Noonan, in this set, uses the audience as “guinea pigs” for her new album. She is appreciative of the reception “the new stuff’ has received so far, and has this audience equally transfixed. She is a true soprano, and this set showcases her ability for soaring heights and melancholy lows. The music is masterfully constructed, as if Noonan had a predetermined vision for her art, and in its execution the music is complex, layered and have, like a good book, many chapters apiece.

She races through the tracks, concerned for the time constraint the hour set limits. Towards the conclusion we hear more from her, including some cheeky banter, talking us through the future of her music, the development of her new record, and her experience of Adelaide so far. She warms the audience towards the pinnacle of the set, performing crowd favourite and highlight, her new track, “Time.” Encapsulating her new and developing style, “Time” incorporates electronically generated vocals, layered over pulsating and grinding bass, moving as a crescendo towards the emotional crux.  We then see her softer side; the track “Silence” is just her, the piano and electronically generated vocal harmony. She has the room in awe, motionless and reflecting the track’s name.

Noonan is a graceful, generous performer and executes her songs with such precision, it’s hard to believe they are being performed live. The show is technical, but allows enough space to digest the spontaneity a live act brings. Her soprano is far from piercing, it is delicate, restrained and perfectly compatible with the masculine dissonance the hard hitting backing band provides.

Robeson was no angel, but through Aluko as the mouthpiece, his flaws as transparent. Due to expert characterisation and subtle evocative writing, the audience is left wondering who he is, as a man and as part of a bigger vision. Robeson was hard headed, but he was an ambitious leader and uncompromising figure in a difficult time of American history. The audience learns that the political forces at play were impossible to fight as one man. Perhaps this is what made his story so intriguing, in the scope of his lifetime, his personal achievement for justice and little victories were part of a larger process in history.

Aluko sculpts an engrossing and insightful tale of a larger than life character and slides effortlessly through time periods and countries, covering enormous scope. We have access to Robeson’s battle to understand his own identity and Aluko encapsulates this internal dialogue by leaving Robeson unresolved and open-ended. The use of song accents the action and his baritone is booming, effortless and flawlessly executed. The music, as often the case, does not disjoint the action, but is an addition to a deeply personal tale. In his portrayal of Robeson, Aluko is light hearted, passionate, intensely felt, and moves between emotional despair and ecstasy with great skill. Ultimately, Robeson’s story is important to tell, particularly in this way. Aluko delivers the quiet nuances which make up a life and a political movement from the inside, at its conception.

Adequately representing your personal story is a daunting task. Cabrera attempts to strip the artifice associated with theatre and tell himself straight, as he is. He is entertaining, energetic, and has considerable flair. His obsession with the phallus is actually endearing, and contributes successfully to his deliberation on masculinity and bravado.

He builds towards an emotional crux; a realisation he feels inadequate and at odds with his brother as a role model. His bearings are shaken. This moment highlighted the piece, expressed through a reading of a private letter, and is done with skill and real emotion.

What the show lacked, perhaps, was continuity in storyline. There are moments it would have benefited from a more in depth consideration of history, family life, and his clash of cultures.

He dips in and out of Spanish, which is refreshing and creates intrigue but at times, the show felt like an extended list of favourite past-times, placing more emphasis on the spectacle of the telling rather than opening up a real insight into his identity. Cabrera does address several problems facing young men in Australia: culture, race, dominance, masculinity, drugs, coping with failure, and in doing so he opens up a wider discussion of our social fabric. There were moments where it was trying for too much emotional depth, and could have benefited with fine-tuning and re-distribution of his efforts to better communicate his story, because the show only scratched the surfaced.

In his farewell, Cabrera tells us he is a “new-comer” to this game. He is a dominant physical presence, in control, and his use of language is both appropriate and well-chosen. If the quality of this show is anything to go by, he has real potential.

Ward is physically exuberant and with epic facials and spontaneous bursts of song, she makes the show a bubbly and insightful experience. Ward is a recent ex-pat, currently “volunteering” in what she dubs a “remote village” (London). From this new vantage point, she considers the finer points of online dating and Australia’s lack of competitive drive in musical prowess, compared with United Kingdom’s notoriously enthusiastic, Barmy Army. She goes out with a serious bang, and while perhaps the show’s farewell doesn’t quite have the desired effect, it is gutsy.

Ward doesn’t shy away from the strong stuff and is particularly deprecating of our racial tensions and political climate. She makes no effort to hide her politics as it is an important part of her set. It’s not in bad taste, she is gracious in the best of senses. In comedy, often the performer is doing a good job when they walk the line between ‘pushing it’ and ‘too far.’ Ward doesn’t care if for some audience members she went ‘too far’ because she is, “not a politician, she is a comedian.”

You get the feeling Ward could tear you to pieces in a debate. She would, at the very least, be a worthy competitor. She is bold, fiery, and when she talks, you listen.

Spending an hour with a comedian is like a blind date. You really get to know someone, and if all goes to plan, you want to buy them a drink or take them home. Ward is the best kind of blind date. She is warm, open, strong-willed, and totally available. She would make the coolest older sister, be an ideal friend to bring along to after work drinks or make a corker maid of honour speech.

With a simple wave as he strolled casually on stage, Sultan began his set. He is a grizzly fellow, a dominating presence at that, but his self-assurance is comforting.

It was a quiet show and in keeping with the Spiegaltent’s facilities, Sultan appeared on his own. He works hard for the audience because it is, after all, only him up there.

His emotional heights are dizzying: from powerful ballads, angry stories of broken hearts, to love of his country. It’s not all brute force, he has the guts to be sensitive in his music. He is, unequivocally, Australia’s rock and roll sweet heart. His music has a serious conviction, but between songs his pragmatic storytelling could be at home in a rural pub. His banter is met by raucous laughter and there it is: that sideways smile.

Sultan is the ultimate rocker: easy-going, witty and charming. He can reach the sweet tenors of a country music ballad, through to the rust and nails of rock. He pumps them out fast and in an epic moment of musical rage, despair and perfectly executed guitar, he brings us a taste of the spectacle, the highlight of the evening, ‘Rattlesnake.’

The music industry is dominated by ever increasing bells, whistles, lights, flashing and at times, it’s there to distract. Every so often, you are fortunate enough to see someone with a dynamite voice, watertight handle on the blues and most importantly, knows how to spin a good old Aussie ‘yarn.’

You get the sense Sultan is an understated kind of guy, because the hour was essentially, a man and his guitar. Far from having a problem with it, the audience seemed relieved to watch someone just play. It’s an enormous task; to entertain and compete with all the other distractive elements at his disposal.  Really, there is no comparison, he has got the goods.