The title Tauhou is te reo Māori for “stranger”, and it sets us up for content that is surprising in its reach and contrasts. Nuttall is painstaking in her insistence on the essential fictional nature of this collection of stories – it doesn’t represent any real iwi or culture – but purposely pushes together two sides of her whakapapa.

She envisions a shared past between two Indigenous cultures and in doing so exposes the effects of colonisation. That this is done with examples, situations, and language that evoke and disturb while remaining eminently readable is a tribute to the writer.

Set on reimagined versions of Vancouver Island and Aotearoa, the action evolves through various characters and their situations. Hinau lives in a concrete block and has a job in a tribal propaganda office, which she shares with her cousin Salal. Their closeness is a recurring theme. But so is concrete, contrasting as it does sharply with images of nature, rendered longingly by a writer who laments its abuse.

“The beat of a tattoo needle is like the steady pounding of a drum.” Such a sentence, the first in the story Moko, promises to satisfy any reader’s curiosity about the art of tattoo, plus the feelings and motivation of someone who’s receiving one. It’s predictably graphic and absolutely fascinating. If you don’t intend ever getting a tattoo, reading this chapter is the next best thing!

Family members and experiences have particular significance. I related to the father Pa in Stones – recognising the taciturnity that disguises the caring of many fathers. “When he returns for the day, I know to be quiet and reserved”, remarks our sensitive writer daughter.

As well as the use of te reo, several of the stories include words in SENĆOŦEN, the language of the W̱SÁNEĆ people, one part of the author’s whakapapa. “I use these words to bring myself closer to my tipuna and to spread the fire of our language further.”

Tauhou represents a recognition, acknowledgement, and sometimes salutary reminder of pasts and how we might
reconcile them.

Wellington-based author Sharron Came serves up a slice of true rural New Zealand in her captivating debut novel Peninsula. Every sentence is layered with small details that reveal more about the families and characters at the heart of the book and make the characters almost appear in front of the reader.

At first glance it appears to be an homage to a way of life in Northland that’s stayed the same for many decades, affected only by the changing seasons. Stoic Jim and Di Carlton have been running their farm forever and will be there until they die. But then the stories of new characters are interwoven – there’s their former daughter-in-law Kiri who moved back to Northland for family and seems trapped there, and her tree-loving school friend Ritchie who’s moved to Brisbane to run an ecology consultancy and has returned to connect with friends. Jim and Di’s daughter Rachel Carlton has been working as a lawyer in Europe and returns to the small community of Hereford instinctively, even though she feels the ties binding her may “slowly choke the life out of her”.

Small changes start to creep in like the new subdivisions encroaching on the edges of the village and farm bringing urban life, complete with electric vehicles, closer to their rural idyll. Then as you get further into the book the sheen starts to come off the perfect rural lifestyle, as we’re introduced to characters struggling with marriage breakdowns, meth addiction, and children who have disappeared or died.

The plot and the pace meander, so roll with it and enjoy the slow unfurling of the characters one by one.

I haven’t read a book that captures the people, conversations, and lives of rural New Zealanders as well as this. It transported me right back to the interactions and experiences I had when I lived in rural Canterbury. Peninsula is a beautifully written book rich in detail and full of complex, multidimensional characters that will stay with you.

Produced by Dastardly Productions and Knot Theatre, Bill Bill Bill is a riotous, rollicking ride of absolute joyfulness. Three solo clowning performances are threaded together by moments of simple storytelling and physical comedy. Each new piece introduces a new character with a unique costume, and each delights in its own way. The show is almost entirely non-verbal, which only makes the emotional depth even more impressive.

Jeremy Hunt’s performance Papa is set in a train station as a young lad attempts to entertain himself. Hunt makes clever use of scale, reaching up to take his imaginary father’s hand, and embodies childishness perfectly. His audience interaction is excellent, prompting me to bowl him a cricket ball (which promptly breaks a window). I adore the simplicity of his set, a railway line produced from two stretches of hazard tape.

Treble in Paradise follows a self-obsessed conductor (Felix Crossley-Pritchard) who dies, goes to heaven, and learns to appreciate his orchestra. My personal favourite, Crossley-Pritchard manages to portray genuine remorse and remarkable character development in such a short piece. His sound design is impeccable, and the conductor’s miffed facial expressions at God’s mysterious ways are subtle enough to be hysterical.

