BOB DOWNE was at Julian Clary's house admiring his new kitchen when the Chronicle caught up with him.

Both are appearing at the Newcastle Comedy Festival - but will miss each other by a day. So the pair were catching up on all the showbiz gossip when the Entertainer interrupted them.

So what was Bob's impression of Julian's new kitchen? "It's gorgeous," he said in his Aussie twang. "Just beautiful."

The last time Bob played Newcastle, he was support act for Lily Savage at the Tyne Theatre.

This time around he's at Newcastle Playhouse in his own show full of songs, dance routines and an all-polyester homage to the worst showbusiness excesses.

Away from the public persona of Bob Downe, he is Mark Trevorrow, who first came to Britain in 1988 to play the Edinburgh Festival and who is now based over here.

He's made numerous TV appearances and Down Under he's a megastar, with a string of hit records to his name.

Now it looks like Britain's pop charts are about to be invaded by Bob Downe's unique talents.

"Well, if Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer can do a record and get away with it, so can I," said Mark.

"I've got a Bob Downe album coming out in Australia in March which I'm very excited about. And I'm going to see if I can get it released over here. So watch out."

Mark's visit to Newcastle on Tuesday will form part of his biggest tour yet.

Bob Downe is at Newcastle Playhouse on Tuesday.
Gordon Barr

This may seem an extraordinary assertion. How much hidden depth can there be in Bob, a guy who sports a bad wig, safari suits and daggy cover versions of embarrassing songs? A daytime television personality who hails from Murwillumbah where his mother, Ida, still lives?

A former Melbourne journalist, Trevorrow invented the character in 1986 and isn't tired of sharing his head with him yet. He'd love to be trotting Bob out when he is 55.

"Bob changes every year, the character follows the changes you experience yourself," he explains. "If you looked at tapes of Bob three years ago the character was so much more timid and ingratiating, now he is a monster. It's horrific, he just takes over."

Bob certainly has more star wattage. He now prefers to work in theatres and he will only do two weeks at this years' Edinburgh Festival (a month is so exhausting).

Far from Bob's gormless dagginess, Trevorrow has a crew cut and dress style that smacks of Hunters and Collectors chic. He also has a mouthful of teeth that, when Bob is in action, turns into a gleaming grill of ivory. "Everyone thinks Bob's teeth are fake and his hair is real," Trevorrow laments. "Imagine if that was your real hair, it would be pretty trag."

Having played Frankenstein to Bob for so long, Trevorrow says Bob colonises a larger piece of his brain every year.

"He's more sectioned off and compartmentalised than he was. He really switches on when I frock up, when I put the wig on really," Trevorrow says. "One change in the past year or so is that I am starting to do a lot more adlibbing. I think it started with working with a live band - I was very conscious of having the boys on stage with me night after night, and I was trying to keep them amused and laughing. That switched into adlibbing, a sort of Graeme Kennedy thing. Having other people on the stage with you is inspiring."

Trevorrow says there are still three things he wants to do with Bob - record a few albums, make it big in English television (maybe a game show?) and work up a live concert act that can slot into some teensy West End theatre and which will be both a parody of a concert and a concert with fabulous musical values.

Trevorrow has come a long way from the days when he would half-heartedly sing a few bars of "if you like pina colada and getting caught in the rain". He now wants to do "good" songs, and this tour features big band sound.

Bob Downe, backed by Andy 500, will perform at the Harbourside Brasserie on June 16, 17 and 18.
Jane Freeman

It is odd, that in a country as proud of its frontier pragmatism as Australia, that kitsch should often be our most successful entertainment export. There you are, however, que sera, sera and all that. Strictly Ballroom, Priscilla, Muriel's Wedding and, of course, Dame Edna have each played a valuable part in constructing the myth, particularly in Britain, that when Aussies aren't busy slugging cans of Foster's and farting at the footy they spend their time cross- dressing and screeching along to Abba. The undoubted expatriate kitsch king of Australia, however, is Bob Downe, the blondly bewigged cabaret artiste once described by no less an authority than The Observer as "a singing, dancing, grinning, prancing, living Ken Doll". Mr Downe now lives permanently in London where, among other things, he's been appearing on the telly a fair bit and even did a Royal Command Performance.

In addition, he has recently completed his first album, due for release soonish. Among the treasures contained therein, it seems, is a duet with Bob and Julian Clarey breathily making their way through the highly suggestive '60s shock hit, Je Taime. Styling himself for the moment as Bob Downe And His Amazing Technicolour Kaftan, the performer is currently back in his homeland in order to remind us of what we've been missing for a while. He will strut, swagger, smile and croon his way through a mountain of material tonight, tomorrow and Sunday at the Continental Cafe (Greville Street, Prahran). Bookings: 9510 2788.
Andrew Masterson

Downe is a distillation of every horrific cliche' of daytime television. He is every alleged singer who ever mugged his/her way through a song on The Mike Walsh Show rolled into one. Apart from the upper echelons of the RSL, Downe is this culture's last Polyester Man. The character is proudly 100 per cent fake fibre, including that marvellously dreadful wig, a flaxen plastic helmet which could endure the apocalypse without mussing a strand.

The usual routines about hosting Good Morning Murwillumbah, his mum Ida Downe and his huge collection of eight-track cartridges are now part of the Downe furniture (which would presumably be all vinyl and extremely colourful). It's when singing and dancing that Downe is at his hilarious worst. He sashays like a speeding Solid Gold dancer. His strangulated vocal modulations defy description. The eyes almost pop, the mouth grins inanely and the Monster of Variety is back. No-one performs Come Fly With Me quite like Downe. No-one else would really want to.

This was a generous show, with Downe on stage for two hours. He also has some scary groupies - particularly one woman who continually pestered him for two of the cut-outs of his face which were decorating the music stands. But it's his band - the 12-piece Hollywood Horns - which really gave this evening its kick.

They're a hot ensemble, a big band in the traditional style. The brass punches, the rhythm drives, everything's tight and the horn players even manage to sway in time. The symbiosis works - Downe has found a combo as over the top as he is.

This is a man who can strip off a blue nylon tracksuit (the colour chosen as a tribute to Barbara Cartland's eye shadow) to reveal an off greeny-gray safari suit with a wide-collared urine-yellow shirt. He's the bloke on the cover of every Patton's knitting catalogue. They might now call it Gold 1269, but it's still 2SM for Bob.

Some of Downe's patter sequences went on too long, and forgetting a few lyrics is a bit less than professional, but that's really quibbling. This was a generous and mostly hilarious gig. Downe boogies the fine line between excruciating and funny with few slips.

Occasionally, he slips out of the Downe persona, allowing Trevorrow to comment on the cabaret monster he has created. As a monument to the camp torture of daytime TV, Downe has no peer. Though he denies it, Downe could easily be one of The Young Doctors or Jimmy Hannan on crack.

Downe deserves all 17 of those Regional Logies - the ones made by Copperart which come with their own stand and a maidenhair fern. A perfect award for a relentless Perma-Prest onslaught.
Stephen Dunne