Songs For Those Who've Come Across The Seas Review @ Adelaide Cabaret Festival 2018

'Songs For Those Who've Come Across The Seas'
Travel and culture writer, based in Adelaide.

Set on the world's most remote island, 'Songs For Those Who've Come Across The Seas' aims to tell the story of that island through the many living organisms that populate the place, and how they got there.


Then it becomes more ambitious, and loses its bearings a bit. The 9pm timeslot is an unusual choice for a show aimed at young adults, and the sparse crowd reflects this.

Cameron Goodall, who co-wrote the songs and sings many of them, introduces us to the evening by telling us that the story is based on a book he received as a child. Each species gets a song, and to begin with the premise is as straightforward as the lyrics, which detail each animal or plant's struggles and quirks. They're at their best when a dose of whimsy is added, as when the seed of whispering grass carried aloft on the wind is imagined as the ancestor of some astronaut.

The dung beetles are played for cheap laughs and then things take an odd turn as Goodall gets more theatrical. A song about predators starts like vintage Nick Cave before he becomes histrionic, whipping his hair out of a ponytail and laughing maniacally between leery raps. 

The musical variety is incredible and the sheer logistics of swapping between sax, piano, guitar, accordion, synths and more keeps four members of the band on their toes. Satomi Ohmishi might not move as much, but the range of sounds coming from the eclectic drum kit could rival the Toy Symphony. From banjo-led mountain songs to country waltz and gentle folk, the musicians are excellent, but the projected backdrop is the undoubted standout of this performance. Simple scenes slide over and into each other in a delightfully evocative display that is simple, tender and utterly captivating.

And then, things take a turn – humans arrive bringing chaos and a pretty straightforward moral seems to be emerging before they suddenly disappear, the island returns to it's prelapsarian beauty and we slowly fade out into space and then nothingness. This ending mirrors the primordial chaos of the beginning, and is executed in a playful fashion with the use of a tablet onstage, but it seems a bit arbitrary.

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