Easter Saturday ~ Carlisle 54, Where are you?

It's difficult to get a good photograph of the Dropkick Murphys when you are being punched in the face mourned Jon ~ The Dropkick's agressive ska set had attracted an audience not normally encountered at Bluesfest. The slamming skinhead element seems to have discovered Byron with the addition of Iggy & The Stooges to the festival lineup. Those guys should have been smoking Mullumbimby Madness rather than ingesting MDMA. As I had caught Iggy and the original Stooges at the 2006 Big Day Out I felt that anything other than a cursory inspection from afar would have been excessive given tonight's lineup. Jon's virgin status, however, required attendance at as many star turns as he could manage plus fulfilling his role of house photographer.

Saturday dawned sparkling and bright after last night's cleansing monsoon. Jon and I emerged via the pathway strewn with tropical debris, dropped the towels and hit the water. Seagulls were wheeling above some hundred metres off the shore-break as we plunged into the surf. A promising swell builds and we stroke madly to get on. To Jon's left a sleek black shape shares the clean break ~ a dolphin. They were everywhere feeding on a school of tiny fish and catching the odd wave. Our zen moment had arrived!. A woman to my left squealed with delight as her head emerges They're talking to me, and they were. Sticking your head under you could hear their whistles and tweets. Amazing!!.

We had better make a move, I've got to prepare the seafood chowder for tomorrow's lunch said Jon. Back home the denizens of 54 Carlyle Street were shuffling about nursing cuppas and sore heads. Way too much fun!. Many of the afternoon acts were appearing again tomorrow and the recuperative powers of a cold collation seemed a much better option than an early bus ride. The rear verandah was awash with dripping ponchos and a clump of crusty footwear attesting to Fridays’ rainfest. My damp Che Guevara t-shirt hung limply over a chair ~ damn hippy socialists!.

Jon was waxing lyrically about our swim as he showered outside under the eighth industrial wonder of the world. Encroaching cyclads and frangipani crowded the bath tiles. Inside Chris was washing up as Kim and Paulette chopped and sliced. Is this your iPod or mine?, I asked Chris. It must be yours, it’s contains far too much Paul Simon for it to be mine. It would appear an inspirational playlist is required.

The bus trip to the festival site at Tyagarah Tea Tree Farm was a lively affair with friendly banter being exchange with four young guys standing in the aisle. I know it's a day early someone stated, but are you seeing Robert Plant or Iggy Pop tomorrow? Pop, of course!. One of the guys told us about the time he had been up on stage with Iggy. I touched him and it felt like my old man’s wallet!. Mark Seymour was finishing his set with a Hunners classic as we exited the bus and passed through the entry tent.

Leaving Chris to his own devices, I’m off to see The Round Mountain Girls at Cavanbah, and Jon to God knows where, Kim, Paulette and I snagged an excellent spot in Mojo where Wilco were due. Their sole, rarely-played album in my collection gave me little idea of how good they were live. Wow!. I may be premature, and it may have been a result of the long lunch, but I bestow Wilco with performers of the fest. A big call I know, but that’s my belief. Jeff Tweedy ~ singer, songwriter, guitarist and producer sang a selection of album cuts that highlighted their output of bold rock, punchy pop and sombre ballads. Guitarist and keyboard player Patrick Sansone was amazing and scene-stealing, making me glad I’m not the band's third guitarist. In previous years, my choice for Bluesfest surprise has gone to unknown acts like Rosie Ledet's cajun crew and Eilen Jewell's understated rock. This year it's Wilco!. I think more drinks are in order.

Next up, Status Quo. Outside Mojo Kim and I were confronted by two fortyish Pom bovver boys doing some serious heads down, no nonsense boogie. Rick and Francis rocked off in search of that elusive 4th chord supported by a thumping rhythm section. There's more Marshall stacks up there than a sheriff's conference someone quips. Despite playing a lot of favourites, I was slightly disappointed as I felt they promoted their current album Quid Pro Quo a little too heavily for my liking. Still you can’t deny they were rockin’.

As previously mentioned this year's program is stellar with conflicting scheduled attractions. We passed on further Quo and set off for Crossroads to catch the sole performance of Tex Perkins and the legendary Beasts of Bourbon. Having seen Tex and his regular compadres Charlie Owen and Spencer P Jones in a variety of lineups at Narooma we knew what to expect. Be they Dark Horses, Ladyboys or Beasts, you get a fusion of punk and pub rock with confronting lyrics sinuously delivered by the ace frontman. Nice, they ain't playin'!. Wish I had what Tex has, He makes grown women weak at the knees. Nearby at Jambalaya, a big crowd were enjoying Ruthie Foster's spell-binding funky blues. You want choice, Bluesfest 2013 has it in spades!.

Lunch was but a faint memory and a trip to the food hall and it's various offerings was in order. As usual, the Sauerkraut Sister's kransky and bratwurst caught my eye and were too tempting to pass by. It's a tradition! The food hall is a Bluesfest entity in itself. Long wooden picnic tables are occupied and vacated at an uneven rate, and hanging on for the last song or encore can leave punters momentarily hungry and upright. Where are you?, We're at a table just back from Oodles of Noodles. OK, See you soon. Babe packs in denim shorts compete for space with families of varying complexity.

Ooh!, That sounds good! Nine piece Saskwatch were laying down an infectious stew of R'n'B and soul at APRA and had a crowded tent dancing unashamedly. I thought the program already offered a great dance card with The Bamboos and the Melbourne Ska Orchestra to come, but this was great. As described in the Bluesfest app This is good sunny soul channeling James Brown and Aretha Franklin, as well as New York's bangin' modern soul scene.. Another funky 'fest offering to enjoy. Meanwhile another vibe was brewing. Sniff, sniff, what's that?. It wasn't patchoulie oil and it wasn't the other fragrant offering ~ It was aggression. The Dropkick Murphys were in town!.

Mojo 10.00pm Robert Plant. Say no more. The tent was packed to overflowing thanks to that persistent plague The Chair People! Why would you position a chair in the middle of a crowd and stay sitting? Madness, to say nothing of the valuable space taken up by the adjacent loonie and his partner. You can't see anything except the butt of the person standing directly in front of you. As for the performance, Robert Plant and his band The Sensational Space Shifters played a representative selection of Led Zep favourites as well as the blues classics that inspired him. Had I not seen Led Zeppelin live some forty years before I would have felt I had missed out on something special. As it was I was glad I had seen this repeat performance, even if under trying circumstances.

Seeking out Iggy we arrived just as he was inviting anyone to join him and these Stooges on stage. The security officers must have thought all their worst nightmares had come to fruition.

The crowd outside the Cheeky Monkey were eager for more entertainment as we exited the bus. It was late, we had had a big day and the light was poor. 54 Carlisle Street, Where are you?