The final solo is Georgia Kellett’s Piccup. It starts as a tale about Peek, a flightless bird reaching for the skies, but seems to abandon this narrative to instead focus on Peek trying to pick up a bar of soap to bathe. I’m a little disappointed not to see the costume pictured in the programme, which would have strengthened the piece enormously. Kellett shines during the interludes between solos, but Piccup feels held back by a weaker premise and distracting scenography.

Bill Bill Bill is a silly, endearing exploration into our world and beyond. All three performers demonstrate an absolute mastery of clowning and Kellett’s lighting design is crisp and evocative. The show’s Fringe awards are well earned, and it deserved a fuller house than it had.

Red Leap Theatre’s performative rendering of Janet Frame’s seminal novel Owls Do Cry is more of a commentary than a clear-cut adaptation. It tries to read between the lines of the evocative prose and lock onto its complexities and the things that are left unsaid. Did it work as a piece of multi-disciplinary theatre? It depends on who you ask, but I know that I left with complicated feelings.

Director Malia Johnston is a powerhouse in the arts world. Many will be familiar with her through her work on the World of WearableArt® Awards and her multimedia approach to performance. Going into a show with Johnston’s name attached guarantees a spectacle and a remarkable line-up of collaborators – from the performers through to the lighting (Rachel Marlow), sound (Eden Mulholland), and AV (Owen McCarthy). Owls Do Cry did not spare on any of those components but it may have muddied the premise. There was always something happening, whether it was broad physical theatre from the inimitable Ross McCormack, a magical display of light, or a gut-busting vocal solo by Hannah Lynch. It felt like your brain didn’t always get a chance to process the meaning.

Despite the sensory overload, the work exhibited a clever arrangement of dance, theatre, song, and design. Every element felt heartfelt, and each performer brought their own powerful presence. Margaret-Mary Hollins gave a delightfully understated performance as the troubled mother, and she was the one that I left thinking the most about. It was haunting, the way she seemed to float on the cusp of the action, there but not really there, acting as a silent witness. Then there were the handful of intimate duets performed by Hollins and McCormack, which transcended the physicality and inspired a deep, emotional response.

Owls Do Cry is a great example of what live theatre can be but for some it may sit in a mysterious realm of abstraction. While it might not be for everyone, Red Leap Theatre can be applauded for their bold interpretation of a New Zealand treasure.

Sitting in the stalls of The Stage, being serenaded by a pair of cheerful musicians (Joe Raea and Eddie Kerr), I can’t help but wonder what we’re in for. A unicorn had just welcomed us into BATS. A pink one, in a fluffy bikini.

The costumes, designed by Salome Grace, are nothing short of extraordinary. Five unicorns, played by Ryan Cundy, Kate Anderson, Brendan West, Katie Boyle, and Grace herself, take the stage, each a brighter colour than the last. The gang is threatened by God’s great flood, but only two can join Noah (Tom Kereama) on the Ark. Once I’ve wrapped my head around the premise, I can start to appreciate the sitcom style. The commentary on Wellington flatting is on the nose but still relevant and grounded by Victoria Martin.

Unfortunately, act one ends before the unicorn plot fully concludes. The musicians return and transition us to the second story, a Law and Order parody involving salami-related murders, but I’m left wondering whether the two narratives are independent or not. The songs are good fun with some excellent punchlines, but Raea seems to lack confidence. He has a fantastic voice that would benefit from higher energy.

My admiration of the show’s design is only magnified with the appearance of Boyle as the Loch Ness Monster in the second act. Somewhere between costume and set piece, the two-person ‘puppet’ towers above her friends and delights the whole house with her shenanigans.

Fab Beasts is almost brilliant. The actors themselves are excellent and I can’t compliment the costumes (and whatever Ness is) enough. However, the storyline feels like an afterthought, hastily pulled together to accommodate unicorns and the Loch Ness Monster. The scenography is a mixed bag. Some moments are clean and effective, especially the fire alarm gag, but the blackouts are painfully abrupt. With a little polish and a rejig of the script, this could be a truly fabulous beast of a show.

