CityLife

Flight of The Conchords

Flight Of The Conchords

Flight Of The Conchords
Apollo
May 11, 2010

After the bewildering chaos of the latest General Election, it seems only fitting that the news that the Tory Party has snatched No 10 should be delivered to us by a stand up comedian.

“You’ve got a new government, since you’ve been in here,” says Brett McKenzie, one half of New Zealand's biggest comedy export Flight Of The Conchords.

“Which one was is it? It’s… it’s… it’s Cameron.” Cue deafening boos from all corners of the Apollo.

It’s the only time the mood turns ugly during the evening’s face ache-inducing performance, one witnessed by an audience that now views the Conchords as their favourite comedy duo and their favourite guilty pleasure.

Guilty pleasure because the Conchords shtick is parody, their songs built on the frameworks of cheesy pop, banging R&B, amateur hip-hop and chart topping soul. Anyone too embarrassed to stick on a Prince record can get their fix here; that the lyrics make you laugh as well as sing along is all the better.

Things have changed a lot since Brett and his Conchords cohort Jemaine Clement first formed ‘New Zealand's fourth most popular comedy folk duo’. Their on screen story is one of unrelenting failure, but the reality couldn’t be more different: two hit TV series, two successful albums, and now worldwide sell out tours.

But on stage, they play the same characters: a haplessly naïve duo staring in their own Audience With show, armed with innocent tales about getting stuck in lifts on tour and still needing mid-show naps.

While their characters conform to their screen personas, their opening number does anything but. They stride on in flashing robot helmets, but far from opening with series one favourite Robots, they kick up the techno groove of Too Many D**** (On The Dancefloor).

From track two, The Most Beautiful Girl (In The Room), the secret of their charm is obvious. Language is their plaything – there isn’t an idiom they leave unturned, each requiring hilariously laboured qualification and unfalteringly deadpan analysis.

Few illustrate this better than Jenny – a girl meets boy tale of mistaken identity that spirals gloriously out of control into a dissection of the plot of 1980s movie Weekend At Bernie’s (“They just put glasses on him so you couldn’t see he’d died,” sings Brett. “Ah,” laughs Clement tunefully, “how did those scallywags get away with it? For two movies.”) – or a new medieval style story about ‘wooing a lady’, complete with battling recorders, that descends into havoc when Jemaine has to get his hands on some 14th century ID to buy a horse.

With the help of cellist/pianist Nigel, Marvin Gaye homage Think About It is a stellar moment in the set, Brett’s spot of Chinese karaoke the shakiest, Clement’s stab at a Mancunian accent is well received on narrative Albi The Racist Dragon, and encore Business Time is a delicious meeting of Miami Vice and Barry White.

There are two big finales: the first is a show-stopping strip tease down to sequined leotards for song Bowie (and like his on-screen character’s jumpers, Brett’s outfit is emblazoned with an animal portrait), the second an encore medley of We’re Both In Love With A Sexy Lady and Sugalumps, complete with some one-on-one crowd interaction.

Five years ago, they were a cult duo with a clutch of great comedy songs. Now, they’re masters in their field; it’s a shame it’s happened just as they look set to call time on the project.