The star will be joined by award-winning entertainers
The City of Belmont is set to come alive with the glitz and glamour of world-class entertainment as Australian cabaret royalty Rhonda Burchmore headlines a brand-new pop-up event at the AfterDark Performance Lounge.
The five-night cabaret spectacular will see The Glasshouse venue in Faulkner Park undergo a dramatic transformation that will see it turn into an intimate, fully licensed cabaret lounge.
Burchmore, who most recently featured in the hit musical Sister Act, will debut her new show Tall Tales, an evening of her heartfelt and hilarious journey through four decades in the limelight.
Your local paper, whenever you want it.
'I will be opening the vault on my 40-year career in showbiz, sharing wonderful stories and killer songs that will fit perfectly in the intimate AfterDark Performance Lounge.' she said. 'It's so wonderful to see a new performance venue popping up in Belmont and engaging such an incredible line-up of fabulous cabaret stars.'
Belmont mayor Robert Rossi said the event was a great chance to bring world-class entertainers to Belmont's local stage.
'AfterDark brings outstanding live performances to our local community and sees the Glasshouse venue transformed into an intimate space hosting a bold and brilliant line-up of performers,' he said.
'We're offering discounted tickets for local residents, making it easier for more people to enjoy a high-quality artistic experience.'
On top of Rhonda's appearance, the series will host some of Australia's other brightest cabaret stars such as Mama Alto, Michael Griffiths, Gina Williams and Guy Ghouse, and Libby Hammer and Ali Bodycoat, each bringing their own flair to the experience.
Mama Alto will present her WA premiere of Transcendent, a soul-stirring show blending classic songs with some unexpected delights.
Helpmann Award winner Michael Griffiths will lead his band through a joyous tribute to the legendary Peter Allen, who was known for his flamboyant stage presence. Award-winning Michael Griffiths will pay tribute to Aussie icon Peter Allen. Credit: City of Belmont
Williams and Ghouse will bring a modern take on ancient traditions, merging natural acoustic instruments, stories and voice.
Two of Perth's most loved jazz vocalists, Libby Hammer and Ali Bodycoat will also sparkle at the event, reuniting in a heartfelt celebration of music, friendship and sisterhood.
The event will end with two adult-only literary events Adult Storytime by acclaimed poet and performer Sukhjit Kaur Khalsa and A Timeless Gathering by Live History, all the way from Canada.
The event runs Thursday, July 24 to Monday, July 28, tickets go on sale on June 19.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
The Age
5 hours ago
- The Age
Your cooking looks disgusting. Please, never stop posting it on Instagram
To the untrained eye, the plate was a mess of slop. On closer inspection, it must've been food of some description. Potatoes, maybe? Peas too. There was definitely a meat element, but it had been cooked for so long that it didn't matter what it was, or at least what it had once been. A thin sauce, presumably gravy, pooled in the middle of the plate. Remarkably, everything on the dish appeared a different shade of grey. A photo was taken, slightly out of focus, and posted online, accompanied by a simple caption: Cheeky Sunday roast. The person responsible for this situation was someone I barely knew, a friend of a friend of a friend, added to my Instagram account after a chance meeting years ago. We maintain almost no online relationship, but his cooking exploits are the highlight of my week. Every Sunday, without fail, he tackles something refreshingly regular – spaghetti bolognese, homemade tacos, a particularly raw-looking baked salmon – and he painstakingly documents the process. The results are unspectacular and occasionally alarming, but that's beside the point. In a world ruined by social media pressure, where everyone must always put their best foot forward, here is an average man unafraid to celebrate an average coq au vin. The glorification of everyday meals has long been stitched into the Australian national identity. We are the country of laid-back larrikins, a melting pot of cultures who refuse to take themselves (or their food) too seriously. That's why we laughed along in shared acknowledgment when Dale Kerrigan's mind was blown by his wife's rissoles in The Castle ('Yeah, but it's what you do with them!') and it's why we decided that the only fitting symbol for our democracy was a Coles sausage, covered in tomato sauce, served on white bread. Sure, we have a thriving food scene, complete with talented chefs serving world-class cuisine, but that represents the best of us, not the rest of us. At first, the rise of social media supercharged our ability to embrace our ordinariness. Twitter feeds like Rate My Plate, created in 2013, and the much-loved Instagram page Cook Suck (created by the late, great Darrell Beveridge in 2011) encouraged users to submit their horrific-looking home cooking for our collective enjoyment. The aim wasn't to shame (most of the time) but rather to celebrate how mediocre we can all be and how bad something might look, even if it tastes good. Then the inevitable happened: social media became less about slices of real life and more about curation and competition. Amateur home cooks became obsessed with viral recipes, abandoning their sloppy homemade pizzas (featuring packet cheese!) in favour of endless recreations of Alison Roman's caramelised shallot pasta or insane TikTok trends.
