The Age'Why Quinn doesn't have the profile of Tim Minchin or Eddie Perfect is a mystery - she's at least their equal.'open/close
THE show's named after a John Farnham hit. Geraldine Quinn enters draped in an Australian flag. There's every reason to be sceptical. But Quinn's cabaret is a brilliant blend of sass, satire and pathos, delivered with an electrifying voice that can strip paint off the walls or retreat into haunting vulnerability.
Quinn's rock anthems mine ordinary frustrations: family road trips, being sleazed on at parties, moving back with your parents at 35. Her lyrics create unsettling resonances; she can be witty, soulful, or both at once.
A ranga singing a wistful ballad called Moving Forward?
You're the Voice is one slick string of highlights, though the 7½ minute rock opera - a satirical, behind-the-scenes glimpse of the festival - will have comedy veterans cackling. Director Casey Bennetto (Keating the Musical) has tuned the performance into a sharp, emotionally volatile whirl.
Why Quinn doesn't have the profile of Tim Minchin or Eddie Perfect is a mystery - she's at least their equal.
The Herald Sun'Quinn demonstrates – in fishnets and tight bodice – that anyone can be a rock god for three-and-a-half minutes.'open/close
WITH a set of lungs and vocal chords worthy of any power ballad, Geraldine Quinn channels stadium rock for the outer-suburban Aussie.
Under the canny direction of Casey Bennetto, the man behind Keating! The Musical, Quinn demonstrates – in fishnets and tight bodice – that anyone can be a rock god for three-and-a-half minutes.
Quinn transports us to the heights of daggy ecstasy, at the same time delivering an arena-spectacular vision of the suburban dream of moving back with the folks, getting smashed at the office party, trapped in time on a family road trip, or being hit on by your mate’s sleazy older brother.
Of the festival itself, Quinn says, “If only I could explain it to you in a seven-minute and 44-second rock opera” - and then she does so with her head tilted back, fist pumping and in a sky-high sequined collar.
What could easily have been a tacky interpretation of John Farnham or Aerosmith instead both skewers the rock anthem and pays spine-tingling homage to it, while tapping into the air guitarist lurking in us all.