Sunday To The Max

Let's go, Tull are on at 4.00.  You go said Kim, I can't decide on what to wear.  OK, Message me when you arrive.  James, are you and Beth ready?.  Grab me a coldie for the road please.

Passing by the putrid garbage bins waiting for collection, we crossed Ruskin Street and headed for town and the Bluesfest bus.  I'm sitting up the back with the naughty kids.  The long queue was a good indication Sunday night featuring Booker T, Madness and Santana was Bluesfest's big night.  While waiting for James to catch up, I struck up a conversation with the nearest victim.

Sharing quality time with your children is one of the modern Baby Boomer mores.  Is it because they are more mature than you were at their age, or is it because we can't let go of our youth?  Simply sharing a love of music seems to work in this family.  Breaking the unbreakable rule ("You don't play an artist's music prior to seeing their performance"), I dialled up Tull's Locomotive Breath for the lunchtime session in an attempt to give our Gen X/Y contingent a taste of what to expect today ~ They sound interesting.  It was a bad move.  Reduced to the sole original in Ian Anderson I was disappointed.  Unlike our previous experience, there was none of the medieval flash and pomp I associate with the band resulting in an encounter with a bunch of proficient musicians clad in black producing familiar sounds.  I headed out soon after arriving looking for something inspiring.  This was particularly ironic as we left Bob Dylan in 2011 to see Tull as Bob seemed to be disinterested in audience expectations.  Maybe it's me?

Another Bluesfest rule of thumb is head to Jambalaya if you are between artists.  It has a great pedigree as we have been introduced to Eilen Jewel, Rosie Ledet and St Paul & The Broken Bones at Jambalaya.  Tonight's welcome surprise was The Suffers, a 10 piece brass laden soul revue fronted by Kam Franklin who produced some mighty slinky moves attired in a colourful sunsuit.  Come on, let me cook for you baby!  James brusquely refuted my opinion that the band was from Canada ~ They must be, they were all wearing double denim.  Along with the horn section's syncopated moves, Kam's suggestion we should all love the one we're with was met with universal approval.  Group hugs all round.

Wouter Kellerman and band were laying down some enticing flute-enhanced percussive grooves while I approached the southern bar.  The large circular sandpit adjacent to the Juke Joint stage was undergoing intensive renovations by the younger set who had alighted from their flashly illuminated trolley carts and prams.  Suitably lubricated, we wandered over to Delta where Turin Brakes were due for their second and final 'fest appearance.  You guys don't look a day older than you did yesterday quipped resident joker and bassman Eddie Myer.  Yeah, and you're wearing the same t-shirt Eddie.  Fishing for a dream from their album JackInABox made an appearance in amongst a number of the songs from yesterday's sterling set.  Turin Brakes are in my top 5.

Next up at Delta was Eric Gales playing an upside down Strat a la Hendrix.  I enjoyed his covers of a Freddie King song and Blue Oyster Cult's (Don't Fear) The Reaper.  He was genuinely stoked to attract such a large and appreciative crowd as he was competing with Santana at Crossroads.

Santana attracted the largest 2017 Bluesfest crowd as expected.  People complain it was too crowded but they obviously missed Robert Plant a few years ago.  They are still excavating mud encrusted twitching bodies from that one.  I can't work out the scheduling rational whereby the most popular act only plays the 2nd largest tent.  We threaded our way through the middle of the tent and found a good spot about half way in just as Carlos and Co kicked off Jingo from their eponymous debut album.  As always Carlos' guitar tone remains the benchmark for me and his drummer (and wife) Cindy Blackman was just about the best I've ever heard.  A strangely satisfying mash of Orinoco/Rain (Enya anyone?) followed Evil Ways/A Love Supreme.  We exited the deepest mosh pit after grooving our way through Black Magic Woman and Oye Como Va.

Explaining Bluesfest to the blues afficianado is not something I want to do more than about twenty times.  Madness?, They're not blues.  I know, just accept it mate.  The nutty ones paraded on stage and struck familiar poses.  Blam!  One Step Beyond and the crowd went nuts.  I've never experienced an instant display of complicity like that.  Ever! The Prince, Wings of a Dove, Mumbo Jumbo, Baggy Trousers, Mr Apples and of course It Must Be Love were lapped up and returned in spades.  The sole flat spot occured when frontman Graham "Suggs" McPherson passed to guitarist "Chrissy Boy" Foreman.  Whoever thought engaging the crowd in a desultory bout of Come On, Aussie Come On would be a crowd pleaser needs their head examined.  They should have done their David Bowie tribute Kooks as at last year's Glastonbury.  Still, that's nitpicking.  It was fun!

A most satisfactory blend of enticing sounds and sights completed the night's entertainment.  Nikki Hill back at Delta, California Honeydrops at Juke Joint and Booker T at Jambalaya.  The act was billed as Booker T. presents The Stax Revue which made me tingle in anticipation.  Stax and Motown was the official soundtrack to my 16th and 17th years at boarding school.  My cousin Dave and I had reinvented ourselves as weekend Sharpies and spent many nights at Op Pop disco in Castlereagh Street trying to fit in with the hard crowd from Chippendale and Redfern.  Occasionally, bands (The Groop, The Groove) would play supplementing the steady stream of Otis' and Sam and Dave's records.  Including a Stax cover version in their set was fraught with violence.

Whoa!  That fabulous churn of keyboard chords introducing Time Is Tight hit us where it counts.  Into Jambalaya on sore feet and bopping away like lunatics.  We'll be back tomorrow for more.  Bring your friends!

Jesus is Just Alright

I can see why drugs play a big part in the Rock'n'Roll lifestyle.  Vitamin D and Jack Daniels just dont't cut it after 3 days.  I know from last night's experience.  You can only drink so much Tooheys New before you head to the strong stuff.  By 10pm our merry band of pranksters were flagging.  I don't think I can make it to The Doobies was the common cry apart from James who complained he couldn't get into the groove.

Unloading perkily from Blanche's bus Kim, Jon and I headed for Delta where English indy darlings Turin Brakes were kicking off at 6.00.  We have been feeding next door neighbour Jon with a steady stream of the Brakes ever since their inclusion at Bluesfest was announced.  Like a number of the obscurer (sic) bands in my collection my introduction to Turin Brakes came from a Mojo or Uncut disc, and built from there.  I hoped they would match my hype.  No problem!  Ollie and co were brilliant sounding just like their records and entertaining to boot.  They're on again today folks!.

The offer of beer and burger for $19 at the Tooheys' tent next door to Delta seemed a good idea at the time, and it gave me a chance to catch up with a cousin or two who tend to hang there. When you have 41 first cousins (on my paternal side), it is almost impossible to miss a meeting.  However, it happened and my disappointment was compounded by spending way too much time in another queue waiting for underwhelming food.  I can't recommend Smokey Joe's Cafe or whatever it is called.  In addition Laura Mvula's soul set next door was giving me the irrits.  That bass was way too loud!

Standing in a queue does give you the opportunity to have a good old natter, and it would seem rock tragics and superannuated hippies are no different.  On the outgoing bus, Sydneysider Michael, Kim and I and reminisced about past gigs (how about the night we saw that new band from Melbourne Skyhooks at the Bondi Lifesaver ~ Living In The 70's was released the following week), proving we had paid our dues.  Outside the Smokehouse, a pleasant tie-dyed lady from Noosa and I exchanged views on past Bluesfest performances we had seen, in addition to agreeing how much better it was now that the dreaded chair people had been put in their place.  As earlier stated, it's the little things that count.

7.45PM  Where are you guys  A message from Jon.
8.07PM  Record Company (at Jambalaya).  Get the hell over here  Another message from Jon.
8.24PM  We're here!!! Our response.
9.07PM  At buddy now.  Holly shit the r company was good Jon
9.41PM You gone? Jon

10.05PM Nope, We having a break before the Doobies Us
10.06PM Im front right.  Near stage  You can still get close Jon

10.07PM I'm in the line to get drinks Us
Riveting.  Isn't it!

Despite feeling our ages, Kim and I shoehorned ourselves into Mojo just as The Doobies kicked off with Jesus Is Just Alright, Rockin' Down the Highway and Take Me In Your Arms.  Well, that's a statement of intent!.  The next batch of songs could be considered filler, but by concerts' end the crowd were well satisfied.  St Paul & The Broken Bones were closing Crossroads as we lingered a little at Jambalaya for a touch of Slightly Stoopid before boarding the bus back to Byron.

Hump Day, Slump Day.  I'm pooped.

