Review: Rhonda Burchmore at Afterdark Performance Lounge
Rhonda Burchmore’s Tall Tales at Afterdark Performance Lounge
w/ Mama Alto
Friday, July 25, 2025
Picture this: Once upon a time, this was a library—rows of books, the occasional stern “shhh,” and fingers wagging like metronomes. Now? It’s Afterdark at the City of Belmont: a cheeky, neon-lit cabaret space with speakeasy vibes and velvet corners made for whispering secrets or sipping something fizzy. The books have shuffled politely next door, leaving behind a reimagined space now hosting mini tribute weekends to big-hearted creatives and stage darlings.
Just this past weekend (Thursday 24 to Sunday 27), four acts strutted through: Sydney-born but Perth Telethon-beloved Rhonda Burchmore; the transcendental Transcendent herself, jazz enchantress Mama Alto (both a show title and a favoured adjective from swooning reviewers); Helpmann Award-winner and cabaret king Michael Griffiths; and the soul-soothing vocal-guitar duo Gina Williams and Guy Ghouse.
Friday night brought a double bill: Mama Alto bathed the crowd in satin vocals and velvet humour before Burchmore swept in like a showbiz comet—glittering in blue, a slit that could slice stage lights, and a crystal statement necklace that practically had its own spotlight.
The crowd? About 120 strong: mostly silver-haired regulars with a spritz of bright-eyed twenty-somethings, all gathered around grazing platters that felt like edible love letters. Thanks to the City of Belmont’s culinary curators (and chief vibe wranglers), guests nibbled from savoury, cheese, and candy-filled styrofoam boxes: part picnic, part party favour, all delight.
If you’re the type to mentally file a joke before laughing—was that political, queer-coded, or just deliciously naughty?—Mama Alto was already ahead of you, tagging each quip like a campy librarian of cabaret. She sailed through the first hour with theatrical flair, slipping into a faux French accent to zhuzh up “Belmont” and likening the audience to passengers just shy of landing—four premium seats left, and everyone secretly hoping for a cheeky upgrade.
Her hands swooped as dramatically as her voice soared—catching invisible notes like a cabaret cricketer mid-play. Just when you thought she’d emptied the vocal jewellery box, she whipped out a whistle so pure it could’ve called birds down from the rafters. She roamed through the audience like a glamorous tour guide to her own show, trailed by a faithful spotlight. But on stage, things felt a little more subdued—less Moulin Rouge, more postage-stamp recital. Even her encore was delivered seated, as though saving her final flourish for a more expansive stage.
What Mama Alto held back in physical presence, Rhonda Burchmore more than made up for in glittery bravado. She took up space—and then some. A ring-light vanity glowed stage right; her piano player, Jack Earle, perched stage left, the two swapping barbs like seasoned pros. She transformed even the humblest prop into cabaret gold, including a delightfully saucy mini-chair routine. This was the West Australian premiere of her show Tall Tales, a glitzy scrapbook of Hollywood misadventures, each cheeky song a playful sequel to the anecdote just told.
And the glamour? Laid on thick. Stories featured the famous and infamous—Michael Jackson, Bill Clinton (whom she mischievously dubbed “Free Willy”), and even a gossipy encounter with Charles III that had the audience leaning in. But it wasn’t just a walk down red-carpet memory lane. Recent tales made the cut too, including her stint in Sister Act at Crown Perth, where she played the delightfully unfiltered Sister Mary Lazarus and met that night’s bass player—cue another round of onstage banter and even a surprise rap verse from Rhonda herself.
Just like Mama Alto, Burchmore wove through the crowd, this time crooning Eartha Kitt’s My Discarded Men to the delight (and mild alarm) of a few balding gentlemen. It was raucous, glitter-drenched, and shamelessly fun.
Overall, the night was exactly what you’d expect when you put Burchmore in front of a crowd: rambunctious, glamorous, and just the right amount of unhinged. Intimately special, with sequins to spare.
RACHEL FINUCANE