A ticket to the Neil Diamond musical might as well be a ticket for a time machine

MUSICALS
A Beautiful Noise: The Neil Diamond Musical ★★★★
Princess Theatre, until Octobe r25

I was still in the womb in February 1976, when Neil Diamond – at the height of his powers – enthralled a 14,000-strong crowd at Melbourne’s Sidney Myer Music Bowl. Another 5000 were crammed against the fence outside the venue, peeking through gaps in the hessian, and one excited reviewer described the concert as “D-Day”, noting that Diamond, “dressed in brown leather trousers … and a pink shirt, won [fans over] even before he reached centre stage”.

Fifty years on, the Australian premiere of A Beautiful Noise has opened at the Princess Theatre, and it will most definitely appeal to veterans of “D-Day”, or anyone who saw the music legend perform live.

Sure, it mightn’t fuse rock biography and music catalogue with the same theatrical completeness as the highest level of jukebox musical – as in Jersey Boys, or more recently Tina – but the show delivers the goods as an act of charismatic resurrection.

Will Swenson, who originated the role on Broadway, gives a pitch-perfect vocal and histrionic impersonation – one that channels the genius, personality, and emotional range of this singular artist with such “gravel wrapped in velvet” accuracy that a ticket to the show might as well be a ticket for a time machine.

That idea synchs with the awkward, if beautifully acted, framing device, in which a much older and more troubled Diamond (Terence Crawford) works through his issues with a psychiatrist (Monica Sayers), and revisits significant events in his career and personal life.

The past emerges with surreal razzle-dazzle. Choruses dressed in a motley of ’60s countercultural fashions, or silver lamé and sequins from the ’70s, leap out from behind the psychiatrist’s couch and burst into song, with a younger Diamond in tow.

Moments of heartbreak during his first two marriages – to Jaye Posner (Alana Tranter) and Marcia Murphey (Ashleigh Rubenach) – are well-served by the melancholy side of the playlist, with break-up ballads such as Love on the Rocks and You Don’t Bring Me Flowers.

They’re balanced by more upbeat numbers that chart Diamond’s rise to superstardom: Diamond’s discovery by producer Ellie Greenwich (Hannah Fredericksen); the years spent writing hits made famous by other artists (I’m A Believer and Red Red Wine, for starters); and his breakout as a solo artist, via an ill-considered encounter with a mobster-owned record label, and an intimate live music venue named The Bitter End.

Once the music icon reaches a stratospheric level of wealth and fame, the narrative recedes and a live concert vibe overtakes it, with the odd flashback to his origin story (Diamond is the son of Jewish immigrant parents), the toll that her husband’s constant touring takes on his second wife, and predictable progress towards self-awareness with his psych, made less annoying by Crawford’s terrifically growly baritone rendition of I Am … I Said.

As a tribute to Neil Diamond, A Beautiful Noise does exactly what it says on the jukebox. It’s full of spectacle and humour, emotion and nostalgia, and of course, the music.

I suspect most Boomers will love it as much as my mum did, but subsequent generations (especially those of us for whom bawling the chorus to Sweet Caroline at suburban parties was a rite of passage) should get a kick out of it, too.
Reviewed by Cameron Woodhead

MUSIC
Sheku Kanneh-Mason x MSO ★★★★
Hamer Hall, August 6

When Sheku Kanneh-Mason touches his bow to the cello strings, something transformative happens. There is no separation between the British musician and his instrument; they melt into a singularity. His face transforms while playing, vibrating with the feeling of it all.

The 27-year-old is one of classical music’s bright young stars, with an impressive CV including a solo performance at the 2018 wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle. He is in Melbourne performing the Australian premiere of British composer Edmund Finnis’ cello concerto, written especially for him and co-commissioned by international orchestras including the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra.

The cello is, of course, the central feature of the work – Finnis played the instrument himself in his youth, and has tapped into its many possibilities in his composition. There are nods to the past – the first movement is built around arpeggiated motifs that feel like a contemporary version of Bach’s famous cello prelude – alongside more distinctly modern elements.

Kanneh-Mason proves the diversity of the instrument’s sound, from soulful singing to almost violent double-stops; he hits a few dud notes in the higher register but seamlessly recovers, and when the cello soars alone, it’s transcendent. Elsewhere, the MSO swells and sighs behind him, picking up the pace in the busy third movement to build to a rapturous finale.

He is all smiles when it ends, encoring with a short solo that again showcases his winning combination of control and emotion. You can sense the audience craves more.

But that’s all from him. Sheku-Mason’s performance is bookended by the orchestra playing Debussy’s Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune and Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 5.

Under conductor Jaime Martín, the Tchaikovsky in particular is dynamic and exciting, with muscular brass adding dramatic texture. The cello’s range is again on display through the symphony – a walking bass line at one point, sonorous beauty at another. From old to new and back again, this was a special night of music.
Reviewed by Giselle Au-Nhien Nguyen

MUSIC
Laufey | A Matter of Time Tour ★★★★★
Rod Laver Arena, until August 1

Ever dated someone and found them so boring, you wondered what you were doing there? That’s what Laufey asked us halfway through her first night back in Melbourne. The Icelandic-Chinese artist sits on the stairs built onto her stage, casually chatting to the crowd before launching into Bored .