An old Arthur Kipps (Martin Tidy) has hired The Actor (Tim Macdonald) to help tidy up his five-hour manuscript, a story about an experience he had while visiting the small market town of Crythin Gifford some years ago. Kipps intends to read the manuscript to a small audience of friends and family, but The Actor has other ideas, employing a sound engineer and a host of special effects to bring the story to life.

The play switches between the actors in rehearsal and a dramatisation of the story, where Tidy as the real Arthur Kipps plays a host of different characters and Macdonald as The Actor plays a young Arthur Kipps. It sounds more confusing than it is! We are transported to Eel Marsh House, the ill-forsaken residence of the recently departed Mrs Alice Drablow. Kipps is Alice’s solicitor and must get her affairs in order, but is haunted by a spectre of a woman in black with a wasted face, whom the townspeople refuse to speak of.

Tidy and Macdonald rise to the challenge of a two-hour two-hander where neither actor is ever offstage. They are both marvellous. I hang off every word Macdonald says while Tidy shines as the reclusive Keckwick, with stellar accent work throughout. Another highlight of this Stagecraft production is Riley Gibson’s lighting design, an evocative interplay of smoke and shadow, darkness and vividity.

With an intriguing lack of music, Tanya Piejus’ sound design utilises silence and recorded sound to good effect, although opening night hiccups mean one important cue is unfortunately late. This is during the door scene in the first half, which I find jarring due to Macdonald’s sudden dramatic turn. There’s an expert build up of fear and thrill in the rest of his performance, and indeed, the production itself. Oftentimes, The Woman in Black is exhilaratingly scary. What fun it is to watch half a show between your fingers!

McGlashan’s latest album Bright November Morning was recorded with The Others, so this concert was a full band experience – not just McGlashan with a backing band.

The tight rhythm section of Chris O’Connor on drums and James Duncan on bass laid a solid platform for McGlashan (guitar, piano, and euphonium), the legendary Shayne P Carter on lead guitar, and Anita Clark on violin and mandolin. McGlashan was ably supported by all The Others on backing vocals.

McGlashan said that support act Michael James Keane “had told him that he was going to whip the crowd into a frenzy, and he obviously had done just that!” Keane’s songs, dry wit, and humour did win the crowd over.

The concert was a blend of McGlashan’s new material and classics: new songs Sunscreen, Lights Come On, Go Back In, and All the Goodbyes in the World were followed by A Thing Well Made, featuring euphonium, violin, and Clark’s gorgeous harmonies – creating an ethereal effect off the surrounding timber walls.

The melancholic, haunting Song for Sue, surely an APRA Silver Scroll Award contender, was followed by Bathe in the River – the first verse in te reo, to the crowd’s delight. Nothing on the Windows was followed by the anthemic Anchor Me – the simplicity of piano, violin, and Clark’s backing vocals was uplifting. Shackleton, written from McGlashan’s week-long excursion to Antarctica in 2012, preceded the classic White Valiant.

John Bryce, an angry song about Parihaka, had the band at full volume and featured the full force of O’Connor’s drumming.

Following Start Again, the driving Don’t Fight it Marsha, it’s Bigger Than Both of Us featured Carter’s intense, thrashing guitar. Dominion Road had the crowd rocking in their pews, and by The Heater it was surprising no-one was dancing in the aisles.

The first encore When the Trumpets Sound was followed by Pulled Along by Love, featuring the crowd’s vocals on the chorus!

It was a privilege to see a New Zealand musical icon at such an iconic venue as Old St Paul’s.

This book embarrassed me into awareness of how little I knew about the island nation of Sāmoa – a nation that has fought long and courageously for an ideal form of governance for its people to live their own way of life. If you think that would be a relatively straightforward process, Fono will disabuse you.

Author Peter Swain had earlier collaborated with then-Prime Minister Tuila’epa Sa’ilele Malielegaoi on his memoir Palemia. The two realised the importance of placing the latter’s story in the context of Sāmoa’s political development since independence – and the importance of relating the story, previously recorded in obscure academic texts, in factually plain language. Hence Fono.

‘Fono’, both noun and verb, refers to ‘village council’ or ‘committee’ and describes how Sāmoans governed themselves in small communities. The Polynesian universe, centred on Sāmoa and Tonga, stayed happily in its subsistent way of life until disruption came in the form of European explorers, adventurers, traders, missionaries, and settlers.

