Bluesfest: The Rest of Day 1 - Trombone Shorty, The Bamboos & Franti

Music has the most amazing power to infect with emotion, to uplift, to educate and to make you wiggle your butt.

First step after the surprise of Timmy Rodgers, and after tracking down the various members of my extended family with limited phone signal (damn you Vodafone!!), was the phenomenal Mavis Staples. Gospel music, soul music, and tunes from the civil rights movement, with a kicking voice and an amazing stage presence. She is a little bit like music royalty, getting the nods from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Rolling Stone Top 100 singers of all time and Grammy Lifetime Achievement. And the lady deserves it all.

Her cover of 'The Weight" really kicked the crowd into gear, and her special guests on the stage made us all very excited for the next act. But more on that in a moment. The set of lungs on this lady was most impressive, and her command of the crowd was incredible.

But next... Next was Trombone Shorty (the future Mr Proctor, he will soon be joining our gang of merry revellers) & Orleans Avenue. Oh my.

I stayed to watch these dudes on the recommendation of American Danny. As opposed to me, Australian Danne. Or Sane Danne. That might hint at what American Danny is like, if I am the benchmark for sanity. Though given the brilliance of Trombone Shorty and his band, his sanity is hardly called into question from me.

I heartily regret not getting to New Orleans before it was ravaged by Katrina. But if the music scene is as alive and well as this talented outfit, I should get myself on a plane without delay. To start with, Trombone Shorty (Troy to his mother, personally I like his pseudonym better) is fit. Like the British version of fit. a proper athlete of a muso, using his chiselled abs and sculpted muscles to belt out every note on his trombone and trumpet. And belting out is kind of an understatement. One note lasted for something close to forever, but really was probably about two minutes. Circular breathing never looked so sexy.

The uber-sexy Trombone Shorty. Photo thanks to Mikey J.

But Shorty wasn't the only talent on the stage. Each band member was rocking on his instrument of choice. And then in the final number, there was a quick band conference huddle in the centre of the stage. Without skipping a beat, Shorty took the drumsticks, and took over the rhythm. There was a shuffle of the weapons of choice, and the band played on. Impressive!

Spirits were sky high after those antics and those upbeat relentless tunes.

And there was nowt that battle-of-the-fros seventies-throwbacks Wolfmother could do about it. I have never been their biggest fan anyway. Perhaps "Joker & The Thief may be the only one that gets me wiggling. But I found their performance significanly lacking in pizzazz. But perhaps that was just because I still wanted to be tasting Trombone instead of Led Zeppelin...

If you approach your day at a festival uncertain about where you will spend the headlining set, there is a chance you may fall into the Indecisive Trap that I fell in on Day 1. I really wanted to see The Bamboos. I've got an album, I like them a lot, and I have heard great things about them live. But Michael Franti was playing at exactly the same time. And the rest of the tribe were resolute about that.

So I started at The Bamboos. Solid Aussie funk and soul. Horns aplenty. More rhythm than an old school Dulux Paint ad. And their lead singer Kylie Auldist CAN wail! Massive voice with a fab head of curls, a great rack (I notice these kinds of things), a stunning dress... But most importantly SEQUINED BLUE CHUCK TAYLORS!!!!! I have a sneaky suspicion that while Kylie is billed as the 'feature' singer, she actually rules the roost. Her attitude and awesome voice made me fall just a little bit in love with her. I was kind of tempeted to stick it out at the smaller stage... But...

Kylie & the Bamboos. The tragedy is you can't see her shoes!!

I am so pleased I caught The Bamboos. But I feel like I missed the best part of their set. I feel like they were just building up to something pretty special when I snuck back to the Crossroads Stage to catch the end of Michael Franti's set.

And it was going NUTS!!

The whole tent was jumping, and the bidding of the dreadlocked and tattooed singer songwriter, his voice undulating between gentle and soulful to vehement and inspired. I could see the infection effect Franti was having on the crowd, but I just couldn't emerse myself in it. Whether it was a case of 'you had to be there' from the start in order to get the glee, or whether there was a little piece of myself kicking me for leaving the brilliant Bamboos set, I will never know.