Sydney Morning Herald
5 hours ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
Your cooking looks disgusting. Please, never stop posting it on Instagram
To the untrained eye, the plate was a mess of slop. On closer inspection, it must've been food of some description. Potatoes, maybe? Peas too. There was definitely a meat element, but it had been cooked for so long that it didn't matter what it was, or at least what it had once been. A thin sauce, presumably gravy, pooled in the middle of the plate. Remarkably, everything on the dish appeared a different shade of grey. A photo was taken, slightly out of focus, and posted online, accompanied by a simple caption: Cheeky Sunday roast. The person responsible for this situation was someone I barely knew, a friend of a friend of a friend, added to my Instagram account after a chance meeting years ago. We maintain almost no online relationship, but his cooking exploits are the highlight of my week. Every Sunday, without fail, he tackles something refreshingly regular – spaghetti bolognese, homemade tacos, a particularly raw-looking baked salmon – and he painstakingly documents the process. The results are unspectacular and occasionally alarming, but that's beside the point. In a world ruined by social media pressure, where everyone must always put their best foot forward, here is an average man unafraid to celebrate an average coq au vin. The glorification of everyday meals has long been stitched into the Australian national identity. We are the country of laid-back larrikins, a melting pot of cultures who refuse to take themselves (or their food) too seriously. That's why we laughed along in shared acknowledgment when Dale Kerrigan's mind was blown by his wife's rissoles in The Castle ('Yeah, but it's what you do with them!') and it's why we decided that the only fitting symbol for our democracy was a Coles sausage, covered in tomato sauce, served on white bread. Sure, we have a thriving food scene, complete with talented chefs serving world-class cuisine, but that represents the best of us, not the rest of us. At first, the rise of social media supercharged our ability to embrace our ordinariness. Twitter feeds like Rate My Plate, created in 2013, and the much-loved Instagram page Cook Suck (created by the late, great Darrell Beveridge in 2011) encouraged users to submit their horrific-looking home cooking for our collective enjoyment. The aim wasn't to shame (most of the time) but rather to celebrate how mediocre we can all be and how bad something might look, even if it tastes good. Then the inevitable happened: social media became less about slices of real life and more about curation and competition. Amateur home cooks became obsessed with viral recipes, abandoning their sloppy homemade pizzas (featuring packet cheese!) in favour of endless recreations of Alison Roman's caramelised shallot pasta or insane TikTok trends.
The Age
15 hours ago
- The Age
Hey, Torvill and Dean, remember the time I danced with you?
Fitz: What is it? Torvill: Bolero is obviously a very special routine because it opened the door for the future, and we wouldn't still be doing what we're doing without that. Fitz: So let's go back to the romance one! The personal chemistry and physical intimacy that you two display on ice as you dance is so wonderful; it dinkum is amazing that you can do it without ever having been a couple. Was there never a time, Chris, when you said to Jayne, surely, 'Let's go and see a film Saturday night?' And she said, 'No, forget it.' Dean: No, never like that. We have spent a lot of time together, seeing movies, going for drinks, and the theatre, all of those things. And of course, we've been together on many long tours, like when we were touring Australia for the first time. We were meant to be coming for just two weeks, but ended up staying for three months doing shows, and then stayed a further nine months putting a show together. So we were in Sydney area for almost a year, and we made lots of friends. Fitz: [ Painfully persisting ] So never in that year, two young English athletes a long way from home, did you exchange smouldering looks over your Vegemite on toast ... Torvill: No, our main focus was getting the work done. You know, we had just turned professional, and for us, it was an exciting time in that we weren't competing anymore and we didn't have any rules and regulations of competition. So, in fact, you know, we were free to be more creative, which is something that we've always enjoyed. Fitz: What about blues then? There must have come a time over the last 45 years when you two were dancing, when Chris lifted you up, Jayne, so you could do a twirly gig and the booger didn't catch you properly? Surely, there must have been times where, to use the Australian expression, you came an absolute cropper, occasioning strong words? Torvill: No. Lucky for us, we never did have any major falls in competition, which is what counts. Falls in training, you accept. But we trained so hard that to be ready for anything, that we didn't really make any mistakes. So, no 'blues'. Fitz: Moving on! By some reckoning, the pop group ABBA was said to be a bigger success in Australia, even than in Sweden. There was