Two Cornish rappers and a Casiotone keyboard – that was pretty much all I knew when I got to the gig at Cassette Nine last night. Why not, I said to myself, particularly since we’ve recently seen big balls, classical music hooliganism and mesmerising mime mania, why not Hedluv + Passman? 

We thought safety in numbers would be appropriate so we invited a few workmates along to check out this ‘experimental’ experience. The result was shock horror, a great deal of hysterical laughter and general light-heartedness all round in response to this “quirky” and “irreverent” duo. [More] 

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Musical comedy would seem to be sewn up in New Zealand by Flight of the Conchords, but if you head down to Cassette Number 9 this week, I’m sure you’ll find that there are sounds from elsewhere in the world worth listening to. Especially if you like pasty British white guy 90s-style rap.

Hedluv and Passman seem to have been brought up on a solid diet of lo-fi computer games, nature documentaries and a fascination with the sounds of a Casiotone keyboard.  

Their Cornish roots come out strong in the deadpan lyrics and droll observations – they lay rhymes about everything from Richard Attenborough to finding your way home in the car to the most recognisable of their local foods: the pasty.

The beats are most definitely more lively and the contrast is where most of the comedy lies in the music. 

Passman is a frantic, over-energised rocket, who works himself into a lather as soon as the first beat drops and barely stops for the entire show. Clothes are shed, shapes are thrown. He screams, rants, scats and makes excessive use the stage space. Absolute bedlam from a single performer. 

On the other hand, Hedluv is the straightest of straight-men in this oddly mis-matched duo. He seems to have much of the musical skill but, as is common in clubbing circles, is reluctant to let his cool show. There’s almost an awkward air of embarrassment at Passman’s over-doing of it, but he still makes many of the lyrical moments his own and absolutely tears it up on the Casiotone. 

Maybe it’s opening night, maybe it’s their natural Cornish style, maybe it’s the unusual acoustics of Cassette Number 9, but both seem a little reticent in the between-song patter early on – almost like they feel they’re ‘dying’. However, the opening night Auckland audience seems to lap up their comedy stylings, even if some of their localised references are a bit over our heads.

Highlights of the night: a double-speed clap-along cover of Soundgarden’s ‘Black Hole Sun’ that nearly tears the roof off and Passman’s lunatic running the length of the bar in only a pair of y-fronts. 

Well worth a trip down the pub to catch these two Cornish rappers and their Casiotone “doin’ it dreckly”.

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The venue is pretty empty when I arrive a mere fifteen minutes early. I am nervous for these guys – what’s worse than coming to a new country only to perform to a tiny crowd? But it turns out ten minutes is a long time in Wellington Audience World as people arrive in multitudes. My anxiety is totally appeased when I spy Rhys Darby at a table opposite me. The rumours are true and if Rhys is in, so am I. They’ll be just fine. 

But will I be fine? Not initially. My eyeballs are violated when a pasty Passman arrives on stage wearing short shorts, high top socks, a white singlet and a square vest your Granddad would have sported in the 80s. Hedluv is the more subtle of the two, wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

It becomes quickly clear that their clothing choices speak volumes deeper than the lowest bass tones in their vocal range. What need noting, even before the music, are Passman’s dance moves. They’re manic.

I have never seen a human body move with such commitment to creating an extreme interpretive dance rendition which incorporates the melody, the bassline and the essence of the story. Amazingly, he is always on the beat.  Any contemporary choreographer/director would have swooned – and not just for the outfit inspiration.

Hedluv is as chilled as anything and luckily for us, provides the fundamentals: the music from a Casio keyboard and some understandable lyrics. We are treated to song topics ranging from a PE report to the ‘relatable’ swimming conditions in Cornwall. My personal favourite is a depressing Britney Spears cover reformed to be anything but. I wish I could comprehend more of the lyrics overall as often the story is lost through the sheer volume of the backing track.

Between every musical number, the mood is flat. Did I say flat? I meant if a stage could die and rigor mortis could set in we witnessed it here. Hedluv’s melancholic confessions about lacking past performances provide the necessary twitches to keep this comedy baby alive.

Meanwhile, is Passman about to pass out? His breathing sounds … strained to say the least. I am sure he can’t last. His enthusiasm levels have to drop as the show goes on at least physically if not mentally. But I am proven wrong in epic proportions. Spellbound by his extreme bursts of finesse, I jot down some notes for any of my own coming nights out. I’ll be out to impress if I can pull any of his moves off.

Okay, yes, I’m glad I’ve attended. It is funny. It is intense. It is weird. It isn’t always understandable, but it is true what Hedluv said: it is a very safe show if you don’t like being harassed by comedians for their personal gain. But if seeing a pasty white man from Cornwall possessed by mania wearing only Y front underwear and running at high speed past your face isn’t your idea of feeling secure – well the Compassion Centre is just up the road.

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