Chapter 4: New Zealand Administration held the greatest interest for me. Germany gave up control of Sāmoa to the New Zealand military at the start of World War I, and consequently Western Sāmoa had its desire for self-governance postponed. It wasn’t until 1935 that the NZ Labour Party, led by Michael Savage, took power – something that marked a dramatic change of attitude to Sāmoa and its aspirations.

The arrival of American forces in Apia in 1942 coincided with a spurt in Sāmoa’s economy. Then Peter Fraser, Savage’s successor, visited the country in 1944 and listened to its grievances. American President Harry Truman, often cited as favouring the close of an era of colonisation, added his voice.

Fono is enhanced by the inclusion of vivid and telling photographs. But its greatest enhancement is the language in which its remarkable content is expressed. As a plain English proponent, I fully appreciated the elements employed by the writer to make his narrative easy to read: short sentences, easily comprehensible vocabulary, and proper paragraphing.

Being dropped in the middle of a war zone would not be a picnic for most people, but for United Nations surgeon Rachel Forester it’s all part of the job. So when she’s asked to travel to a mobile hospital in the Democratic Republic of Congo, she doesn’t hesitate.

While originally there to simply administer some vaccines, things take a turn for the worse when armed rebels risk finding them, and with no air support Rachel must ‘go to ground’ in the Congolese jungle to survive. Thankfully she’s not alone and is accompanied by a group of three soldiers, who we soon discover have another mission in mind besides escorting Rachel to safety.

What makes Gone to Ground such a compelling read is the story being told. Like all good authors, Bronwyn Hall transports her readers into her narrative and gives them a taste of what the characters are going through – in this case, armed conflict. I could actually feel the tension ramp up as things really hit the fan, and found myself eager to find out what would happen next.

Rachel herself is a great protagonist and while she seems like a fish out of water at first, it becomes clear that there is more to her than meets the eye. It would have been so easy to make her the classic clichéd damsel in distress like so many other novels, but instead she’s written as smart, resourceful, and stubborn, standing her ground when she sees something that she doesn’t like or agree with.

The book has a bit of everything: adventure, danger, intrigue, and even romance, which I thought was a bit odd given the circumstances. However, as a reader not into their romance novels, I get that this is a ‘me problem’ and I wouldn’t consider it a negative when it comes to this book.

Bottom line, if you want a bit of excitement with a fun and realistic heroine, then look no further than Gone to Ground.

One Weka Went Walking is a good early introduction for kids to the birds of the Chatham Islands, where the inquisitive weka encounters all types of birds on his journey across the islands.

Pippa Ensor has created beautiful illustrations that appear to be exquisitely created with watercolours; these highlight the beauty of each bird, from the muted shades of the Chatham Island warbler to the mottled blues of the Chatham Island tūī.

Author Kate Preece offers a simple yet catchy flow of words in One Weka Went Walking, with some te reo Māori translations and very occasionally Moriori. There are neat facts about the different birds that inhabit the Chatham Islands, some of which are threatened – like the nationally endangered Chatham Island tomtit or the threatened, nationally vulnerable Chatham Island snipe, which Preece incidentally offers a delightful fact about: it is as long as a pencil and lighter than a bar of soap, making it the smallest snipe in the Southern Hemisphere.

With curious facts at the bottom of each page, there’s a little bit more on offer for kids to absorb, like the fact that 12 buff wekas were released on Chatham Island in 1905 and now there are tens of thousands living there. Or ones of a more sneaky variety, like the fact that shining cuckoos, although rare, are known for sneaking their eggs into the Chatham Island warbler nests, and once the cuckoo hatches, it kicks the other eggs or chicks out of the nest.

One Weka Went Walking is a quaint book that will appeal to young children, particularly those with an interest in birds and
the diversity of nature. The rhythmic flow and repetition of words in One Weka Went Walking creates a delightful story of a weka’s encounters with other birds that cleverly and simply tells: who is endangered, who is at risk, who eats what, who lives where, who’s plumper than fat, and who has a mohawk down the back of their back.

People Person is Joanna Cho’s first collection. In poetry and prose, it is largely a tribute to her mother. A lengthy narrative piece relates the saga of emigration to New Zealand from South Korea, with wistful family memories alternating with unwelcome domestic dramas. Although every immigrant story must be unique, it is salutary to imagine Cho’s one may be typical.

