It promised to be a magical, star filled, storied evening. But as my date said, it was mostly quite confusing.

Not that that is the fault of the human stars – the headlining Georgia Lines (rhyme intended), who has rightfully won acclaim for her soulful voice, and her NZ-famous guests.  It isn’t the fault of the famous Civic starry ceiling either, which I’ve always loved, and which (fun fact) is carefully designed as an exact replica of the Auckland night sky as it appeared at 10pm, April 20, 1929. But I digress – let me start at the beginning.

The Civic is pumping for its closing night. The bling-out for the Cabaret festival – pink sequins and feathers everywhere, lush palms and an old-world ever-so-slightly fake exotic atmosphere – is my favourite of her costumes. Unlike other shows I’ve attended at the Cabaret Festival, it’s packed on all its levels, with crowds roaming from champagne bar to potion maker to tarot reader (but to be fair, mostly focussing on the nice wines and champagne – it is that kind of crowd.)

The first sign that we are in for something slightly different is that only half of the Civic Stalls is full – the back rows appear to not have been on sale, while the Circle is also seating patrons. As the curtain rises (bear with me, this part is integral to my later storytelling), a pair of latecomers push past and settle into the seats next to me holding full large tumblers of wine in both hands. The lady next to me confides that they ordered a whole bottle and then – quelle horreur! couldn’t bring it in.

The stage set up (uncredited) is simple but elegant: there are risers on which four APO string players, three electric guitars and a drummer are seen; a baby grand off to the side. Nick Manders, Lines’ collaborator and the show’s musical director, rotates between backing vocals, guitar and piano. A semi opaque drape forms the backdrop with back projected videos – mostly pretty, nondescript florals and the odd Disney reference.  Lighting effects are from the large LED top strip and some side cans.

Lines gets straight into it, no talking, belting out the hits from her debut album, The Rose of Jericho. Her vocals are silky smooth, and her stage presence is somewhere between confident and adorably dorky, stumbling over her words and occasionally forgetting to introduce key moments such as her final song, and most of the members of her band. But we’re here to see her sing and on that she doesn’t miss a note. Lines’ lyrics speak of love, hope, search for identity. The standard topics, but that layered voice lifts it a notch above. The musical arrangements – especially those APO strings – complement her vocal style perfectly, and I can’t stop watching her guitarist who swings his hair with head banging wildness even through the quieter songs.

Then about 20 minutes in, things take a turn. Lines informs us that – don’t panic! – in the next few minutes, a special black drape will drop, and we will be in for an innovative new experience – the concert will continue, but we won’t be able to see it. We can contemplate the ceiling instead, or inspect our belly buttons, or check our phones. I made up the last two, Lines didn’t say that, but she probably should have. She did say this innovation has never been tried before. We are about to find out why.

Lines sings a vocally inventive cover of ‘Goodbye Yellow Brick Road’ and at the end the ‘special’ drape drops. It’s actually the regular Civic work curtain, not even the nice embroidered one. And in the dark, we are left to contemplate the starry sky, which conveniently switches on just at that moment.

A number of things immediately happen which I will list in order of occurrence:

• The wine lady next to me starts loudly chatting to her friend. So do the people in the row behind me.
• People oo and ah when the ‘meteor’ streaks across the sky. The Civic shooting star activates every two minutes or so, so this excitement eventually fades.
• Several people try to take flash photos of the stars (won’t work), the dark stage (what for) and fun flash selfies in the dark (whatever floats your boat).
• The woman two rows in front covertly filming the whole show on her phone becomes very, very obvious as she is now the biggest lighting effect.
• The band plays on, with an unidentified male voice now singing instead of Lines. Who is he?

I am reminded of the time we were travelling in France, treated ourselves to a fancy degustation and the wine waiter brought out every bottle in a cover, inviting us to guess what wine it was just by using our (underdeveloped) wine palates. Since our understanding of 1. French regional vintages and 2. rapid fire French was not at all up to scratch, we remained baffled and slightly embarrassed through the whole meal. This experience was like this. I was reminded that to my shame, I am unable to identify NZ vocal artists purely by their voice timbre. It is only after Wine Lady hoists one empty tumbler in the air and yells ‘Go Louis!’ that I deduce the person singing is, in fact, Louis Baker.

I am also reminded how much the magic of a live performance depends on visuals. We go to shows to marvel, not only at vocal artistry, but how it is performed on that one specific night. We want to connect with the performer. Some of us want that experience to be unique to that one night – at least in our memories. Turn off the visual and we’re missing the show part of the show. Some will also immediately forget they’re at the show and do whatever they do when they’re at home listening to the radio in their slippers. They will sing along to the bits they recognise, chat about life to their friends, and scroll Facebook. Do you know how obvious one person on their phone is in the Civic? It’s amazing how much the light from a phone screen bounces off the high walls.

I got bored of staring at the ceiling and even though the concert was still going on – this time with a female voice that didn’t sound like Lines’ – I started musing about deeper philosophical issues. Things like the social contract at performances – unless specified as that type of show, don’t sing along (looking at you, lady next to me at NZ Opera’s La Boheme last week). Also, turn off your bloody phone when the curtain rises – the light is distracting even if you’ve done the right thing and are playing your games on silent.

Arguably, performers making themselves unavailable for viewing does affect that social contract, as so quickly demonstrated by the experiment now I found myself in. Another social contract: you have to demonstrate visible enjoyment at performances. But with no one to see you, what’s to stop you yawning and going to sleep? I wondered what the performers were doing behind their curtain. Were they in their slippers too? Scratching their crotches?

Of course, the lady next to me, now with the glow of a full bottle of wine inside her, was blissfully unaware of any performance social contract whatsoever. While the curtain was still up, she had already been singing along and occasionally muttering jokey ‘stage directions’ to the performers on stage, to whom she presumably felt a personal relationship. Now she was singing much louder, whooping and occasionally elbowing me in the ribs with her seated dancing. (It’s worth noting that the song at this stage was the sedate Māori hymn standard ‘Whakaaria Mai’.)  Eventually, when the flash of fellow audience faces towards us grew too pressured, I leaned over and whispered with a thousand apologies, pleasepleasestopit. But for the rest of the show I was distracted and irritable, hoping that I hadn’t pissed her off too much, and that I wouldn’t have to ask again.

It was a relief when the curtain rose again and we saw four performers on stage, even though I was still stumped as to who they were. They rearranged themselves several times, singing solos and duets while everyone else did backing vocals. All very nice, if baffling. Finally Lines exclaimed ‘Please thank my wonderful friends and applaud them as they leave the stage!’ Who were her friends? She still didn’t say.

I should say here that it would be very reasonable to judge me for not recognising Hollie Smith on sight, as well as newcomer Nikau Grace who had demonstrated her impressive vocal range at the Cabaret festival’s opening night, which I attended. I can only say that I don’t keep up with the NZ contemporary music scene as much as I’d like to. There are only so many times I can go out and I prioritise theatre.

Overall, for me, what was a carefully planned concert, with four impressive vocal artists showcasing their hits (Lines did finally introduce her friends, at curtain call), was marred by a terrible production decision to mask the stage. Cute idea, but no. It’s a show, people. Please, give us that show.

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