Having said that, he was pretty darn amazing. He did a walk through the crowd, and played a verse within spitting distance of me and the rest of the bouncing tribe. He told stories of his chats with songwiriting idol Bob Dylan, with such an affable and genuine nature I think we all just wanted to take him home with us to our rambling beach house. With his final song, he invited all the kids and oldies up to boogie on stage - and filled all the rest of us with life-affirming lyrics and melodies. <>  <>

 

Franti, just over there. Not even very much zoom being used here, if any at all.



It was a brilliant way to end Day One. My face hurt from my Live Music Grin. My feet hurt from dancing in gumboots. I was tired, sore but so so happy. And there was still two more days of fun to go.

Bluesfest: The Start & The Surprise

I love a music festival.

I love the fact that brilliant, world class musos can converge on a patch of green for one day (or more) of celebration, of music and of life.

I was delighted when my tribe from The Big Smoke included me on their excursion to Bluesfest in Byron Bay this year. The epic weekend of Easter and ANZAC Day, what better way to celebrate that music, dancing and good company? I think it is what Jesus and our fighting soldiers would have wanted.

My roadtrip to Byron began with "Oliver's Army", by Elvis Costello blasting through my brand spanking new car stereo (thanks Sparky!), and I kept myself on a healthy musical diet of the lineup all the way to the coast. Bob Dylan, The Cat Empire, Michael Franti and Clare Bowditch sung me up and over the mountains, and down to the sea.

So rock'n'roll. Photo from Mikey J.

All seven of the tribe converged on a gorgeous rambling house, just a short walk out of town. We feasted on fabulous food, drank spectacular cocktails - and the next day set off for Tyagarah Tee Tree farm for three days of bluesing and rootsing.

Just outside the gate, I saw a PNG flag, snapping proudly in the breeze. Despite the fact I haven't been there (YET!) we Levys have a strong connection to the land to the north. Dad grew up there, and spends most of his spare time collecting school and hospital supplies to send to Mt Hagen. That is really where he grew up, his hometown. In PNG Pidgin, they call it "arseplace", which I think is a lovely bit of linguistics. Anyway, the site of this flag has always seemed to me a pretty good omen for good times to come.

And how right it was!

We entered.

We did a bit of decision by committee, that always takes a bit of time. And just when the Committee Decision was 'Let's go for a look around', I heard the melodic voice of Julia Zamiro, host of music geek show RocKwiz.

"Welcome to the stage, our very good friend, Tim Rodgers!"

Well. I nearly buckled at the knees at the thought. I had scoured the program with a glimmer of hope that he or his band (one of) would be on the lineup, but was disappointed. And then, Julia came through with the goods!

Bare chested, in a fuschia velour blazer, he rocked out covering The Stones before starring as a gracious and yet knowledgable contestant. And then he carved up the stage at the end (now totally sans shirtwear) with David Bowie's "Fame", with a bridge of "Ignition Remix", initially made famous by pirate R. Kelly, but much more enjoyable covered by The Pigs. The stage was then flooded by superstars from all kinds of festival bands for a mega-cover of Kiss' "Rock and Roll All Night"- a very fitting number to kick off a festival with... and party everyday.

Timmy, bare chested, doing Bowie. My favouritist photo of the WHOLE festival. Thanks again, Mikey J!

Timmy Rodgers has been a long standing favourite of mine. You Am I played at the very first concert I ever went to (Crowded House's "Farewell to the World" in case you were wondering.) They were really the deciding factor in the road trip with The O Team to see the last ever Powederfinger gig in Brisbane - despite the fact that we had already farewelled Bernie and the Boys in West Bubblefuck a few months earlier. I've seen You Am I play about half a dozen times. And I have seen Timmy solo a few too - seriously that man must own so many velvet, velour and corduroy suits. For a sweaty man, I find this quite surprising. But my point is that my love for the seventies styled guru of the Aus music scene is pretty boundless and to see him in person (again) was one of those Music Goosebumps (or Musebumps? Think that one needs some work) kind of moments.

