Robbie at Brisbane Entertaining Center
For those of us old enough to cast our minds back to the mid-1990s, when most of One Direction were yet to be born and Take That were the most successful boy band in music history since the The Beatles, one member of the band especially stood out and his name was, as the man himself announces when he takes the stage tonight, one Robbie Williams from Stoke-On-Trent.
Williams has, until now, been known for staging epic live stadium shows that draw fans in the hundreds of thousands and feature him at his extroverted best, completely owning the stage, belting out his hits and generally leaping about like the Energiser Bunny.
Tonight, however, he’s showing a sold-out crowd an entirely different side, showcasing songs from his second swing music album, a sequel of sorts to 2001’s ageless and impressive Swing When You’re Winning.
His second volume of swing era tunes is called Swings Both Ways and takes its title from an inspired tongue-in-cheek duet with openly gay Canadian singer/songwriter extraordinaire Rufus Wainwright in which the two engage in a witty repartee, singing back-and-forth, and evoking some very amusing lyrical double entendres.
Tonight’s show is divided into two acts and features Williams performing on an intimate, beautifully constructed stage that is, by turns, a darkened nightclub reminiscent of the sort found in Germany’s Weimar Republic of the 1920s and 30s and an exceptionally camp ocean cruiser, complete with three-level decks and an accomplished swing band.
The stage also features a semi-circular runway that juts out into the general admission area and it’s a feature Williams makes frequent use of, whether he’s singing solo or surrounded by the bevy of brilliant dancers that also feature prominently in the show.
It is just after 8pm when the opulent purple ruched curtain is raised and Williams strides onstage, proclaiming: “My name is Robert Peter Williams and for the next two hours, your arse is mine!” before launching into a forceful rendition of “Shine My Shoes.”
He’s wearing a black suit, complete with tails, looks dapperly handsome, and tap dances with skill alongside the group of dancers who join him for the next few songs: “Putting on the Ritz,” “Ain’t That A Kick in the Head” – during which the dancers don deconstructed tuxedos and shimmery, beaded flapper dresses – and a dark, eventually rather manic reading of Cab Calloway’s “Minnie the Moocher.”
From there, Williams segues into a swing-version of “Love Supreme,” taken from 2002’s Sing When You’re Winning. It’s preceded by some amusing commentary, during which he asks the crowd, “Do any of you remember the 90s? Do you remember when I ate all the pies and I was like an obese Justin Bieber, riding high in the charts!”
It’s not the first time he’ll insert self-deprecation into the show – later, while hoisted up by a series of trapeze wires and cables that he admits “are completely fucking murdering my bollocks,” he dons a fat suit and launches into “No One Likes A Fat Pop Star,” a song that is accompanied by a Baroque choir on the chorus and sees Williams mocking the period during which he says, “I was a really fucking fat pop star. It was just carbs, carbs, carbs and alcohol, alcohol, alcohol.”
Few performers can captivate a small or middle-sized venue with the aplomb that Williams’ does entire sold-out arenas and entertainment centres. Somehow, he has an innately inherent knack for doing what no performer can learn – you can either make a vast, cavernous arena like the BEC intimate or you can’t and he sure as hell can.
He thrives on audience interaction and spends time bringing a couple of lucky punters onstage and even signing one woman’s breasts after learning she plans to get his autograph permanently inked on her skin the following day. “What’s your name, love?” he asks, in between cracking jokes, and then loses it when the response comes, literally rolling onstage with laughter. “Charity?” he says. “I’m fucking sure it is!”
In many ways, Williams’ humour is the kind few performers can use advantageously, but he knows that his audience knows him and tailors his comedy thusly.
While the contributions made by duet partners on “Swings Both Ways” and “I Wanna Be Like You,” from Rufus Wainwright and Olly Murs respectively, aren’t impossible tonight, Williams tailors the songs to a solo setting and brings the stage alive with projected imagery, costumes and, in the case of the former, a staging that resembles a classic 1940s film and is fantastic.
One of the evening’s most affecting moments is also one of its quietest – Williams sits front and centre in the semi-circle runway on a bar stool, singing “Mr. Bojangles,” as a lone tap dancer, the embodiment of the titular Bojangles, performs on the stage behind him.
After a 20-minute interval, what formerly resembled a multi-level jazz club now resembles a boat. Vintage 1950s graphics of the tropics flash on a screen in the background and Williams’ troupe of dancers are decked out in navy-and-white sailor uniforms, for the men, and swimsuits, for the women.
The man himself looks as dashing as any matinee idol in a naval officer’s uniform and joins forces with Guy Chambers for a gorgeous rendition of “I Will Talk and Hollywood Will Listen,” taken from Swing When You’re Winning.
He asks if there are any parents in the house and is met with roaring cheers as he reveals his two-year-old daughter Theodora – “Teddy” – is “perhaps unhealthily” obsessed with Beyonce’s “Single Ladies.” As he laughingly says: “The first five or six times, it’s cute, but the thirtieth fucking time? Not so much!”
He then reveals he’ll become a father again in three weeks, this time to a son, saying, “That’ll be trouble!” before singing a song he wrote for his daughter, the genuinely touching “Go Gentle.” We also get a solo reworking of “Soda Pop,” which he recorded for the album with Canadian crooner Michael Buble.
From there he invites his dad, Peter, onstage for a duet and then performs a resounding rendition of “New York, New York,” during which pink confetti rains down on the crowd as he launches into a swing-version medley of some of his best known songs – “Let Me Entertain You,” “Come Undone,” “Old Before I Die” and “Candy.”
Williams’ decision to then perform “My Way,” a song Frank Sinatra made his own, is both ballsy and brilliant – the lyrics fit his life’s narrative, both personally and professionally, all too well and he has the voice necessary to pull it off flawlessly.
By the time we’ve been treated to an A Capella “Angels,” sung largely by the crowd because Williams is overcome with visible emotion, as well as a song his time in Australia has inspired – one that was written with Chambers and is basically an homage to the love his audiences give him – words feel somewhat redundant.
As he bows and screams, “Thank you, Brisbane! You’ve been fucking amazing!” Williams blows kisses to the crowd and runs offstage. The velvet curtain descends, “That’s All Folks!” emblazoned on it, Warner Brothers cartoon-style, and one thing is undeniable: Robbie Williams’ first Brisbane concert since 2006 has been that most rare and rewarding of live music experiences – an all-out triumph old-fashioned showmanship, song and stagecraft.
We live in age where superlatives tend to be overused to the point of insignificance, but Williams is nothing short of a born performer who has talent, charm and wit in spades.