Colin Hay“I had a very lazy heckler the other day… He just said ‘Vegemite!’” This is just a taste of Colin Hay’s part observational comedy show, part concert of humanist music. It’s like one of those comedy shows you relish because there’s more than a laugh a minute, and it’s humanist because with each fresh anecdote and each fresh tune, there is a revelation of another attribute that is within us all.
The former frontman of the short-lived yet enduring global sensation, Men At Work, turns troubadour on stage, reflecting on a life lived “very decadently” as one Scottish missionary’s son once said.
Witnessing Colin is a magical, timeless experience, surely reminiscent of the travelling minstrels or bards of the past. He has this gobsmacking ability to draw you in to a living-room intimacy – that is, you and a thousand more hypnotised listeners in the Enmore Theatre.
Colin’s live show enhances the studio recordings of much-loved songs we all know tenfold, as every tender reflection on life, loss and love comes with a wry and witty backstory. As Colin tells us, “I use the hits like a condiment: pepper them throughout the show.”
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As he moves into Who Can It Be Now? he takes us back to 1982 and before and after, weaving together a hilarious and layered anecdote: “I wrote all those songs very stoned on weed… [Later], I heard about Lance Armstrong having to give all his medals back for using drugs. I thought, fuck, I hope I don’t have to give my Grammy back.”
Indeed, everyone got the memo, knowing the acoustic version of the popular tune from the 2003 album Man @ Work, and unanimously joined in to sing backing vocals, forming an impromptu choir.
After the song, he replayed old scenes of Selina’s when they first rose to prominence with a particular spotlight on one paralytic punter, eager to see the song but unsure of its name, putting on a kabuki performance with rapidly changing faces, ultimately uttering: “Play knock on my fucking door you cunt!” He added, “I can never play that song without thinking about that guy.”
“It’s a blistering pace, isn’t it?”
Colin tells us how he made a covers album in lockdown called I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself. “I just did songs that meant something to me growing up… I’ve been going on the road for a number of years with Ringo Starr. Not to drop names but… he was in The Beatles.”
Next followed a witty reflection on Ringo, Sting, Bono and The Edge (or “Who the fuck is that guy”). His comic timing is impeccable, crafted by years on stage, travelling from town to town, aware of the regional differences and the universal resonance. Then he launched into the cover, which was “A song they were playing at the Southampton docks when I left the old country.”
The Kinks’ Waterloo Sunset is made more wistful by his old man’s voice, still as pensive as Ray Davies’ original, glinting with sonder, brimming with humanity, stripped back and nostalgic.
“I used to watch westerns with my father - you know when John Wayne used to knock someone out, and they would get them up by throwing a bucket of water on them - there’s no punchline to this story - it’s just the name of this song…” Came the next anecdote.
He told of his father: “Towards the end of his life, he got obsessed with where you park your car… They were taking him for the operation, and I got a bit emotional, and I kissed him on the cheek and said, ‘I love you, daddy.’ And he said, ‘Where’d you park your car?’”
There’s Water Over You was one of the several odes to his departed father, who meant and means so much to him. “Love and all security, these are things you give to me.” And then, without a beat, he launched into Beautiful World. Everyone cheers. Such a simple song with such a clear message that again leads to reflection: “I had to get away from my friends in Melbourne - they said you’re not an alcoholic, you’re just like us.”
He regaled us with tales of Los Angeles, 1986, and meeting Jack Nicholson, which spurred the track, Looking for Jack.
“I walked from Bondi today. I’ve done it before - I don’t remember it being that hard. A guy said to me, ‘Anyone ever tell you you look like that guy, Colin Hay?’ I said, ‘Yeah, and it’s funny I have the same name as him too.’ He said, ‘Yeah, that is…’”
A call-and-response came on It’s A Mistake.
“I wasn’t around when my father died, and I regret it - he’s a very romantic man to me, my father, so I wrote this little thing for him called Goodnight Romeo. The instrumental thrummed with feeling, a shimmering joy and heavy grief, before a seamless movement into I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You.
Really, there’s so much more to say on this masterfully humble and tenderly real performer. It feels like being welcomed into a special club that everyone is welcome to. The secret is plain to see; you just need to scope it out, sit down and marvel.
