McKenna and Matthew Warchus, there is one song that is catchy: Now and For Always, a heartwarming duet of camaraderie between Sam (Wern Mak) and Frodo (Rarmian Newton). The rest I forget.

Our State Theatre, that dame of semi-kitsch grandeur – more often host to stand-up comedians and touring tribute acts these days – tries her best to hold up the production’s spectacle, with a revolve, platforms and dramatic lighting. Simon Kenny’s virtually static set (with ladders and balconies) relies heavily on George Reeve’s projections (of The Eye, forests, and other atmospheres and plot essentials).

Yet many aspects of the production are comical, such as Gandalf’s fall and deus ex machina return. Charlie Tymms is behind the puppets, and while I love her Nazgul steeds (skulls with tapering spines), the Balrog resembles a pair of frog’s eyes peeping up beneath a roiling magma sheet. Shelob’s entrance from her shadowy lair was awe-striking, but ungainly legginess undid this effect as it crept forward. These puppets outdid some of the oter performances, though.

One reason to buy a ticket? I say this with great solemnity: For Smeagol.

It is as if Laurence Boxhall crawled right out of Jackson’s film. He has perfected Andy Serkis’s gummy gremliny squeak; his servile, crouching sneakery; and the Jekyll and Hyde-ness of the fantasy genre’s best wretch. Make-up transforms Boxhall’s face and body into a cursed wasteland and his performance, which begins only in act two, makes the show.

How much should an adaptation keep faithful to its mega-popular predecessors? How much should it cleave to what’s familiar? What can the new storytelling form do that others cannot, and what value can it add?

These questions should torment anyone who embarks on such a quest. Alas, this musical (nominated for five Oliviers) went where I, a LOTR devotee, could not follow.

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Finneas
Hordern Pavilion, January 11
Reviewed by KAYLA OLAYA
★★★

Finneas sat down at his piano on the dark stage and started the ballad Starf---er while his five bandmates crept to their instruments in the shadows. Once all six musicians were on stage the fine-tuned machine kicked in.

What we got was one LA pop-rock hit after another. Lights beamed with every beat and the live acoustics harmonised seamlessly with every vocal, strum of a guitar and piano note.

But the music lacked the scope and emotions of the work of his sister and usual collaborator Billie Eilish. In fact, after a couple of songs it all started sounding similar.

Fan favourite (according to the 17-year-old girls next to me) Cleats was the most underwhelming. Meanwhile, Partners in Crime made me feel like I was 16 again, swooning over the new Shawn Mendes album.

But while Finneas often lacked variety he did redeem himself partly with several captivating numbers, including groovy rocker Lotus Eater. Under hot-pink lights he played Sweet Cherries with a sensuality that felt like an electronic rock version of George Michael’s Careless Whisper.

But given he has the talent required to produce Billie Eilish music that wins Academy Awards and Grammys it’s a shame when his music begins to sound repetitive.

Was I a teenager again, would I have truly appreciated the set like my 17-year-old neighbours? Perhaps.