something about ABBA that Australia, more than pretty much any other country, loved. Is it possible that the same applies to you two, that Australia loves Torvill and Dean more than even Britain loves Torvill and Dean, and that we loved you more than anywhere else on Earth. Dean: Maybe. When we first came to Australia, it was such a surprise for us to be so welcomed. The Australian promoter had pre-booked the Russian Olympic figure-skating team, thinking that they would win everything at the 1984 Sarajevo Winter Olympics, and they didn't. We did. And so the promoter said, 'We've got to get those bloody Poms down here.' And so within a very short time, somebody came over to see us and gave us a contract, and we came down to Australia and we were adored. I mean, they tell the story of when the tickets first went on sale, that the line instantly formed up right round the Sydney Entertainment Centre. Fitz: Which is very odd, yes? Because in Sydney, we're surfers, netballers, cricketers, footballers, but not really, as a people, ice skaters – with only a rink or two open on a good day? Dean: Yeah, I think what happened, Channel Nine were the host broadcasters at the Olympics, and we became very popular because they gave us a lot of air time. And we became the base of promoting the Winter Olympics in Australia. And, there were also a lot of British expats who took to us, right? Fitz: Whatever else, our love affair with you has been enduring. We also have a saying that a person has had 'more comebacks than Dame Nellie Melba', lately replaced by 'more farewell tours than Johnny Farnham'. Whoever, with you two, came up with the title for your tour, Our Last Dance, has to be commended, because it captures the imagination. But seriously, seriously, when you perform your last dance in Sydney [at Qudos on Sunday afternoon], when you come off the ice, is that really going to be it for you two? Your last dance? Dean: It will certainly be our last performance skating in Australia. But then we go back to Nottingham, our hometown, and we actually do four performances there, and then on the last day, that will be our last skating performance, live skating performance, that we will do. You know, we've been skating together now for 50 years, and we think that that's a good round number to sort of call it a day from the performing side. And the body is ready to say it's time as well. Fitz: But don't you think that five years from now, one of you might say, 'I'm in your town, I'm going to put on a red wig. You put on a blonde one, and I'll see you down at the rink, and just one last time in the moonlight, let's dance?' Torvill: It's not to say that we won't ever skate on the ice together, but we won't actually be performing together. So we may be together like choreographing or teaching somebody. We'll do other things together, but just not performing. This is it. Fitz: Chris? Don't you think that you might just do it one more time in the moonlight, when you're 80, one more time to capture the magic, one more time without anybody knowing, just the two of you? Dean: [ Thoughtfully ] I'm not saying that we won't do that ... but it's not something that we would show off to anybody ... It would be personal. Fitz: Bingo! Now, without being too mealy-mouthed about it, your dancing ability on ice must be comparable, in terms of how much it's celebrated, with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Did you two ever watch footage of their dancing and swoon? T & D: Yes! Dean: They were very much a part of our viewing and we took a lot from them in their style and the movement and their performance quality. Yeah, absolutely, they were our idols. Fitz: You mentioned that you two have been doing it for 50 years. That means – dot three, carry one, subtract two – you must have started in the mid-70s. How much have your physical abilities waned? Are there many things you used to be able to do, that you simply cannot do now? Torvill: There are things that have got harder as we got older, and we're no longer 25, but we still feel that we can put on a show that we're happy with. And we've put it together with some amazing [younger] skaters from around the world. So we're really excited by the show, and the show itself tells a story, our story, right from the beginning, up until now. Loading Fitz: When Mick Jagger was 23 years old, he said, 'I hope I'm not still singing Can't Get No Satisfaction when I'm 30.' Could you two have conceived that you'd still be going 50 years later? And would you have been thrilled? Torvill: No and yes. We would never have imagined it would have been possible. Back then, when skaters turned professional, they would maybe do two years, three years in a professional show, and then, you know, sort of maybe go into teaching or just retire anyway. We've just been so lucky, with the way things happened for us that we were able to create several different tours, and then go back to the Olympics in '94 because that became a possibility, and that extended our professional careers. Dean: And then, in more recent times, television people came and said, would we be interested in teaching celebrities to skate? And that's when Dancing On Ice was born. And that extended us, too.
