A Very Jed Parsons Christmas at Q Theatre - GIG REVIEW
Alex de Vries tries to determine whether it's possible to make sense of the "multi-sensory shit-show" that is A Very Jed Parsons Christmas.
Jed Parsons is a deeply unserious person, and this is a deeply unserious show. Let me preface this by saying that Jed Parsons’ whimsical folk pop has always had a comedic edge which is part of his charm. I’m thinking specifically of songs like Playstation & Porn and Movie Knight, which capture Parsons’ humour, and dare I say it rizz. Parsons knows how to write a catchy hook and how to use misdirection to keep listeners on their toes, while returning to the naive yearning of his heart, proving that the humour may be a front for a man just longing for connection. There’s an artistic confidence in the way that Parsons is able to dip between these light-hearted, matter-of-fact observations, and the more emotional ballads that populate his latest album, Brunch, which gives a well-rounded view of the man, or at least his public persona. What then do I make of A Very Jed Parsons Christmas, which takes Parsons’ comedic chops and pushes those unhinged elements of his character to the extreme?
When we enter the Vault, we know it’s going to be a small crowd. It can be disheartening performing to an empty room, so the audience move to fill up the front row, which I typically avoid because I live in perpetual fear of audience participation. Naturally, I sit two rows behind, near enough to show my face, but far enough to be left alone. The lights dim and we clap, only to hear Parsons’ techie companion, Adam Hogan, mid panic as the cues seem to have all vanished. It’s an awkward situation when the show seems to be falling apart before it has even begun, but eventually I start to wonder whether this is a bit (and I am yet to determine the truth).
Parsons appears from behind a sparkly tinsel curtain and asks if we’d like to see a drum solo, while Hogan fumbles about trying to get the projector and music to work. Whether the panic was part of the show or not, it gave Parsons an opportunity to flex that he can in fact play the drums, and his a cappella rendition of The Little Drummer Boy, complete with extravagant drum fills, is perhaps the crude introduction to the show that we needed all along.
With a thumbs up from Hogan, the show can finally begin (if it hadn’t already), and Parsons launches into the sickeningly catchy A Very Mary Christmas, in which he ponders the wonders and mechanics of childbirth. It’s at this point that I see Parsons in his full dorky uncle glory — white turtleneck, terrible dancing, but oozing loveable charisma. As he writhes around on stage, you get snippets of impressive vocal control and prowess packaged in a silly exterior, a jocular campiness.
Parsons sprinkles each song with what can only be described as Christmas crack. They’re all singable, lightly head-noddable, and destined to be the ear worm that haunts you till the day you die. Here I am, days later, singing “I want to make Santa cum” over and over again in my head, begging for it to stop.
The show is deliberately off-season, and it’s a shock to the senses to be surrounded by the suffocatingly tacky aesthetic of Christmas in the middle of May. If you came along to celebrate New Zealand Music Month, you’re met with music production quality akin to the tinny melodic samples native to a Casio keyboard. If you came along to celebrate the New Zealand International Comedy Festival, you’re met with an unhinged, almost nonsensical work with hardly any cohesive through-line. I’m left wondering whether the catchiness of the songs are enough of a thread to hold this solo variety show with musical elements together.
When Parsons sings about not bringing his band because he wants all of the profits for himself, the show hints at a broader problem within the arts (in this case both music and comedy). We often don’t think about how the entire local music industry is held up by people squeezing money out of the very artists we love and adore. I know from my own experience how expensive it is to pay for recording, producers, musicians, venues, marketing, PR, videographers, content producers, etc. When artists are unfunded or unsigned, this all comes out of their own pocket, and in most instances they are left going backwards. It makes sense that Parsons felt that he couldn’t bring his band with him from Christchurch - someone would have to pay for all of these expenses, and that someone would be Parsons himself. Judging by the 11 people in the room, it’s unlikely that Parsons would recover any of the money he spent on bringing this show to Auckland. You’re left wondering, then, why we keep doing this. If you’re a New Zealand artist and you’re in it for the money, you should seriously reconsider.
Parsons is the latest artist to step into the rich tapestry of New Zealand musical comedy, and while the show does not reach the iconic heights of acts like Flight of the Conchords and Two Hearts, it still shows a very valid laddish take on the genre, which is currently missing from the landscape. Christmas is inherently tacky and twee, so Parsons will no doubt be happy to leave this character behind as he embarks on a much more serious tour, as Jed Parsons the man, without the hangups of having to stay on theme. I think Parsons will appreciate the verdict below, as this show was designed to be a self-described “shit-show” and definitely achieved its aim. Nevertheless, I want Parsons to keep exploring musical comedy - he has the personality for it, and the confidence to lay it all on stage even when there is hardly an audience in front of him. It shows that he is a professional, and that he’s able to roll with the punches of being an artist in a world that can be so cliquey and brutal. At the end of the night, I leave the theatre wondering if what I just witnessed was controlled chaos or a shambles in disguise.
Verdict - Get in the bin (respectfully).
Images supplied by Jed Parsons.