It occurred to me as I sat at my Toff in Town table, warmed by wine and candlelight, that Anika Moa couldn’t have better timed her approach to Melbourne. At this time of year there always seems to be a kind of movement in the city as winter loosens it’s icy pry and we finally probe into Spring. Having heard very little of Moa’s music myself, I couldn’t think of a nicer way to loosen the mid-week tie than to leave my arctic coat at home and check out what the buzz is all about with this Kiwi songstress.
Threads of listeners who were evidently as curious as I was slowly entered the cosy Toff while supporting act Guy Blackman nestled into his keyboard, announced a nearby guitarist simply as ‘Jeff’, and began playing us some songs. A highly quirky duo, the two musicians resembled almost a father and son pairing in their matching knit sweaters and glasses. Technically both players were clearly talented musicians, giving a sweet face to what could otherwise have been garishly emotional lyrics. Singing themes of unrequited love, family and self understanding Blackman’s music has a very clear Big City / Little Man line of thought, from which he rarely digresses. Unfortunately, while his music was very pretty, the surreal performance distracted a little from the material. Framed by a theatrical proscenium decorated with lavish red curtains, the Blackman & ‘Jeff’ duo almost had me convinced that marionette strings were responsible for whatever limited movement was happening on stage. Considering the exposing nature of his songs, in particular Carlton North , Blackman seemed to have bypassed any emotional investment whatsoever and relied soley on the densely narrative lyrics to communicate with us. I wasn’t quite ready to work that hard on my own, instead finding myself transfixed by Blackman’s resemblance to a cube of fudge in his caramel and chocolate striped sweater. For something sweet to tie you over for a while, Guy Blackman will do the trick.
It didn’t take long to realise that there is nothing sugary about Anika Moa. Blunt, brash and unbelievably charming Moa has relocated to Melbourne, fresh from her New Zealand tour. Standing barefoot next to a bottle of beer (wearing her “bist driss” for the occasion), Moa slings her guitar around her shoulder and claims, “I’m not viry good, but i’m pritty” before launching into Wise Men Say. Seconds later the entire venue noted that not only is Moa pretty, she also has an incredible voice. The purity of her melodies are nothing short of captivating, winding her fingers around some beautiful hooks with a rare kind of ease. The simplicity of Moa’s lyrics form a wonderfully genuine performance reeking of sincerity through love songs In the Morning and Day In Day Out. What is truly endearing about Moa is her ability to leave one beautiful ballad literally humming in the space before taking a long swig of beer and belching past the microphone. She offers a half-assed apology. With a flair for storytelling that extends beyond the call of her music, Moa interrupts herself with constant comic styling and celebrity muso impersonations. Leaving the crowd in tight fits of laugher, the giggling singer barely takes a moment to compose herself and ploughs on. Of all her special moments on stage, the most remarkable was her performance of My Old Man and Mother, a kind of diptych which intimately communicates the rowdy life of her late father and the warmth and compassion of her mother. Highly intuitive and musically moving, these two songs were compelling to say the least.
Of course, love presents the most consistent string of songs for Moa. After a casual chat with the audience about the pains of one particular relationship, a nearby heckler shoots “Tell us his name!” at the singer, to which Moa replies from behind an amused smile, “...Who said it’s a ‘he’?” From her opening songs – hell, from her opening words – Moa’s music seems to me to be less about her sexuality than her femininity. It’s clear that there are no real statements or political plugs going on here; her music is offered as a largely personal journey. The repeated lyrics of Stolen Hill’s “I think I love you” which could easily sound trite somehow hurdle over the usual ‘unrequited love’ stick, in the same way that Running To Her refuses to be passed off as some kind of lesbian fantasy. Owing to Moa’s accuracy and honesty, this stuff is so accessible by any listener with a pulse.
After several encores (including an impressive effort at self-dubbing in a reggae cover of her own material!) Anika Moa picks up her beer and waves herself off the stage. A thawing Melbourne is glad to have her.
Wednesday 10th and 17th September will see Moa through a three week residency at the Toff.
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