“Each version of the family stories forms an overlapping polyphony. These are our heirlooms and we are the school choir” suggests an upbeat attitude though, come what may.

“Some people think I can’t do the dishes / Because I don’t do it their way” had me hooked from the start. I could almost guess where a poem titled The Right Way was headed, and I took special delight in the poet’s image of “a murder of bent backs circling and cawing ‘You’re doing it wrong!’” This poem – redolent of domesticity – captures well the theme of the collection: that of fitting in orcomplying with the habits, convictions, and culture of a country not your own.

Yet another poem I could relate to was Picking the Good One which facilitates the possibly wry observation “I’ve moved so often I don’t know where half my things are / All in op shops really” and concludes with a philosophical comment about choice.

80% of How Attractive You are is Determined by Your Haircut is a provocative title that didn’t quite fulfil its promise. I searched for a theme that held throughout five pages. Was it “At the salon they cut layers to mirror stages of trust”? I’m not sure, but there were curious references to beds of mussels, monogamous and polyamorous relationships – oh, and basketball players, another of Cho’s favoured subjects.

The sustained theme of They was more satisfying, with its metaphor of orange fish in an aquarium representing the “they” who are working on the building opposite. “The pulled lipless mouth” and “the familial gills” were riveting images, leading to a confronting conclusion.

Cho’s work promises further thoughtful delights of subject, theme, and expression.

With superhero giants Marvel finally slowing down in terms of acclaim and box office success – only one Marvel film from the last four years is among the franchise’s top five highest grossing – and it seems rivals DC have finally been given a chance to take back the coveted onscreen superhero throne. In my humble opinion, they have once again blown this chance with their latest effort Black Adam.

In ancient Kahndaq, a young boy (Jalon Christian) is bestowed the almighty powers of the gods. Nearly 5000 years later and Black Adam (Dwayne Johnson) has gone from man to myth to legend. After he is freed from his tomb by a local woman (Sarah Shahi) seeking the lost champion, his unique form of justice, born out of rage, is challenged by modern-day heroes who form the Justice Society.

Blockbusters such as The Dark Knight Rises and the more recent Avengers: Endgame showed that superhero movies can combine thrilling action with compelling storytelling. Black Adam fails miserably in trying to do either. Don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of fights during the two-hour runtime, they just, well… suck. Known for his suspenseful thrillers such as The Shallows, director Jaume Collet-Serra throws his style out the window and instead settles for a barrage of slow-motion action sequences and CGI lightning bolts. There was no creativity behind many of the scenes, no thought. And while Johnson certainly looks the part as the film’s troubled champion, this is the least entertaining, least appealing role of his career.

The horrendous writing and poor performances by the cast only made things worse. Just because superheroes themselves are made up doesn’t mean superhero films need to avoid realism like the plague. No, instead let’s just teleport civilians to wherever it’s convenient for the plot, forget that humans take damage, and let a kid (Bodhi Sabongui) chat away cheerfully while mercenaries perish all around him.

In all honestly, I would have walked out the door halfway through Black Adam if it wasn’t my job to stay and watch. It’s an unpleasant barrage of symbols and sounds and adds up to little more than a two-hour montage of recycled action and comedy concepts. You’ve been warned.

Melissa Aldana and her quartet close the Wellington Jazz Festival in style, playing their latest album 12 Stars. With GRAMMY-nominated Aldana at the helm, the remarkable group plays heartfelt, energetic music that demands attention to be appreciated. The album is inspired by the subtlety of tarot and deals with themes of self-love and acceptance in the wake of 2020.

The concert opens with the titular song. I am immediately struck by the sheer passion mustered from an instrument as Aldana breaks into a mournful saxophone intro. The piece is gentle and meandering, demonstrating incredible finesse from the musicians. By the time the first song (or maybe the second?) ends 20 minutes later, I’ve completely forgotten where I am, entranced by the music.

The Bluest Eye is a playful jam that gives everyone the chance to show off. I am particularly taken by Kush Abadey on drums, who is infectiously enthusiastic. He leaps from his seat in excitement while maintaining a perfect tempo and exchanging lines with the guitarist. Lage Lund on guitar also produced the album, and he is magnificent.

