Reviews

The Irish Times reviews Waiting 4 Johno/Voices In The Rubble at the Crypt, Yes at Vicar Street and John Molloy and Mairead Hurley at the John Field Room.

Waiting 4 Johno/Voices in the Rubble, Crypt, Dublin Castle

Gerry Colgan

Absurdism is something of a quagmire for a new writer to venture into. Unless the play's content is rooted in a philosophy or theme, however topsy-turvy, the humour may easily degenerate into, well, mere absurdity.

Darren Donohue's double bill escapes that dismal fate by reason of some intelligent wit and sharp writing, which indeed suggest that he might now profitably seek pastures new.

As the title signals, Waiting 4 Johno is a take-off from Beckett. Tony and Jason are two young dossers, hanging about to meet a friend who will tell them where there will be an open-house party. While they wait, an improbable aristocrat with a female slave in tow stops by, and the slave is made to perform a song. Tony gets a message on his mobile that Johno will not arrive that night, and that's it. Talk about your déjà vu.

The play - performed by Nick Devlin, Steve Gunn, Laurence Hamill and Karina Power - is not without its funny moments, but is far too derivative.

Subtract Beckett, and what is left is much too insubstantial. Godot is not mocked.

Voices in the Rubble is an original creation, and more impressive. It is a comedy of improbabilities and mishaps, written in clever against-the-grain dialogue. A husband comes home, having got the sack for fornicating with the staff, to find that his wife has killed a man whose body is in the fridge.

It could be the postman, the milkman or the husband's brother. The resultant confusion is nicely escalated to a time-warp ending. Nick Devlin (impressive in both plays), Eileen Fagan, Stuart McGlynn and Frank Conlon develop their oddball characters with zest.

The author directs his own work with clarity and pace; another string to his bow.

Runs until June 14th

Yes, Vicar St, Dublin

Tony Clayton-Lea

It's been a long drawn out history for the various members of Yes, the classically-laced UK progressive rock band of the early-1970s, which late-1970s punk rock would presume to have killed. Yet here they are, the classic line-up, featuring vocalist Jon Anderson, guitarist Steve Howe, keyboardist Rick Wakeman, drummer Alan White and bassist Chris Squire, on the first date of yet another world tour. Older (Anderson is close to 60), paunchier (the billowy-shirted Chris Squire) and just as bogged down in intricate chord sequences (Howe and Wakeman) as they have been since 1971's The Yes Album, it's testament to the band's legacy, and continuing presence in album charts around the world, that the venue is packed to the rafters.

The curious thing is that they were actually very good. Take away the quite staggering levels of prog-rock/Spinal Tap bombast and pretentiousness (sweeping magician's capes, triple-neck guitar, prissy time signature changes, songs inspired by Shastric scriptures, duelling instrumental passages - did I mention the triple neck guitar?), and you've got music with such a tightly-coiled internal dynamic it threatens to compact into an impenetrable fist of fusion. Break the layers down, however - which Squire, Howe and Wakeman do with commendable and fastidious precision - and you've got some of the most crafted, symphonic and grandiose progressive rock music of the past 30 years.

The songs, most of which came from the band's classic period of 1971-'77, seemed to last an age, though. Roundabout, South Side of the Sky, And You And I, Long Distance Runaround, Heart of the Sunrise - along with the more recent Magnification and In the Presence Of - were each untouched by fashion, and seemed ripe for plunder by the current generation of rock's experimentalists. Championed, vilified and lampooned in equal measure (and with some justification) over the past 30-odd years, it seems Yes's anti-garage rock sentiments have finally found a home. Don't be too surprised to hear their influence on an art-rock record over the next year or so.

John Molloy/Mairéad Hurley, John Field Room

John Allen

I first heard John Molloy when he sang the Colline in Co-Opera's touring production of La Bohème last year. I was impressed then by the young bass-baritone's vocal presence, as well as by his good stage deportment and discipline in matters of musicality.

In solo recital, these qualities were still there, although tinged with a degree of nervousness.

This resulted in a slight wavering of intonation when moving off held notes, as well as on some turns and appoggiaturas. Also, under pressure, there was an occasional loosening of vibrato.

These mini-flaws were mostly in evidence in the "art" songs that made up the first part of his short programme, especially in Tchaikovsky's None But The Lonely Heart, and two Schubert songs about the Danube and a journey to Hades. Here, too, a determination to follow the composers' markings faithfully resulted in a rather obvious laying-on of vocal good manners. His German diction in the Schubert songs, like his English and Italian elsewhere, was crystal clear. He was more relaxed in Finzi's Who is Sylvia, and a couple of travel songs by Ireland and Vaughan Williams, and fully so in arias by Puccini and Mozart, and the show-tunes that followed.

The singer maintained a strong rapport with his excellent accompanying pianist, Mairéad Hurley, and displayed an ingrained musicality throughout.

This, together with his fine legato and a lean and focused vocal instrument that can deliver a cutting edge when required, offers an exciting potential.