The RocKwiz ep was also pretty awesome. One contestant did a pretty ripping version of Pat Benatar's "Hit me with your best shot" for the karaoke round. At least I thought it was ripping until a dude from the next team tore the stage apart with Dragon's "April Sun in Cuba" flicking the lyrics away with reckless abandon, and accompanying his massive voice with drama-student-style interpretive dance moves. Impressive.

It was a brilliant start to the three day bonanza. Many Music Goosebumps (surely I can come up with a better name than that...) moments were to come, many more surprises and brilliant songs and chances to boogie on down. It had only just begun!

Both Kinds of Music: The Bushwackers

When we were kids, Australia Day was brilliant. Before I knew about the genocide of the First Fleet and the invasion of Terra Nullius. Before Triple J's Hottest 100 became the world's biggest music poll, and the rudder that steers the whole hot January day. My parents and brother (because there was only one then) would join forces with a couple of other families from the Northern Beaches. I imagine the parents got boozy, but there was always lots of great food. And dancing. And music. A real life lagerphone. Other home-made booze related instruments, such as the goonbox filled with rice. And a steady soundtrack of Australian bush music. Redgum featured heavily. And The Bushwackers. These memories are young and golden and untainted with self-conciousness. One of the first memories of music I have, like my musical spiritual home.

The Bushwackers are a staple of the West Bubblefuck Both Kinds of Music Festival. This year they celebrated their 40th Anniversary, and have kicked off the year in style. Their Chardonnay Show is a yearly feature of the Festival Program, and it is almost always sold out. Sunday afternoon in the Beer Garden of the Longyard, armed with squirty bottles and stubbie coolers to last the whole day through. It is the Full Stop of the 10 day festival, except a full stop is not nearly flamboyant enough a piece of punctuation to really give this show justice.

They pride themselves on a complete lack of American influence, and are instead more heavily rooted in traditional Irish music. A double bass, a piano accordian, fiddle, bodhran (Irish drum), tin whistle and all manner of other percussiony and guitary kinds of instruments create a wall of upbeat and rollicking sound. They tend to sing about folk heroes, like Ned Kelly, and the best things about being Australian. They do focus on the bushmate cliches, and are very heavy on songs about sheep - and both seem entirely fitting in the lofty wooden hall and beer garden at the Longyard.

The Bushwackers in flight

They are also brilliant showmen. Or show people, really. Dobe Newton, lead singer and random percussionist, is a pretty out there dude. His penchant for the flamboyant suits is always riveting, and this Sunday was no exception. The first outfit was a silver lame shirt with a black and white fresian coat, and his second was a white tuxedo jacket, splattered with enormous and luminous sequened flowers. He had a whinge toward the end of the show that there wasn't another break in the set, because he had another outfit to show off. And his tween-songs banter included a shout out to all the Spotlight members, offering a free solo CD to anyone who presented their membership card at the merch stand - There was a steady stream of middle aged ladies for the next fifteen minutes, collecting the booty to play while they sewed curtains or bedazzled their I Survived West Bubblefuck 2011 tshirts. Dobe is a sweaty man, with a bald pate, but a curtain of hair around his face. He swings his lagerphone with so much gusto, you feel sure it will break with each blasting beat, and the stage and shrapnel of washers and bottletops will rain over all the band and crowd.

The other band members compete for laughs, for limelight, but all hold up in talent. Roger Corbett is the primary songwriter of the band (though arguably their most famous song, "We Are Australian" was penned by Newton), and can swing his guitar too. His son Ben was on the electric guitar, and tucked in the corner on the double bass was Michael Vidale. The long-haired Mark Oats (also playing with The Pigs as I have mentioned before) is a brilliant fiddle player, but his banter leaves a fair bit to be desired.

But the one I love best is the token chick. Clare O'Meara plays the squeeze box, the most complex of all the instruments on the stage. There are keys and buttons and pulling the thing in and out. I really do love a good piano accordian player. When I first saw them a few years ago, she was all corkscrew curls under an enormous top hat, and she didn't stop bouncing along with the music for the whole show - which is about 3 and a half hours long! These days she is a little more sedate - and considering she has been playing for over twenty years, I am thinking that it is forgivable. She took the mic for just one song, the iconic Men at Work tune, "I Come From A Land Downunder" and she was mesmorising. Plus, as Newton said, she is easily the most photogenic in the band. Yes, I have a girl crush!

