Sometimes you need an irreverent night out. Where things are said, that are thought, but not generally acknowledged. Where it all is examined and no holds barred. By this, you could assume that really we live in a fairly oppressive or controlled state. Perhaps we do. But perhaps it’s more surreptitious than we think. Interestingly, freedom of speech has been socially tempered with the rise of being politically correct or even the preference for using euphemistic language in everyday communication. My favourite example of how much we are tempered by language is George Carlin’s piece on euphemistic language –

Language is a powerful tool – it shapes our histories and politics, our perspective , our identity – it conceals and reveals in equal measure. And there is no other master craftsman of this tool for our generation other than Tim Minchin. Blending physics, atheism and his skills as a musician, Minchin confronts words, language, pop culture, prejudice and righteousness head on. Like a cheeky court jester – or a Shakespearean fool – we are mesmerized by his seeming freedom to say all that is taboo, all that is unsay-able. And he takes on everyone, questions everything and calls everyone on everything – the stuff they haven’t questioned, won’t acknowledge or are hypocritical about. Yes the white middle class intelligentsia – his fan base are also not left unscathed.

It is a cheeky grinned, funny furrowed brow that smashes down the fragile misconceptions about burning books, or calling people “Ginger” – and delightfully this barrage is ultimately mediated by a tender and loving real-ness in “White Wine in the Sun” or even at the end of “Storm” a 9 minute beat poem -there is the echoing question that asks after an articulate tirade:

Isn’t this enough?
Just this world?
Just this beautiful, complex
Wonderfully unfathomable world?
How does it so fail to hold our attention
That we have to diminish it with the invention
Of cheap, man-made Myths and Monsters?

And at the heart of this, occasionally foul-mouthed, ever incisive/divisive classically gifted clown is a deep and true concern for the intellectual fumbling of the human race – which at it’s best is stunningly productive and innovative, bright and inspiring and at it’s worst narrow minded, petty war mongering bigots.
Minchin asks us to think twice, think again – examine and scrutinize what we are doing to each other – and then act accordingly.

It’s a tough job.

But I’m glad he’s doing it.

My Tim Minchin timeline, by Augusta Supple

The 23rd of December 2005. The Supple household in Corindi Beach. My parents enthusiastically reveal their latest CD procured from Western Australia after hearing Minchin on ABC Radio national. I’m fresh back from living in Canada. I’ve not heard of this guy, whom my mother describes as a ratty haired, barefoot pianist, who is brilliant. There’s a song telling parents to stop feeding their kids donuts. I’m impressed. he can sure play the piano.

In 2007 in The Studio at the Sydney Opera House. I buy a stack of tickets. Its a tiny venue. I sit between my then-inlaws (god-fearing folk) and my very atheist boss and his boyfriend. It’s a tense evening for me. I start realizing the responsibility of buying tickets and taking people to see shows. I am aware of ever movement of discomfort demonstrated by my mother-in-law’ seat shuffling during “Inflatable You.” It was terrifying. But really, now. Not a big deal.

In 2008 I have trouble not singing the canvas bag song when I head to the supermarket.

2010 I discover a song Tim Minchin wrote as a part of an Aussie film “two fists one heart” called Drowned. I play it alot. In June I buy tickets for my birthday, to attend Tim Minchin v The Sydney symphony with my best friend Sally in March 2011.

In 2011 I find myself at the Opera kitchen with Sally, some of her friends and a new friend. That evening, as the sun is setting, a rainbow appears to be shooting into the sails of the Opera House… it’s a lovely moment that has all the punters and drinkers up on their hind legs taking pictures with their iPhones. Inside I am delighted at the scale of the show. I see the lovely PJ Gahan (a good friend and champion of independent theatre and the Symphony’s Stage Manager) on stage spinning Tim Minchin in a cage. Fun. I adore the Symphony. I laugh at the new song “CONTEXT”, I shed a tear or two at “White wine in the sun.” I leave the steps of the Opera House thinking faster than ever before… it makes me drink tea until 1am at that horrible place in Circular Quay.