By Darby Turnbull
This was reviewed from a pro recording from Charnelle’s season for the Melbourne Fringe 2024 season.
Ilane Charnelle, one of our finest cabaret chanteuse’s returns to the Naarm stage with a killer set of ‘vintage inspired songs with modern sensibilities’. It’s come, like many great works, at profound personal cost. Like the great ladies of song her instrument is an immersive, aural vortex into the ways the soul and spirit are ravaged by the slights from someone who is supposed to be an exception to the ravagers that preceded them. Jazz is often characterized as ‘easy listening’; the aural pleasures of the music often lubricating the senses for the pain conveyed in the lyrics. Charnelle and her collaborator Ned Dixon’s deep understanding of the form is palpable with the sharp poetry of her lyrics and the lilting tenderness of the music. Easy on the ears though piercing on the soul. ‘The reality is ugly; the rhyme scheme makes it easier’
Charnelle’s rage, humiliation, sorrow and ultimate clarity is presented with raw and unflinching honesty. Their natural habitat is the cabaret stage which frequently demands its performers most raw wounds for the ironic, funny and reflective but also allows a space for the artist to display those emotions without the social and interpersonal stigma from exposing those parts of yourself away from that platform. Drawn from the recent abandonment of a partner and an Autism diagnosis; Charnelle’s new show is a reckoning with her identity as a lover and a person as she speaks frankly about the rigid ways, she’s constructed herself to align with the ‘rules’ of neurotypical structures and how her discipline, ultimately has not served her.
Thankfully she has the allyship of Director Kat Yates and long-term musical director Ned Dixon. Dixon once again shows why he’s one of our most respected and valuable MD’s. His orchestrations for Charnelle’s songs are of course gorgeous but the intimacy of their collaboration is palpable, moving past accompaniment into communion. Yates’ thoughtful and empathetic notes in the program display a strong and integral understanding of what Charnelle is striving for; Yates very rightly identifies the uncomfortable universality of Charnelle’s experiences, especially for AFAB individuals receiving late diagnoses of neurodiversity. The personal is political and the structure of the show, from my perspective, allows Charnelle to dig deep into her pain but protects her from letting her wounds fester for public consumption.
Like her previous cabaret and studio album, Play nice, Charnelle’s song writing has consistently been in poetic revolt against the ingrained standards placed on the feminine spirit, especially though, not exclusively by men. What feels radical is the fraught clarity with which she questions the rules under which she’s complied and subverted. Her testimony very rightfully subverts what is asked of women, neurodiversity; the masks, the ease with which masks are imposed and the dismissal of emotions versus neurotypical behaviour which doesn’t hold up to scrutiny, quite possibly because they don’t have to engage with the scripts, they’ve written for themselves because of unquestioned social validation. Charnelle’s charm, wit and integrity as a performer make her an ideal conduit to ask those questions. Fundamental in particular is a strong contender for the femme neurodiverse anthem of the year.
Just wish that you’d stopped for a second and thought it all through Like maybe I’d expect the things that you said that you’d do, that you’d do And I was killing myself trying to make you happy Would have been nice to know that what you wanted was not me.
As Charnelle enters a new stage of her career, she makes fierce advocacy for her right to express herself with authenticity but demanding that the foundations that uphold her art be recognised.
As a fan, I hope she gets recognised on a grand scale.
You don’t get to tell my story It’s my name and it’s my glory When I felt I’d disappear beneath the wave I’m the one who saved the day