They actually did play an American cover - in honour of the plastic faced Kenny Rodgers, who was playing in the big shearing shed across the road. And Dobe promised us, his loyal crowd, that it would be the first and last time they would play an American song. And they do "The Gambler a great deal of justice too! There was a steady stream of superstars of the Both Kinds of Music World, including Kasey "Cat in a Bandsaw" Chambers, the very charming Sara Storer and the very boozed Beccy Cole. They did their own stuff, or covers of Bushwackers, or other Australian classics, like John Williams' "Old Man Emu", and brought a different energy to the stage, and to the crowd.

This year to raise money for the QLD Flood appeal, they auctioned OFF THEIR LAGERPHONE!!!! At only $2.50 a ticket, there were a lot of hungry audience members, including most of the members of my tribe. I was delighted, but they were a little disappointed, when my mum's cousin was announced as the winner. Just a warning, Margey, they are plotting to get an invite to your house and pilfer the prize for their own ends. The raffle raised about $2000, incidentally.

Margey, Dobe Newton and her brand new prize!

The Chardonnay Show is a brilliant part of the Festival. It is reportedly named after the very first Sunday performance the band did in 1994. Don Spencer (of Play School and "Don the Kelpie" fame) brought his family to the show on the way back to Sydney, thinking they would stay for one show, and one class of Chardy. But one song was not enough, and one glass was not enough. And nor was one bottle. They shared the wine, and drank the pub dry. It seems a fitting name for the show; a little bit fancy, and a little bit bogan. And a whole lot of fun.

Both Kinds of Music: The Wilson Pickers

Just before Bob's show, at the West Bubblefuck Hotel, there was another band. Bands are pretty easy to come by during the West Bubblefuck Both Kinds of Music Festival. Outside each shopfront is a busker, in the corner of each room in each pub and club and cafe. But bands with talent, without the American Whine & Twang in their voice, with a little more imagination than trucks and heartbreak in their lyrics... they are a little more tricky to come by.

But we found one. The Wilson Pickers' show sounded great, with harmonised voices, manolin, fiddle, tamborine and that all important swoon-worthy harmonica sound. It was an unticketed event, which means FREE! And they weren't too bad on they eye either. So really, an all round winner.

These guys were great low key listening. Perfect for the first beer of the evening, for a sunset show on a lazy, warm day. They were a little bit like The Eagles, with their 70s throwback fashion and their beardy slash mo looks.  Plus, the first song on their album is the beautifully titled "Return to the Land of the Powerful Owl"! How cool is that!?!

Both Kinds of Music: Bob Evans

Bob Evans, the original Jerk of Attention, came to the West Bubblefuck Festival last year. His real name is Kevin Mitchell, and he was really the lead singer of Jebidiah, the band who wrote the song "Leaving Home" only weeks before me and my classmates actually did just that.

Bob is his Folky moniker, his less whiney voiced, more accoustic strumming, harmonica humming kind of persona. Last year he plomped into town, to the West Bubblefuck Hotel beer garden, sans band. Not much publicity - I don't even remember seeing his name in the program. Just a man with an accoustic guitar on his shoulders and a harmonica perched on a wire around his neck, sipping red wine from a glass, in the baking West Bubblefuck January heat. His easy rhythms and lilting lyrics were an easy Thursday afternoon show. A bit of tapping fingers on the knee, a little bit of singing along with the words to the singles.

This year, Bob was back. With my modest posse of 14 (because my tribe in West Bubblefuck has been growing and expanding, and we're basically taking over the world. Plus Little Red came to visit too!!) we spread out around the table smack bang in the middle of the garden, in front of the stage. Thanks to the B Team!

