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Slick sound design sets the tone for overstatement and Eddie Perfect switches his attack in quick succession from soft-drink corporation to Ray Martin, Oprah Winfrey and Hillsong Church.

With plenty of satire spoken, Drink Eddie Bitch might be as much theatre as cabaret. Perfect's character-driven presentation of song and banter certainly keeps the real Eddie an elusive presence.

If it is cabaret, Perfect is determined to administer a shot of adrenaline. Armed with new songs, a tight three-piece band and dark humour, he takes aim at those ideas and people that offend him, with the obvious intention to cause some offence of his own. Unashamedly seeking to connect with an audience under 35, Perfect has the showmanship and musicianship to appeal to anyone willing to let a performance get uncomfortable.

Sourcing material from the internet and popular media, Perfect targets the cynicism of corporate marketing, the crass materialism of popular culture and the shallowness of middle-class liberalism. His polemic is deliberately antagonistic, his tone abrasive, language coarse and anger sincere. If that does not appeal, his music is sophisticated, the band great, lyrics bitingly funny and performance craft impressive. The evangelistic zeal with which he pursues those who might preach mindless solutions to life's complexity is engrossing, even if early attempts to engage a Sydney audience with Melburnian provocation kick more of a behind than a goal.

The most productive creative tension in Perfect's work lies in his discomfort with the capacity of the performer to subvert the power of the idea, for cabaret's intimacy to feel too safe for audience and artist alike. Much of the cleverness of his musical composition and arrangement derives from his knowledge of and skill in conventional middle-class entertainment, and the refreshingly unpredictable lyrics are all the more effective for his ability to perform the appropriated musical style with such aplomb. Yet he undermines the seductiveness of such a rapport with the audience with obscenity and mockery.

The challenge of sustaining rage without blunting his message is met more effectively after interval with less talk, greater stylistic contrast and more varied performance energy. After two hours of frenetic intensity, the songs most likely to linger are when Perfect is alone at the piano. The originality, humour and humanity of his quietest moments suggest that Eddie Perfect may yet be stuck with the cabaret tag and he just might reinvent it for a whole new audience.

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