Laufey, 27, has cracked the code for making jazz a staple for her generation. She found fame online – from original work like debut single Street by Street, to jazz standard covers Misty and It’s Been a Long, Long Time. Then came three nights in the Palais Theatre in 2024, before a massive upgrade to Rod Laver Arena in 2026.

The bright, whimsical Lover Girl comes early in Act I (across the show, silent movie-style projections divide the show into acts). Laufey twirls, claps and bounces in a blue dress straight from a fairytale book, and later moves across a castle-like stage structure for Dreamer – half damsel in distress, half determined girl-boss.

This act extends beyond the stage. Like any pop fandom, the uniform is clear – here, it’s coquette. Bows, earthy colours or pastels, then flowy skirts, or yellow or blue felt crowns. “I should’ve brought my bunny costume,” says one fan before the show, referring to Mei Mei the Bunny, the main character of the musician’s children’s book.

Like any star with an ever-giving pop fandom, Laufey descends to high-five the crowd in Bored, and returns with a fan-made Australian flag with her face on it. “Revolution chic!” she reacts, one of her many witty one-liners of the night. “Hamilton could never.”

She crowns a best-dressed fan, and shouts out two fans dressed as coffee and pie, a nod to Let You Break My Heart Again. Seriously, it doesn’t get any more jazz-pop than this.

Act II brings us back to Laufey’s roots. A cover of Old Devil Moon, then jazz remixes of Haunted, Valentine, and Fragile. Her aura shifts from a twirling lover girl to an alluring vocalist as the stage becomes her jazz bar. The circus-like third act brings us Carousel, and the Swan Lake-esque Forget-Me-Not – an ode to her home, Iceland.

After an outfit change in Act IV, Laufey emerges in a showman-like set for an abundance of sass in Mr Eclectic, Madwoman and Tough Luck. This one’s a real emotional rollercoaster – she returns to the piano for Promise, the ultimate tear-jerker of the night.

As always, Laufey continues to flex a widely ranged classical upbringing. She plays a guitar in Falling Behind, a piano in Too Little, Too Late, and plays the cello alongside twin and creative director Junia on the violin for Madwoman.

Before closing the act with From the Start, Laufey gets vulnerable about her struggle with beauty standards in Snow White. Perhaps the key to making jazz and bossa nova mainstream among Laufey’s generation, myself included, all boils down to relatability. A first crush, being “too much”, the most boring or character-altering relationship in your 20s, and struggling with body image – these are some core experiences she sings about. And perhaps we sing along to sing the feelings out. It’s therapeutic, vulnerable and heartfelt especially in a crowd of thousands.

The night ends on a dark, ear-piercing note: Sabotage. The track that jump-scared the internet upon release. Whatever I heard when I flinched on my first listen, it was louder and more intense tonight. Three words sit on my notes app here: “WHAT THE HELL”.

The encore is surprisingly intimate for a pop show. The stage and orchestra rest for the night, and it’s just Laufey, her guitar, and us. She says bye (for now) with Letter To My 13-Year-Old Self, and fulfils a fan’s request to sing Slow Down.

Laufey’s songs are intimate and warm; they feel right for a quiet day at home or a cafe on a rainy day. But her tour shows that her quiet can be loud, that intimacy can be scaled up – and that you sure as hell can belt out bossa nova and jazz – and maybe think about an ex or a crush – for four entire acts.
Reviewed by Gabriela Sumampow

DANCE
CreepyPasta ★★
Dancehouse, until August 8

Creepypastas, for those who don’t know, are short but crude horror stories posted on the internet. And they really are awful. The prose is awkward, the pacing erratic and the content banal. Of course, that’s part of their grubby folkish charm: these are disposable, authorless texts, copied and pasted from forum to forum.

Can live performance create a creepypasta analogue? Unfortunately, yes. Harrison Hall and his new-media accomplices have pretty much nailed it.

Its opening scene is the most effective. Three large LED screens face away from us, their dark backs looming over performer and co-choreographer Nikki Tarling. She, too, faces away, attached by a rope to one screen. Is she umbilically tethered to the machine?

It is a potent image, especially with the red status lights on the backs of the screens staring like little eyes. But once the screens are wheeled around, video content gradually takes over the performance. The live elements – dance and clowning – feel underdeveloped.

Some of the material is comic, such as a video using Google Maps to explore the streets around the venue. And some of the material is more challenging, such as the lurid collages of digital detritus, which are accelerated and convulsive, and hard to watch for any length of time.

Hall, meanwhile, naked except for a long, lank white wig, capers madly about the stage, and into the audience. He has plenty of energy, but there’s not much choreography. His antics resemble creepypasta cosplay more than an embodied critique of technological alienation.

Perhaps all this is as it should be: a work modelled on creepypasta should be misshapen, excessive and slightly embarrassing. CreepyPasta captures the internet’s ugliness; as dance theatre, however, it is superfluous because we never see that ugliness landing in the body.
Reviewed by Andrew Fuhrmann

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