Apologies for shithouse photo quality. IPhones & booze & twilight & stage lighting aren't friends

Bob looked much the same. The Ramona Flowers hair cut. The checked cowboy shirt, the accoustic and harmonica. But this year he was swigging the red wine from the bottle. He brought a band with him, The Evens, that he reportedly only hooked up with a week ago. They seemed to be still feeling their way a little, but the idiocyncracies made it even sweeter. The Evens joined Evans for about half of the songs in the set. He called up a few special guests, and did some covers as well as a huge chunk of his own stuff. His Like A Version cover of Lily Allen's "Not Fair" was as always priceless, as was his lead in threat to tongue-kiss any homophobes, as this is obviously the worse possible punishment they could imagine.

His relaxed Australian voice is sometimes tainted with a bit of the dreaded American twang, but there is an honesty to his songwriting that manages to cut through that twangy slick. Most of his work seems to be centred on Suburbia. Being stuck in it, leaving it, looking back on it. Suburbia isn't usually the substance of Country Music, but then that is kind of a loose genre nowadays. My fave of his is "Hand Me Downs", a beautiful examination of what it means to be serious, to be responsible, to be making the big decisions, or to be just kicking around in what you always have done, despite the fact that it probably isn't working.

At the end of his set, the wine bottle was drained. It was truly astounding with 750ml of merlot in him, Bob could still manage to sing and play not one but TWO instruments with brilliance. And then he managed to polish off another half a bottle in the encore. Towards the end of the night, the banter became a little sloppy, the set list and back catalogue somewhat exhasteded. At this moment of weakness, the crowd pounced, and demanded a Jebidiah song. And he relented. "Harpoon" is a brilliant moment in Australian songwriting, and I got some goosebumps seeing it played live.

Bob Evans - pronounced best,very quickly, as one word, Bobevans - is really fantastic beer garden summer music. Friends old and new fit well around a table with his music.

Both Kinds of Music: The Pigs

Tis that time of year again, The West Bubblefuck Both Kinds Of Music Festival. When every square of green (though it is usually brown) in town is taken up with a tent, and every awning of the main street has a wailing busker turned up almost-illegally loud. Tales of wives leaving, trucks breaking down, and how happy sheeee iiiiiis tooooo fiiiiiiiind hiiiiiiim, sung to twanging guitar.

But it is not all the sounds of a cat being put through a band saw. Festival time for some (including Sparky and his pals) is The Best Time Of Year. On the first Friday of each January, the AGM is held, and the Official Agenda (wow, lots of Capitalisation in this post??!?) is drawn up. This year, it has been Officially Printed on the Official Stubbie Coolers. And it is filled with some true gems (including the Red One, coming in on Friday). A variety of styles is sought. Some new artists, vying for the esteemed title of the Festival Find. And there are some Compulsory Shows to attend - Festival Faves.

Wednesday night was my first experience of the very special show - The Pigs. These boys have the THICKEST dodgy southern US accents you've ever heard. They have a repetoir of original tunes such as "Don't dump your lover on the phone" with its brilliant opening lyrics of "I am standing in the shadow of a 40 foot merino, while you were over there sipping on your cappucino", as well as some fantastic countryfied covers - turns out there are a number of genres that work in a country fashion, especially disco ("ABC" for example, and "Staying Alive") and R&B (specifically "Ignition" - it is the references to "sipping on coke & rum" that really ease it perfectly into the West Bubblefuck scene).

These guys are bags of fun, with a brilliantly energetic show. It is near impossible not to dance - Sparky cut the rug in a spectacular fashion! With guest bandmembers, OOPS! I mean cousins - Montz Matzumoto (a banjo player of the highest order) and Mark Oats (of the legendary folk band, The Bushwackers). The Committee (as I like to call those friends that take The Festival seriously) tried to hide the real identities of the cousins from me - Stretch, T-Bone & Billy-Bob aren't really thier names! They thought it really disappointing that Billy-Bob is really named Glen, and really comes from Dubbo. But I think they underestimate my ability to suspend my disbelief for the moment of performative magic.

The recordings I have heard have not nearly done these boys justice. The live show is just what country music should be - a little bit wrong, a lot of dancing, and not many people taking themselves too seriously.