Emelia might be my favourite song. Aldana opens with a hauntingly beautiful sax solo, featuring a melody that she tells us came to her in a dream. Pablo Menares is excellent on bass and has fantastic energy throughout.

Aldana uses the song Los Ojos de Chile to draw attention to the current unrest and protests in Chile. The song is hopeful and upbeat, with an almost suspenseful guitar solo from Lund. I am in awe of Aldana's vibrato; even her highest notes are crystal clear with a consistent quaver.

The band receives a standing ovation and returns for a slightly experimental encore that feels more like a jam session. I am delighted to note that the moments of silence are crisp, especially as Abadey exploits anticipatory pauses to great effect. A splendid performance and a fitting end to this year's festival.

A huge hit at the 2019 Wellington Jazz Festival when he performed with Ghost-Note, the GRAMMY Award-winning experimental bassist MonoNeon packed out the Opera House with an eclectic mix of fans on his solo return visit with a three-piece band.

MonoNeon is known for his unusual playing style. While right-handed, he plays left-handed upside down on a right-handed bass guitar with a Marcel Duchamp-inspired green and yellow striped sock snuggled over the tuning pegs. This mode of playing produces a deep thrubbing sound that I could feel in my chest throughout the 90-minute concert.

MonoNeon is also known for his outlandish dress and was wearing his trademark quilted hoodie and matching pants, chunky sports shoes with his name on the front, multicoloured knitted balaclava, and day-glo sunnies. Despite this in-your-face look, he has a charmingly high-pitched voice and humble Memphis-born manner that allowed his three bandmates to take much of the spotlight.

They were ostensibly playing MonoNeon’s new album, Basqiat and Skittles. Rather than falling into the tired trap of playing the album beginning to end in track order, they mixed it up big time. Playing two or three songs in sequence, they segued seamlessly from one to the next with extended improvised solos from the energetic guitarist, keyboardist, and drummer  ̶  each highly talented musicians in their own right  ̶  who creatively free-formed until MonoNeon’s subtle finger point gave them the signal to move back to the core of the song.

MonoNeon’s use of microtonality manufactures a truly unconventional effect, no more so than when he took the stage himself at the end of the concert to strum, slide, slap, and tweak his inverted bass guitar to produce unusual funky blues sounds, much to the delight of the audience.

Lighting was used to great effect throughout with seven circular, yellow-lamped lights along the back of the stage, and good employment of the Opera House’s rig to add colour and atmosphere.

MonoNeon’s music is hard to describe but it was a uniquely ear-bending experience that I would willingly repeat.

The theatre is tense and expectant in the purple preshow glow. The Big Band gets a cheer, and Rodger Fox himself an even bigger one. After a brief introduction, we are off, and the rest of the afternoon disappears into jazz.

The concept of this Wellington Jazz Festival show is intriguing. 10 New Zealand composers have each chosen a poem from the works of Hone Tuwhare to inspire their creations. This leads to some interesting meta-interpretation, with one piece being inspired by a poem about Miles Davis, a jazz musician himself.

The opening number is in response to the poem Hotere and is a fabulous meandering piece that builds into a brilliant saxophone solo. The rest of the songs are equally brilliant and totally unique, from upbeat funk to a sort of call-and-response between piano and orchestra. The drum solos I particularly enjoyed, but really every soloist was admirable in their own right.

My personal favourite piece was composed and arranged by Godfrey De Grut in response to Haiku. It features a trombone solo by Fox, which brings the house down, and has a fantastic surf-rock feel, conjuring visuals of sun-kissed beaches. The River Is An Island also deserves mention for how well composer Anita Schwabe captured the essence of the poem.

I applaud the scenography. Eight massive round lamps backed the orchestra and were utilised expertly. The mixing is unfortunately less perfect, with static during piano ballads and a piercingly loud trumpet solo. I also wonder how the audience might have differently appreciated the songs if they were conjoined with readings of the poems themselves.

Every musician and composer deserves their own compliment, but I’m running out of words. The playing was flawless from the first song and everybody was clearly having a brilliant time. Despite some minor technical difficulties, the performance was overall spectacular and will be remembered fondly by the whole audience.

There’s a reason Louis Baker was one of the headline acts of the Wellington Jazz Festival – his compositions, vocal stylings and range, and guitar work are world-class.

