Sydney Reviews

What happens to punk rockers when they turn grey of hair and long of tooth? For Henry Rollins they go on tour “to be 50 in front of people.” Like a healthy lung, Rollins lives his life in a cycle of inhaling and exhaling. Inhaling – a year away from touring. Exhale – a year touring. And though it is true, he does breathe actual breath – this cycle of inhalation goes a little further, a little deeper than the gas exchange in his alveoli. He’s not just inhaling air – he is inhaling the world. Henry Rollins inhales the world. It is his life source. Rollins voraciously seeks out ideas, seeks out understanding, gnaws at the pastel veneer of what is, exposing the brutal, exciting, invigorating, silly, unbelievable, inexplicable, surprising, unjust, ignorant, the passive, the lame, the impossible, the elevating – recharging his mind – reconfiguring, re-setting, conserving before blasting forth – exhaling – over the world, over a set of speakers, filling up the gasping audience desperate to inhale something ultimately nourishing, ultimately essential – knowledge.

In plain black t-shirt and pants, a microphone in his right hand, it’s cord wrapped several times around a veined fist. He speaks quickly. Real quick. Sliding in references to his history, his youth, his bands, his friends, punk rock, pop culture, politics. He talks quick because he has a lot to say – and he’s conscious that the seats at The Gaelic Club are uncomfortable. He talks about the audience, the amorphous body in the dark. It’s clear he needs an audience – admits he yearns for attention “like an eight year old who doesn’t want to go to bed.” He talks hard and fast, plosively bashing noise into the microphone – he doesn’t stop for water, applause, heckling, laughter – and leaves the stage drenched in sweat – having explored the corners of experience – admitting when he has been caught “acting out”, admitting his awe at his heroes urging all to be insatiably curious. “Life is short, my friends, live memorably.”

Rollins is amongst history’s great orators – partly because of what he is saying – but mostly because how he is saying it – and a large part of that is the huge, swelling mass of experience behind him – all that he has worked as/for developed, created, written, screamed, tattooed, fought for his whole life.

He paints a picture of a lone wolf living in a “utilitarian hovel” with a microwave in California, driving a Subaru, being bullied and taunted by Heidi his assistant/right hand person.

Now, let me be clear, this is not an Anthony Robbins, Jimmy Swaggart conversion session. For those who wince at the curled ‘r’s of an American accent – for those who have enough of cheesy, corn-sweetened American propaganda – you will be pleasantly surprised. This is more in the spirit of Dr Martin Luther King. This is an ambassadorial mission with a vision – but not just for America for the whole world – on this occasion he is also on a mission of another sort – to incite voracity.

He is 50. Grey of hair, long of tooth and ready to ignite the spirits of young people.


Henry Rollins
50

Venue: Gaelic Theatre | 64 Devonshire St, Surry Hills, Sydney
Dates: 8 - 9 March 2011
Bookings: Moshtix 1300 438 849