On the one hand, they seem like the father-daughter double-act least likely to be a father-daughter double-act. On the other, ironically, it's hard to imagine any two people could be better-matched than the inimitable, incredible Dick & Christa Hughes. Worlds apart in age, attitudes and predilections, they share surprising musical common-ground. Yes, it could be in the genetic material. But it seems to run even deeper.With her best tonight show buildup, Christa introduces the old man as a living legend: the first jazz pianist ever to play solo at the SOH, in 1973 (I've already forgotten the precise date, but you can bet Christa's thigh-high boots Dick remembers). He quips he's unsure if he's a living, or dying, legend. He looks dapper, with slicked-back, snow-white hair, piercing blue eyes, suit and tie. He plays Boogie-Woogie. I've expressed awe and wonder before at the independence of left and right hands in playing this style; as difficult, I reckon, as the Rach 3.
The intergenerational pigeon pair then launch into Bessie Smith's Young Woman's Blues. It might be sacrilege to say so, but I reckon Christa gives Bessie a run for her money. As such, she's true to the lyric: 'as good as any woman in your town' and, the way she sings, she could fool just about anyone, given a blindfold, she's 'a deep c'l'r o' brown'. She doesn't go for impersonation, but she does capture the roots & spirit of the blues: the sadness, pathos, experience, resilience and good humour of the song, and singer.
That's no walk in the park, but the lady's quality-controlled vibrato can't fail to emote. When Christa sings, one feels the gut-wrenching truth in the words. And if that ain't like Bessie, I don't know what, or who, is. With this opening number alone, Ms Hughes reminds us what a phenomenal force she is. Intensity must be her middle name. She belts harder than a sadistic dominatrix and, later, slips out of elegant evening dress into something far less comfortable, in the form of a saucy vinyl costume more in keeping with her K K Juggy persona, as if to prove it. From the first, too, Dick demonstrates what a sympathetic & supportive accompanist he can be. And is.
Over a very solid couple of hours, there were far too many songs to recount; or even recall. High points were almost as numerous. True to title, the first half of the show was a redolent evocation of the heyday of the speakeasy; an inevitable, illicit rebellion against the preposterous era of prohibition.
The second set began with the duelling concert grands of Dick & Leonie Cohen, playing I Got Rhythm. It was fascinating to hear genuine rivalry 'tween young and old; the box-banging blues of the godfather of stride, versus the dancing digits of Cohen's more delicate style.
Christa indulges her favourite 'up yours, blokes!' party-trick, in skulling a schooner, before gargling her way through Memphis Slim's Beer-Drinking Woman.
There was more Gershwin, in Summertime; reinvented, thanks to innovative phrasing by Christa and some sassy muted trumpet, from Al Davey.
W C Handy's St Louis Blues was probably the first-ever blues to succeed as a popular song and Christa takes it into the realm of cabaret; all of a sudden the smoky bar-room haze gives way to sequins and cigarette-holders; jars of moonshine surrender to coupe champagne glasses.
Good Time Flat Blues, first recorded by Maggie Jones, in 1924 (right, Dick?), got a similar rubdown, with Christa crossing the ocean, vocally, from The Stork Club to Le Chat Noir.
Weedsmoker's Dream, by Harlem Hamfats, is practically guaranteed to make even the most ardent, hardarsed, emphatic, uncompromising blues aficionado feel like they're really 'sittin' on a million', such is the authenticity of the sound.
There were, as I've alluded, countless surprises; one being Christa's solo, with uke, of Coots & Gillespie's timeless, narcotically dreamy You Go To My Head ('like a line of cocaine' standing in for 'a haunting refrain').
Dick gets a couple of chances to show his vocal chops: Jelly Roll's Winin' Boy and, better yet, St James' Infirmary, in which he's almost Louis. Noone knows for sure who wrote it, but Satchmo made it his own and gave it the blues.
And in the tradition of cherrypickin' songs for a blues makeover, the incorrigibly naughty Ms Hughes chose electically: Basement Jaxx, Franz Ferdinand, The White Stripes and even Britney got very special treatment; with sousaphone, 'bone, trumpet, sax, banjos, drums and two pianos. Where there's a will, there's a way, it seems.
If I remember it well enough, Henry Creamer & Turner Layton's sweet After You've Gone trumped, as an encore, especially if one surmises, as I did, that it was a dedication, from daughter, to dear, old dad. Christa uses a megaphone, to emulate the good, old days of crackling phonographs, before sentimentality had become the dirtiest of all possible words.
So Hughesy; so cheek! No wonder so much of the crowd sprang spontaneously to its feet.
Speakeasy Sundays
Dick and Christa Hughes
Venue: The Studio, Sydney Opera House
Dates: 11 & 18 July, 2010
Times: 8.15pm (Wed, Thu), 9.30pm (Fri) and 7pm (Sat)
Duration: 70mins
Tickets: Table seats from $39 or $29 concession. Gallery seats from $29/$19.
Bookings: 02 9250 7777 | www.sydneyoperahouse.com
