Wilson Dixon, laconic country music star from Cripple Creek, has been New Zealand comedian Jesse Griffin’s onstage persona for well over a decade. Consistent in style, his shows are comfortably familiar while never rehashing old material and always remaining up to date with the world we live in. The near capacity crowd at Glenroy auditorium in Ōtepoti are not disappointed on Wednesday evening as they laugh heartily at his seemingly effortless wit.

The evening opens with a set from Shay Horay who is known for his comedic physical work, improvisational skills and voice acting. 

Horay’s performance is highly physical and carnivalesque and certainly does not lack commitment. It is not a style that is to this reviewer’s taste, and is arguably an odd choice to compliment Wilson Dixon as the two could hardly be more disparate.  However, it must be acknowledged that the majority of the audience are vocal in appreciation, with laughter, applause and engagement in audience interaction. Horay certainly warms up the crowd on a cold Ōtepoti evening and everyone is very cheerful during the interval.

It would be a hard stretch to find a New Zealand comedian who rivals Wilson Dixon’s deadpan delivery. Gently plucking at his guitar as he wanes philosophical, the audience is enchanted. While the monologue feels as breezy and care free as a stream of consciousness, it is in fact tightly crafted as we can see in his reincorporation of jokes throughout the set. Griffin’s timing is impeccable and often we think we have had “the joke” but then we’re hit by a second punchline before we’ve even laughed off the first. 

Wilson Dixon’s set comprises not only winsome musings in prose, but also song. Griiffin is very confident in his musical ability and a delight to listen to. His songs, while comedic, are also genuinely melodic and at times, surprisingly, poignant. A la Flight of the Concords or The Front Lawn, one could imagine popping them on the stereo at a barbecue for their musical value as well as their humour.

While Griffin uses Dixon as a tool to mock a certain type of American (we have Cleatus, Jethro, Randy – all family members) it is done gently and with a thorough understanding of who his audience is. It is telling ofŌtepoti’s political leanings when the audience responds with a scathing, “urghhh” to a comment on the last election results. He is also not a one-joke-wonder. Much of the humour comes from an observance of the absurdity of the things that humans take for granted.

The lighting is simple and effective and the sound is impeccable – there are no moments where the guitar outshines the vocals or vice versa. 

It becomes harder to bother to leave the house of a winter evening, but this is genuinely funny, high quality entertainment and a pleasant night out that I highly recommend. 

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Wilson Dixon, taking the stage at Te Auaha Tapere Nui, hails from Cripple Creek, Colorado. At least, that’s what his accent says. So does his appearance – his face partly obscured under a large Stetson, dark glasses and a moustache. And then there’s his guitar. He’s a country singer, and we’re going to get large doses of that between some delicious repartee.  

Purporting to have visited New Zealand during Covid, “this pandemic thing”, he is pleasantly surprised by our arrival arrangements. The audience revels in his take. It’s the first of many similar send-ups of subjects supposedly serious. Waiouru, our military base, comes in for dry humour.

We are treated to the first song, apparently featured in one of Dixon’s many albums. I’m impressed with his audibility, given both accent and microphone. With slow plucks of his guitar to accompany words we can all hear from his perch on a high stool, our artist is at his seasoned, relaxed laconic best.

Much of Dixon’s humour displays linguistic mischief. Not for him a reliance on vulgarity or possibly offensive jokes to get laughs. He flips the roles of a grandmother and her dog, offers a new definition of an ass and expresses entirely believable astonishment at the naming of an iconic building?

Characteristic, also, is making us laugh when we really feel we shouldn’t. With his hands clasped woefully on his guitar, Dixon tells of his wife’s desertion – a situation giving rise to some of the loudest laughs of the evening. And now we get a rendition of the eponymous ‘Love Don’t Live Here Any More, You Do’.

His ex-wife dispensed with in an anecdote that’s the nearest he comes to risqué, Dixon turns his attention to animal antics, including a remotely skilled horse, what’s odd about the Annual Cripple Creek Pumpkin Festival – and what can be worse than a predicament he found himself in?

There’s a huge amount to savour in this performance. Here’s a man in a cowboy hat with a guitar who just talks and sings. Ah, but such talk! And oh! such singing.

Dixon is used to full houses – and he’s in for many more.

P.S. Wanna know who plays Wilson Dixon?

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer