Kurt and Bert proteges, The Tiger Lillies are the heirs apparent Weil boys of acerbic cabaret.
Bowler hatted bulldog panda front man Martyn Jacques sings, plays accordion, home hewed ukulele and keyboards, occasionally flummoxing us with gorgeous falsetto.
Adrian Stout, louche and limber, caresses and coaxes the double bass, guitar, saw and theremin, and percussionist extraordinaire, Jonas Golland, brush beats skin and cymbal, crown prince of the deadpan syncopate.
Like as if the original Split Enz had matured and morphed into a hat trick trio of marvellously mordant cabaret, The Tiger Lillies, serenade with the sardonic; trenchant tunesmiths who bash out ballads of the black and the blues, unafraid of offence.
Opening with Roll Up, The Tiger Lillies have you in their palms, a toe tapping siren call to shipwreck on the sharp rock of their caustic coast.
She’s a Whore follows, heart wrenching, powered by pathos, a vividly wielded song that leaves a welt, a devastating ditty about violence against women.
This rollicking seventy five minute set includes Banging in the Nails, a cutting commentary and criticism of the perversion and hypocrisy of Christianity, and loony lullabies about thumbsuckers, droolers, pyromaniacs and coronary tri-pass.
In less enlightened times, taking your maiden aunt Mabel to a Tiger Lillies show would be discouraged, but Aunt Mabel gets her own song here, a gem to make any transgender double amputee spin. The reticence of anatomy naming in this lurid Limerick like lyric is half the fun, a perverse panto of political correctness concerning cock shock.
Vulgar vaudeville with vim, vigour and perfectly modulated volume, I couldn’t have loved it more.
Humongously entertaining, the very best you can do is go see THE VERY WORST OF THE TIGER LILLIES in the Spiegeltent, Hyde Park, nightly till the 17th of this month. Roll up, Roll up!
http://www.sydneyfestival.org.au/2016/the-very-worst-of-the-tiger-lillies