Almanac Music: An Evening with Marlon Williams

We arrived at the venue with a heightened level of expectation. I had read the Age review earlier in the week by Nadia Bailey, who had given the performance five stars. The question was how would this one-person show by New Zealand artist Marlon Williams translate from the 1,000 seat auditorium that is the Melbourne Recital Centre to a small hall in Anglesea. Local promotor The Sound Doctor had done well to book a Saturday night and a Sunday afternoon performances. I had jumped on a bought six tickets to the Saturday night gig as soon as they became available. Both shows sold out very quickly. Helen and I were both very familiar with his work while the four plus-ones spent the intervening period familiarising themselves with a variety of the output that Marlon had released over the years. I think the most recent time H and I saw him had been a full-band show at the Substation in Newport, when then partner fellow New Zealander Aldous Harding had also come on and performed.

 

I was ruing that I had not booked some of the limited reserved seats when I had had the chance. Having enjoyed/endured hip-replacement surgery less than four weeks earlier, the prospect of standing in a crowd for two hours was not that attractive. Relief ensued when we quickly spied and occupied a number of unreserved seats, just five or six rows from the front and with excellent views of the stage.

 

The show began in darkness with a hooded Marlon entering and singing the first song in te reo Maori (thank-you Nadia Bailey for this technical information), stamping his foot and waving his arms and hands to the beat. The first half-hour set is all performed in darkness. He goes firstly to the the grand piano and then to one of his guitars positioned on the other side of the small stage. About twenty minutes in he broke character. On returning to the piano he removed his hood and said that he wouldn’t normally speak during this first set ‘but you are all so close and so Saturday nighty’. He was feeling the very positive audience vibe. I can’t remember whether it was then or later in the show but he said that after the three sold-out Melbourne shows he was feeling very tired and thanked the audience for bringing the revitalising energy that gave him a big lift.

 

At the interval, the volunteer-staffed bar re-opened and we attendees exchanged euphoric impressions of the music event we were experiencing. As I have just read on-line: ‘The Sound Doctor, initiated by Dr David Corbet, is a group of Surf Coast music lovers passionate about bringing established artists to perform in an intimate venue in Anglesea, Victoria.’ I have been to a couple of shows put on here in Anglesea. I have also attended shows at Meeniyan and Archies Creek and other rural settings. These people and their groups of volunteers and supporters do so much that is positive for their local communities.

 

The second set had Marlon in jeans and t-shirt with no hoodie, and a broad smile. When a performer is so obviously enjoying a show, it is just about impossible for the audience not to be of similar emotion. The second set was more upbeat – many of the songs with a backing track – with a variety of songs from his own writing repertoire as well as covers. Some in English and some in te reo Maori. The songs were interspersed with commentaries of the origins of the music it was obvious the respect he has for those who have inspired him. He introduced us to his fairly-recently-purchased second hand guitar – $150 from an op shop in Christchurch – which he said was now his favourite. The audience response continued to vitalise the show. Marlon played special tribute to the lighting technician (I am sorry I didn’t properly catch her name) who didn’t have the Recital Centre infrastructure at her disposal, but had done a remarkable job with limited resources, of creating the essential show atmosphere.

 

Did I tell you I dislike encores? Well, usually I do dislike encores. I am prepared to make an exception. When Marlon returned to the stage to perform ‘just a couple more songs’ (it stretched into three) I was as elated as everyone else.

 

The performer departed. The lights came on. I went and bought another glass of wine because I was in no rush to leave and wanted to compare notes with co-attendees, and continue in the glow of what was a very special evening.

 

 

 

 

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