Janis
Janis
At the Melba Spiegeltent
Max Davine
Janis Lyn Joplin – for that was her real name – was here for so short a time. Among the first of the giants of rock ‘n’ roll to depart this world at only 27, she is often overshadowed in retrospect by her contemporaries; Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison. But music is music and legacy are not a matter of personal taste. Not one of those three deserves to be remembered any more than Janis. Before Amy Winehouse, her voice was the blast of pure emotion that came direct from her soul, straight through the speakers and into the heart of the listener. She was a giant of her time. The psychedelic rock of the sixties was as famous for the exploits of its innovators as the music they produced, and those exploits were not considered a woman’s domain outside of groupiedom. It seemed as though people wanted to listen to men, then read about them laying waste a thousand and one virginities, hotel rooms and barrels of whiskey and kilos of drugs. They didn’t often stop and think that one of the groupies might be just as good, if not greater.
Janis made them stop and think just that. And for the record, she could screw, drink and snort with the best of them. Unfortunately, there are consequences which do not consider gender in those pursuits. She would release only four albums.
But in Melbourne, one artist is keeping the spirit so strong it transcended its time and place and catapulted its creator to the achingly lonely heights of superstardom. Samantha Hafey, with colours in her billowing hair and rainbow child rags on her lithe body, is bringing her show Janis to the stage. Taking on such a monolithic figure is an intimidating task, but Hafey handles it with the finesse of an old pro. She belts out the classics with a super-tight band and lulls her audiences back to a time when rock music was the spring from which all love and spirituality flowed. Between songs she acts as Janis and gives us glimpses of the devastating loneliness and substance abuse that would be the icon’s ultimate undoing.
Hafey has it all. She does it all. While one wonders whether so much swearing would have been done in a time when blood and guts and nakedness were less taboo, it is hard to sit and wonder such things when someone is bearing their soul through the reflection of Janis Joplin the way Hafey absolutely and brilliantly does.
At the Melba Spiegeltent
Max Davine
Janis Lyn Joplin – for that was her real name – was here for so short a time. Among the first of the giants of rock ‘n’ roll to depart this world at only 27, she is often overshadowed in retrospect by her contemporaries; Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison. But music is music and legacy are not a matter of personal taste. Not one of those three deserves to be remembered any more than Janis. Before Amy Winehouse, her voice was the blast of pure emotion that came direct from her soul, straight through the speakers and into the heart of the listener. She was a giant of her time. The psychedelic rock of the sixties was as famous for the exploits of its innovators as the music they produced, and those exploits were not considered a woman’s domain outside of groupiedom. It seemed as though people wanted to listen to men, then read about them laying waste a thousand and one virginities, hotel rooms and barrels of whiskey and kilos of drugs. They didn’t often stop and think that one of the groupies might be just as good, if not greater.
Janis made them stop and think just that. And for the record, she could screw, drink and snort with the best of them. Unfortunately, there are consequences which do not consider gender in those pursuits. She would release only four albums.
But in Melbourne, one artist is keeping the spirit so strong it transcended its time and place and catapulted its creator to the achingly lonely heights of superstardom. Samantha Hafey, with colours in her billowing hair and rainbow child rags on her lithe body, is bringing her show Janis to the stage. Taking on such a monolithic figure is an intimidating task, but Hafey handles it with the finesse of an old pro. She belts out the classics with a super-tight band and lulls her audiences back to a time when rock music was the spring from which all love and spirituality flowed. Between songs she acts as Janis and gives us glimpses of the devastating loneliness and substance abuse that would be the icon’s ultimate undoing.
Hafey has it all. She does it all. While one wonders whether so much swearing would have been done in a time when blood and guts and nakedness were less taboo, it is hard to sit and wonder such things when someone is bearing their soul through the reflection of Janis Joplin the way Hafey absolutely and brilliantly does.
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