The four songs on his new work Duality And The Elements, representing Water, Air, Earth, and Fire, acknowledged “whakapapa, love and life’s observations”. 

The stunning but subtle light show – featuring beautiful shades of red, blue, and purple – and superbly balanced sound created an intimate setting for a night of rapturous soul, R&B, and funk.

The new compositions were interspersed with some of his biggest hits. Brighter Day featured the silky backing vocals of Lisa Tomlins and Kirsten Te Rito. Black Crow had fans dancing at their seats. 

Just Want To Thank You featured Cory Champion’s slick drumming, energetic percussionist Sai August, and the sublime, funky bass of Johnny Lawrence – with Baker introducing each band member to loud applause. 

Love Levitates featured superlative piano nuances and keyboards by James Illingworth. The haunting Te Utu, Baker’s first song recorded in te reo, was followed by the instrumental Air featuring special guest Jerome Kavanagh on the first of a range of taonga pūoro – creating a gorgeous, spellbinding, and almost mystical musical journey. 

Addict cleverly segued into the Bill Withers hit Use Me. Baker’s stunning scatting and fluid guitar, reminiscent of George Benson, drew rapturous applause.

Earth, featuring delightful keyboard jazz chord scales, took the song to the beautifully lit Opera House ceiling and back. 

For Been And Gone, the second special guest Wallace joined Baker for the first live performance of their new single. The funky Fire featured the ultra-tight rhythm section and a climactic, stunning piano solo.

The only non-original song, Leon Bridges’ Bad Bad News had an infectious walking-bass to keep the crowd on their feet. Get Back, featuring a superlative piano solo, had the crowd willingly join Baker in a call-and-response.

The first encore, the enchanting Rainbow, had Baker on acoustic guitar together with soaring backing vocal harmonies. The full band, including guests, was back for the second encore The People – the perfect song to end a perfect night on.

The 2022 Wellington Jazz Festival starts in style with international R&B superstar Lalah Hathaway. Supported by the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra and conducted by Benjamin Northey, with concertmaster Donald Armstrong at the helm, the entire evening is a delight for the discerning enthusiast. From ballads to bops, Hathaway makes her New Zealand debut with grace and panache.

From the first note of the first song, Hathaway has the audience entranced. An orchestral performance is always impressive, but combined with a grand piano and Hathaway's GRAMMY-winning vocal talents, we are elevated into a world of jazz fusion and soulful blues. Every person on stage is excellent, and each solo garners a well-deserved round of hearty applause, but I would be remiss not to mention Daniel Hayles on keys. A Song For You is the highlight of the show in no small part thanks to him.

While the performances are impeccable, I find myself distracted by static during what should have been moments of silence. The scenography is wonderful, with gentle lighting changes so in tune with the music you would think you can see the melody.

Even between numbers, I catch myself on the edge of my seat as Hathaway engages the audience with casual charm and brief anecdotes. This is the first performance of her career devoted entirely to performing her father's music, and the love in both the singer and the songs is palpable. Hathaway truly brings with her a legacy of musical talent and influence.

Hathaway has just released a version of Donny Hathaway’s This Christmas, singing a duet with her father from a rediscovered recording. She treats us to a performance of the song and closes the concert with Be There, leaving the delighted audience in a festive buzz. The show received a five-minute standing ovation and undoubtedly deserved it. If this is how the Wellington Jazz Festival starts, I can’t wait to see what else is in store.

Welcome to the Hataitai Bowling Club and Dave and Bryan’s Improvaganza! They’ve just spent six weeks attending community “impro” classes (drop the V to be really cool) and will now solve your problems using their newfound passion and skills. As they claim, “There’s no issue you can’t ‘word at a time’ your way out of!”

Dylan Hutton (playing Bryan) and Austin Harrison (Dave) are veterans of the Wellington improvisation circuit and have created a cute premise and charmingly deliver a simple concept for an hour-long show that delighted its opening night audience. Dave and Bryan are indeed a bit pudgy in their colour-coordinated polo shirts and jeans, but the performers certainly aren’t mediocre as they bounce around their homely set and interact warmly with the crowd.

They’re ably assisted on keyboard by the oddly hirsute, 14-year-old Gabe (Matt Hutton) who needs to go home at 9pm and Scotty (Scott Maxim) who, with his trusty fire extinguisher Old Veronica, provides inspired lighting choices to elevate the action. His spotlighted diversions from the main scenes created some of the biggest laughs of the night.

