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The source material is awash with a litany of devastating racial slurs that Maxine grew up hearing. That a derogatory word isn’t uttered in The Hate Race until nearly halfway through the set time feels intentional – the harm of these words isn’t reproduced in a live setting where there’s no reprieve or escape. The threat of them is sinister enough.

The centrepiece of Zoë Rouse’s simple set is an eye-catching floor with swirls of brown that call to mind a melted paddle pop.

Props are minimal but used with aplomb to recreate the emblems of an Australian childhood. Rachel Lee’s lighting design is supremely effective – the warm light that bathes Newman for much of the play switches to a harsh blue and strobe lights in more uncomfortable moments.

Quoting poet Nikki Giovanni in her book’s acknowledgements, Clarke says “people will never understand that all the time, I was quite happy”. And that is perhaps the biggest takeaway of The Hate Race – there are unjust, unwarranted microaggressions and violence levelled at minority identities in so-called Australia, but there’s also an unparalleled sense of joy, strength and belonging.
Reviewed by Sonia Nair

MUSIC
Sampha ★★★
Margaret Court Arena, March 1

Sampha Sisay is a lights-out kinda guy. As a soul singer, he’s more What’s Going On than Sex Machine; as a performer more Quiet Storm than Heat Wave. He comes in near-darkness, light against vast black curtains, and mounts a podium centre-stage behind a bank of keys, as his black-clad band conjures the space vista of the song Plastic 100°C.

The softly spoken Londoner introduces them before the second song, the better to blend into the collective. Joyful but deferential, he guesses we can stand if we want to. Most of us do. Dancing is not mentioned.

The intense, multitasking quartet is positioned in a tight circle facing in, bassist Rosette and drummer Blake Cascoe up front with their backs to us, percussionist Ruthven and keyboard player Elsas a tier behind, like the choir they also become. Their harmonies are airy clouds of exhilarating strangeness, peaking with a finger-clicking a cappella Can’t Get Close.

The darkness barely recedes for 90 minutes as our spirit guide embraces the infinity within. “I can see an inner vision,” he raps against the unhurried, pillowy piano of Satellite Business. “Love will catch you, spirit gon’ catch you”, is the promise of the moonlit Spirit 2.0. “I fell lifted from above,” is the ecstatic refrain of Suspended.

The tension is between the muted tone of Sampha’s high-and-higher voice and the frantic polyrhythms driven by Cascoe. The measured movement of jazz-infused electric piano chords drags against the clattering matrix of percussion. Chaos is calmed by the singer’s higher purpose.

“You make me cry!” a voice calls from the dark after (Nobody Knows Me) Like the Piano, the signature solo piece that encapsulates Sampha’s eternal introspective distance, despite serial collaborations with megastars like Kanye, Kendrick, Drake and Travis Scott.

Apart from the Sbtrkt track Hold On, it’s all his own work tonight, climaxing with the panic attack of Blood On Me, which is calmed with a solo encore, Happens. The humble soul man thanks us until the houselights chase him away.
Reviewed by Michael Dwyer

MUSIC
Shonen Knife ★★★★
The Corner Hotel, February 28

Since 1982, the Japanese trio Shonen Knife has been playing their unconventional, yet simple brand of pop-punk rock to increasing numbers of fans. Amassing a cult following after the release of Burning Farm (1983) and Pretty Little Baka Guy (1986) on alternative labels K Records and Sub Pop, they catapulted to international fame after Kurt Cobain invited them to open for Nirvana in 1991. And they’ve only kept going, with memorable ditties such as Twist Barbie and Jump Into the New World, their trademark infectious punk rock putting smiles on faces and causing even the grumpiest of people to bop along to their music across the world.

Six years after their last tour to Australia, the trio is back, with original members, sisters Naoko Yamano and Atsuko Yamano at the helm and Risa Kawano (who joined in 2015 at age 22) as drummer. Shonen Knife presents a particular predictability that, unlike typical interpretations of the word, leans towards creating an atmosphere of optimum comfort. Imagine your favourite childhood meal, or a TV show you’ve watched 10 times—that’s Shonen Knife for you.

Fans understand this too. Playing to a packed-out room on a Wednesday night, one can see how they’ve managed to keep their older fans while accumulating new ones with every album. Here to promote their latest, Our Best Place (2023), an amalgamation of styles – power pop, hard rock, punk – developed over the 21 albums in their discography, it’s a delight to witness how the trio has managed to retain their vigour without becoming lacklustre or trite.

This is no mean feat. Lesser bands have persisted with their musical career after decades, only to fade into mediocrity. Naoko’s slide guitar solos are impeccable, and the Yamano sisters’ unadulterated enthusiasm comes through.

It’s an understated joy to see middle-aged Asian women rock out, still a rare sight despite significant female representation in rock bands over time. Wearing their signature matching-yet-distinct dresses designed by Atsuko (who is also a fashion designer), the band’s on-stage chemistry is palpable, with pitch-perfect harmonising in songs such as Cycling Is Fun, on top of intermittent synchronised headbanging from the sisters throughout the one-hour set.

At some points towards the end, Kawano stands up to drum too, her bright smile not leaving her face the entire time – this is not a persona; she is clearly enjoying what she does while being incredible at it. Grins, smiles and laughter erupt through the crowded room.

Of course, long-time fans know that the two sisters have a deep love for tennis. There is never no mention of tennis with Shonen Knife. “If I wasn’t in Shonen Knife, I’d be a pro tennis player!” Naoko tells the audience midway into the set, grinning.
Reviewed by Cher Tan

JAZZ
Lonnie Holley + Moor Mother + Irreversible Entanglements ★★★★
Melbourne Recital Centre, February 28

On record, the music of US free-jazz collective Irreversible Entanglements is fiery and focused. On stage, that fire becomes a raging blaze. For this fiercely uncompromising quintet, apathy is not an option.

As they explain in the liner notes of their latest album (Protect Your Light), their aim is nothing less than the advancement of human potential, self-determination and liberation. And they don’t feel the need to couch their messages in sweet melodies or metaphors.

On Wednesday night, the spoken-word poetry of Camae Ayewa (aka Moor Mother) was often unapologetically political.

Early in the evening, her rhythmic recitations made pointed references to the current conflict in Gaza (“They say they have all of the rights and none of the wrongs”), her body vibrating with passionate intent. Later, she railed against colonialism and chastised the Commonwealth – including Australia – for “running away from its permanent stain”.

Around her swelled the sounds of empathy, indignation, hope, despair and compassion, expressed in virtuosic bursts of squalling horns, restless drums, agitated bass and a cosmic array of electronic effects.

The heavy-duty reverb and amplification meant that both Moor Mother’s poetry and the individual contributions of each musician were frequently lost in the sonic maelstrom. The overall impact was undeniably powerful, but at times I longed for a little more space and clarity.

That spaciousness arrived in the second set, along with vocalist-keyboardist Lonnie Holley. At 74, Holley conveys both the wisdom of an elder and the wide-eyed wonder of a child. Part mystic, part preacher, he roamed the stage and offered his thoughts in sung form, connecting earth and sky, suffering and love, humanity and Mother Universe.

The band absorbed his spirit and created spontaneous soundtracks tinged with soul, blues and gospel, culminating in a joyful Afro-Latin finale. So what began as confrontation ended in celebration – two sides of the same coin for this remarkable coalition of artists.
Reviewed by Jessica Nicholas

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