REVIEW: Any Moment - Bradley McCaw and PIP Theatre

Any Moment By Bradley McCaw | Presented at PIP Theatre

Duration: 100 minutes (no interval)

Experiencing a new Australian musical always fills me with a sense of curious excitement, like opening a Christmas present wrapped in a bizarre shape. There are no preconceived expectations, just the work, the performers, and the moment you’re sharing together. Any Moment, a new song-cycle musical by Bradley McCaw, embraces that uncertainty and turns it into its greatest strength, reminding us that life, much like theatre, only ever happens in real time.

Set in Brisbane and unfolding over New Year’s Eve, Any Moment tracks a single 24 hours as it tumbles toward midnight. Through 24 songs, including short reprises, the show weaves together snapshots of everyday lives: parents, workers, lovers, siblings, strangers, and people simply getting through their day.

Inspired by John Lennon’s line, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans,” the musical gently asks us to slow down and really look at the ordinary lives moving around us, those moments that might otherwise pass unnoticed.

The show’s spine is the recurring group number “Twenty Four,” which appears in various forms throughout the piece. Launched by Lulu Miskin, it becomes a ticking-clock motif that repeatedly grounds us in the passage of time. Each reprise feels slightly altered and always reflective, mirroring how our perspective shifts as the day unfolds. It is a simple and effective structural choice that gives cohesion to a sprawling song cycle and reinforces the show’s central idea: any moment is just a moment away.

Musically, Any Moment is piano-driven and impressively genre-fluid. The score moves between contemporary musical theatre, soul, ballad, rap, and spoken-word influences. McCaw’s lyrics are observational, conversational, and beautifully specific, while musical director and pianist William Martineau supports the storytelling perfectly. Subtle backing harmonies, sometimes onstage and sometimes drifting in from offstage, add texture without overwhelming the intimacy of the work. Many of the numbers are solos, and they are beautifully matched to each performer’s vocal colour and emotional range within this cohort from the Con (QAEMT).

These performers are exceptionally skilled and fully immerse themselves in the stories. “Top Shelf” is a witty, laugh-out-loud number about punching above your weight in a relationship, executed with poise and awareness by the hilarious Connor Chadwick. “Stuck in the Elevator,” performed by Orlando Vella, spins eight hours of panic, epiphanies, and spoiled pants into a genuinely hilarious and unexpectedly reflective journey. “My Phone,” performed by Sam Henderson and Chloe Flanagan, struck a particularly modern nerve, charting our love–hate relationship with technology by recognising the addiction, attempting to stop, and ultimately shrugging and giving up. I felt seen. Painfully so...

There are also many moments of vulnerability throughout the show. “Next Time,” led by Lulu Miskin, explores sisterly dynamics with warmth and openness, her vocal delivery carrying genuine affection and ease. “Before the Story Passes By” was a standout for me. Chloe Flanagan delivers the number, about a journalist working through New Year’s Eve, with striking emotional intelligence, balancing ambition with frustration. I don’t say this lightly, I am seriously in love with Chloe’s voice. There were moments of musical shaping and melisma that made me turn just a little green with envy.

That level of vocal craft is echoed across the cast. “Doin’ It For the Kids,” performed by Lucy Ross and Croft Phillips, injects humour and heart into the realities of parenthood and early morning football games. “Rover’s Song,” performed by Niamh Cadoo-Dagley, is a joyful, chaotic stream-of-consciousness burst. It plays like a child’s ADHD thought spiral set to music and thrown into the room with complete commitment by Niamh and her "dog".

“Church on Murphy Street,” sung by William Kasper, is quietly devastating, presenting a lone figure at a wedding and capturing a particular kind of isolation. Will has a remarkable ability to sit in vulnerability without overplaying it, allowing the stillness to do the work, and it pays off beautifully here. His later number, “Rest of Our Life,” delivered as a eulogy for a grandmother, is so intimate and tender that I genuinely felt like I was intruding on something deeply private.

Lucy Ross repeatedly commands attention, particularly in “White House Down the Road.” Her performance was so vividly internal that I found myself closing my eyes to fully visualise what she was narrating. She stared out into nothingness, seeing the story unfold in front of her, while we could only listen. So I closed my eyes and let McCaw’s lyrics wash over me. And it was devastating. The duet “Door Duet" (Take My Hand), performed by Connor Chadwick and Sam Henderson, is also heartbreaking (whyyy?!), capturing the end of a relationship with restraint and emotional clarity. It is one of the show’s most affecting moments, understated and painfully real.

Place is central to Any Moment. Brisbane isn’t a vague backdrop here. Aussie accents are proudly used, and “Coming In From the Suburbs” injects groove and wit into the mundanity of suburban life. One of the show’s most compelling ideas is how our city quietly links these lives together. “Long Night” lands as an anthem for anyone who has ever worked a miserable, unappreciated New Year’s Eve shift while the rest of the city celebrates.

As midnight approaches, the emotional stakes heighten. “Light,” an exquisitely delicate solo by Madeleine Ford, captures the ache of longing, the desire to be reunited with love in the afterlife rather than face another new year alone. Elsewhere, a child is born and a brother and sister meet the baby for the first time during the countdown. Life ending. Life beginning. All happening at once.

By the time the ensemble gathers for the finale, “Turn the Page,” the cumulative impact is undeniable. The full vocal sound of the cast swelled through the space and genuinely took my breath away. Yes, the show leans into big morals and earnest quotes, some unabashedly cheesy. But it earns that sincerity through craft, commitment, and heart.

Visually, the production is intentionally minimal. There are no elaborate sets or lavish costumes, with Noah Milne’s lighting doing much of the work to suggest time, place, and emotional weight. This restraint suits both the song-cycle format and the PIP Theatre space, keeping the focus squarely on the performers and the writing. Acoustically, the cast proves they barely need microphones at all, though balance occasionally wavers when voices overlap.

Understanding the context behind Any Moment only deepens appreciation for what’s onstage. Writing began in 2018, followed by a concept album in 2019 and years of workshops, revisions, and small performances. Writer Bradley McCaw has spoken about the show evolving from offcuts of other works into something more focused: a piece centred on ordinary moments that don’t usually get musicalised in larger productions; such as fighting through a closed door, being stuck in an elevator, or the neighbour we live alongside but never truly know. Influenced by song-cycle writers like Jason Robert Brown, the work has taken many years, and many artists from around the country, to reach this pilot production.

Any Moment feels like the beginning of something rather than the final word, and that is its greatest promise. I left the theatre wanting the backstory to every song, every character, every fleeting moment, and reflecting on moments of my own and those unfolding around me. I have no doubt this won’t be the last time we see this thoughtful new Australian musical, because some stories are simply too alive to stay still.