Backed by the Bacchus Marsh Band, featuring members of the Boat People and Hot Little Hands, each guest vocalist brought with them a song from the depths of Australia’s musical past. Most of these were songs that, for one reason or another, have been largely forgotten, but have all had an indelible effect on the shape of Australian music.

The first guest, Jimmy Stewart, of Clinkerfield and the Miserable Little Bastards, performed electrified versions of the folksong ‘Streets of Forbes’ and Maurice Frawley’s ‘Dark Side of Sunday.’ The songs themselves are remarkably honest and bare, as was felt in Stewart’s dry and emotional delivery.

The backing band was solid, but it took until Steve Lucas from X joined them before they really made an impact. Lucas admitted to being “a bit out of it” as a result of the drugs he’d taken to abate the pain of recent back surgery and a hard fall down a flight of stairs. For three compelling minutes he wailed through Blackfeather’s ‘Seasons of Change’ without the appearance of any discomfort. He then slowly lumbered off the stage, appearing as if every step he made was causing him physical pain.

Liam Linley and Felicity Cripps of HOY started the second set with a stunning version of the Triffids’ ‘Raining Pleasure,’ which was soon followed by an appearance by Roman Tucker of Rocket Science. He began with the Missing Links’ ‘Wild About You’ and quickly followed it up with Fungus Brains’ ‘Pasty Faces’, balancing a perfect mix of noise and confusion. The animation and energy that Tucker brought to these songs made for the two strongest performances of the night.

Jewels & Bullets succeeded in honoring some of the most defining and important artists in Australian music history and the songs that have sadly been buried under the torrents of new music that persistently fight for our attention.

Higbed is an impassioned supporter of dissent and has been since an early age. The first people he rebelled against were naturally his parents. When his dad once asked him what he was rebelling against, he said, in his best Brando, “Whadda you got?”

He begins with Captain James Cook and skips through time in search of the good stuff: conflict. He touches on the settlements in Castle Hill and Botany Bay, before moving onto the Rum Rebellion, the blackballing of Ned Kelly, the Eureka Rebellion, the cult of the Southern Cross tattoo, and one of his favourite subjects, Charlie Perkins: the activist, one time Everton FC soccer player, and the first Aboriginal Australian to graduate from an Australian university.

Higbed’s attempts at condensing over 200 years of history into a 60 minute set meant that he had to sustain a furious pace in order to cover his dense narrative, causing him to stumble through a couple of jokes. But his frequent sparks of brilliance largely concealed his errors.

The autobiographical elements often provided a welcomed break to the consistency of his narrative and delivery, but eventually became lost in the mass of historical information. As a result, the second half of the performance lacked much of the diversity with which it began.

Higbed cleverly locates the humour in the utter detestability of the actions and attitudes that have inspired rebellion in this country. Rebels and Radicals is a polemic carefully worked into a downright hilarious routine, which aims to show how some of the most important moments in Australia’s history remain largely ignored. That Higbed can find humour in oppression and the persecution of minorities is testament to his impressive comedic skills.

Barrington would have you believe he is the son of a successful stage manager mother, who is best known for having renamed the Royal Albert Corridor a “hall”, and a greeting card philosopher/comic book writer father, though their careers pale in comparison to the great Barrington’s.

The stage is set with a small table covered with a black cloth, upon which stand signifiers of taste and personality: an empty bottle of cheap scotch, an Oscar statuette, a jar of homemade tomato jam, a metronome, and a glass of red wine he holds for the duration of his performance.

Barrington reads his opening monologue from behind a curtain, in his faux British accent. He arrives on stage to Beethoven, dressed in a cheap suit, cravat, and thick black sunglasses. He immediately apologises to those who have seen him before.

He capitalises on laughs as cheap as his taste in scotch. Barrington succeeds through his talents of observation and, his favoured comedic device, self-deprecation. He’s the first one to point out the jokes that fail, which tend to precede moments of great humour, consistently delivered with impeccable timing.

He talks metaphysics and Sartre, philanthropy and professional wrestling, how he once performed Shakespeare during a cockfight in Indonesia, and his novel adaptation of the film Lord of the Rings.

Moments of inconsistency and his occasionally stuttered delivery seemed almost intentional, but occasionally threatened the comfortable momentum of his performance. Such moments however, were largely concealed by the strength of his finest material.

It’s ironic that Barrington will probably find fame with an act dependent on his lack of it. His anecdotes are dense and fantastic, and repeatedly moved his small audience to hysterical laughter.