The good people of the Sacred Heart Mission have done some sterling work over the years, serving food and supplying shelter to the less fortunate among us from their base in St Kilda. On Tuesday night, however, it was the turn of the, ahem, over-privileged to sample the fruits of the institutions labour when they baked up a variety show treat celebrating the equally maligned and revered suburb they call home. Equal parts cutting edge Australian comedy and home-grown music royalty (with a dash of charity auction), but for a few blemishes, the recipe was set for a night of healthy (if not necessarily clean), old-fashioned entertainment.

Kicking off with a dedication by a local schoolgirl to the aboriginal owners of the land seemed a little tokenistic, especially considering indigenous performer, Kutcha Edwards’ shapeless set and wavering voice did little to justify his inclusion in the line-up. Given the philanthropic nature of the event, however, a little bit of schmaltz can be forgiven, and Archie Roach more than made up for the predictable entrée by delivering a charming, folky mini-set, if lacking a little in energy.

A better opening act might have been the soulful stomp of Paris Wells, whose bluesy contribution, complete with note-perfect rendition of The Gossip’s Standing in the Way of Control, galvanised the audience’s excitement. The cover might have struck a chord deeper with the younger members of the audience, but the entertainment factor transcends the generations, a theme that continues throughout the evening. Sandwiched between the 2 musical acts, Hannah Gadsby’s self depreciating shtick about lesbianism and bestiality in the back waters of Tasmania again threatens to spotlight a generational disparity but through sheer pokerfaced delivery she has all ages in stitches.

Continuing in the music/comedy/music structure has the gig gathering a good pace throughout the opening half and weaving in and out of the mix is emcee Brian Nankervis who’s Mick Jagger swagger and clap-along enthusiasm are the perfect foil for the more profane performances on the night. The only other ever present in the carousel of talent is Melbourne band Even who play their own bluesy twosome and then, as backing band, set about stealing the show from under the noses of almost every other musical performer. Ella and Jesse Hooper get a big leg-up with Even guitarist Ashley Naylor ripping out a whopping solo to complement their jangly-pop dabbling. Rebecca Barnard has a good manner with the crowd and provides a lot of fun, but, save for the ‘backing band’ rocking out to Fleetwood Mac’s The Chain, the highlight of her set is undoubtedly when she trips over a cable and falls flat on her arse.

Of course, there are some superb musical talents in the line-up, and never one to be outshone, Claire Bowditch lights up both stage and seating with her 2 song recital. After bouncing along to the driving Start Of War she captivates the whole theatre with an unnervingly fragile performance of new song Most Beautiful Liar. Meanwhile, Daryl Braithwaite gets the biggest cheer of the night for rolling out cricket slash infidelity anthem, Howzat and young Geelong nostalgics The Frowning Clouds demonstrate why they’re beginning to garner a lot of attention.

Heading into the mid-way point of the second half and as the musical performances begin to outnumber the comedic ones, the audience is crying out for a good laugh, which is duly supplied by Spicks and Specks funny man Adam Hills. Firstly waking up a sleeping youngster in the front row with a deliberate yelp, he proceeds to force the 12 year old boy to recite the ‘hidden’ lyrics for The Angels Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again in front of his parents, all the while randomly inserting the word Clitoris into the conversation just to make sure the lads ma and pa are suitably embarrassed.

Brilliant.

Adding to that, Judith Lucy’s stark lament about the tribulations of sparsely growing pubic hair, Ethel Chop’s extraordinary rectal tearing claims and Peter Helliar’s constant swearing, it becomes clear the contrast between the night’s very dry musical ingredients and it’s particularly wet and sticky comedic elements.

Having unknowingly developed into a highly entertaining battle between grown-up approved, well executed musical performance and generation SEX, shock factor mirth merchants, the Heart of St Kilda Concert was by no means a recipe for disaster, rather a neatly packaged dessert, comprising a good wholesome musical base and a delightfully oozy comedy topping.

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