Improv shows need a hook to distinguish them and in this case Harrison and Hutton turn audience members’ domestic and workplace annoyances into (somewhat dubious) life lessons by reinterpreting them through classic improv games and offering post-scene analysis to the problem’s owner. They achieve their aim of reframing issues such as a snoring girlfriend with varying degrees of success but always with a lot of laughter. They even manage to incorporate a couple of topical references, including the current stoush over funding for Shakespeare Globe Centre New Zealand’s University of Otago Sheila Winn Shakespeare Festival, and end with a sweet song about their friendship.

While improv is a common feature of Wellington theatre, Harrison and Hutton have created a show that is fresh and engaging with their own energy and problem-solving spin. And I now know why my cat has furballs (something to do with licking the carpet, apparently).

An annual delight of the Orchestra Wellington season is the collaboration of the orchestra with Arohanui Strings:  lots of kids, very well rehearsed, some of them extraordinarily young and very cute, drawing their bows confidently and straight over their strings. Their principal item was Well Within the Madding Crowd, an attractive commissioned work by Glen Downie featuring the children on strings, and brass and percussion highlights from the orchestra. Even younger children joined in another handful of items. Wonderful.

Reflection by Julian Kirgan-Báez was another premiere in this concert. Kirgan-Báez is normally a trombonist in the orchestra but is also part of the orchestra’s composer mentorship programme under John Psathas. This was very assured composing, extraordinary considering Kirgan-Báez is largely self-taught. The work was very descriptive and evocative of the natural environment in both calm and agitated condition. It used the full resources of the orchestra and not surprisingly, some wonderful brass.

The audience was wowed by Amalia Hall’s performance of Violin Concerto No. 2 by Joseph Joachim, a work that draws on Hungarian, Jewish, and Romany traditions.  Hall’s virtuosity is remarkable and this reportedly Everest of concertos seemed barely to test her, though perhaps it felt like a musical Everest to her. While there were some lovely expressive passages, it was the pyrotechnics that impressed: trills, runs, glissando, double-stopping, speed. You name the extreme technique, Joachim included it.

The concert concluded with the lovely Symphony No. 3 Rhenish by Schumann. I wondered if beauty and shape was sacrificed to pace and urgent momentum in the first two movements, with the Rhine River charging along rather than rolling and unfolding. The fourth movement which was inspired by Schumann’s awe at the Cologne Cathedral was wonderfully expansive, with brass and woodwind creating haunting and grand moments. The exhilarating finale brought the concert to a fitting close.

It’s the early 1980s and Henry Lewis, in a world of nobodies, wants to be a somebody. After a shaky start door-knocking to pitch property deals, he becomes a top real estate salesman, then successfully invests in stocks and shares. He finally achieves his dream of building New Zealand’s first New York-style, deluxe high-rise apartment building in Auckland’s Herne Bay, the Shangri-La (which is still there).

Described as a “solo adventure”, High Rise is a captivating one-man work of extraordinary physical theatre that started life as a Toi Whakaari student project and has grown and expanded into a fully fledged, award-winning tale of hubris and excess. It draws on the Ancient Greek myth of Icarus as Henry’s dubious moral choices lead him to fly too close to the metaphorical sun of financial affluence, causing him to crash and burn.

Cameron Jones uses little more than his body, a briefcase, swivel chair, hard hat, and a stack of papers, plus some well-placed lights and music, to tell Henry’s story. With clown work, self-created sound effects, and outstanding physicality, he brings us along on the road of ‘greed is good’ in an entirely original way. Anyone who remembers the 80s will revel in this yuppie character you love to hate, but this is one who can stand on his head on top of a briefcase holding a yoga pose while cheesy affirmations play.

Jones’ physical theatre prowess makes High Rise highly entertaining and fun, while posing interesting moral questions about the human desire for wealth and status. If you’re sitting in the front row, expect to be drawn literally into Henry’s world as Jones breaks the fourth wall and ad libs with the audience. The poignant ending to the story is a stab in the heart.

High Rise combines great storytelling with strong characterisation and unique presentation from an entirely committed actor to create a production that will leave you pondering the meaning of success long after you leave the theatre.