Wasted Again In Margaritaville

Casual Friday assumed a new meaning at Bluesfest: Red Indian headdresses, gumboots, Hawaiian shirts, dreadlocks ~ sometimes all at the same time.  Like many I wore a previous year's festival t-shirt (2015) proving my authenticity.  Nothing spells strap-on quite as much as this year's model ~ it's so next year.  Sarcasm and irony are difficult to achieve during a week's holiday in Byron Bay.  Chill out pal!

Blanch's 4.30 bus service is a multilingual maelstrom of scarves, bobble shorts and fluro wristbands signifying your length of commitment.  I'm perched on a seat hovering under a hairy armpit attempting to avoid a lethel leather backpack.  The requisite cluster of tanned European babes occupy the adjacent seats.  No way!, He's not stopping to pick up more passengers, it's chockers as it is.  I really needed that roadie.


Patti Smith performing an acoustic set at Crossroads looms large, as does the crowd.  It's not normally this packed on Friday.  Just after 5.15pm the crowd reacts as Patti walks on stage and proceeds to read the footnote to Ginsberg's Howl.  This will be interesting.  The bloke next to me says I hear she was great last night.  Hell yeah!.  Patti's idea of acoustic is apparently different to mine as it still involves bass and drums even if played with padded sticks and brushes.  An excerpt from her fabulous autobiography Just Kids is followed by the song Wing and then by Jesus' Sermon on the Mount ~ You kill me Patti.  She took no chances with Dylan's A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall this time, accompanied by a lyric sheet.  Unlike Bob's rendition in 2011, it was not the harbinger of a downpour.  Without a doubt, Bluesfest 2017 belongs to Patti Smith.

At Jambalaya, Roy Ayers and combo were funking it up with some intricate xylophone led jazz rhythms.  It was not my cup of tea but was appreciated by an enthusiastic audience.  James reckoned that was due to our immature musical development.   Having sampled Roy, we headed up to Delta for Devon Allman and some Southern rawk!   It was just as I expected ~ damn good!  A heartfelt version of No Woman, No Cry had the crowd totally involved and he very graciously awarded Bluesfest his favourite festival accolade.

Next, the California Honeydrops.  Man, that singer personified blue-eyed soul.  An accomplished musician (guitar, trumpet), he had the patter delivered over a solid rhythm section.  A totally crowd-pleasing set that included a Dixiland component accompanied by washboard.  We will see them again as they are appearing every day of the festival.

What's that sound?.  It's my stomach growling, I need tucker.  Man cannot survive on beer and bourbon alone.  In anticipation of fulfilling Kim's order for some Kick-Ass Indian, James and I joined a long slow moving line.  Nope, I can't wait said James.  I might miss out on some great music.  Unlike most of the food offered Kick-Ass was anything but with a sole butter chicken dish and samosas on offer.  Still it filled the gap.

Post-repast we went to Crossroads to see Bonnie Raitt's sole performance.  She was terrific and introduced her guest Joan Osbourne for a great duet.  Those ladies can sing!  Keyboard player Mike Finnigan led a Hammond-drenched BB King cover spiced by Bonnie's tasteful Stratocaster lead lines.  Prior to her encore she acknowledged the death of Chuck Berry and sang a Fabulous Thunderbirds cover in homage.  Just terrific.

Knowing you need to pace yourself if you want to last five days, we passed on The Lumineers and Mountain Goats and headed for the south exit.  As if by magic, we were drawn into Jambalaya where perennial favourites Playing for Change were performing.  If they are perennial favourites, why haven't I ever seen them before?.  I must be nuts.  According to the Bluesfest app Playing For Change are more than a band, they are a movement.  If you're not dancing and grinning like a loon ...., well get your ears checked.  As Keef says Playing For Change, that's the way music was meant to be.  

Thanks Keef.

Jesus Died for Somebody's Sins

On holiday it's the little things you appreciate.  Promite instead of vegemite, organic milk, The Byron Echo's activist reporting.  Today is gradually building up to full speed accompanied by bird sounds alien to this little black duck.  My aching feet have begun to recover from Holy Thursday's Bluesfest pounding.

Visions of Patti gradually unravelling her grey plaits midway through the B side of Horses ("where you turn the record over and place the needle in the starting groove") and her listing of lost friends and lovers during Elegy, remain vivid.  What a show.  Despite having performed her 1975 classic album a million times, Patti and band including original members Lenny Kaye and Jay Dee Daugherty made the adoring crowd feel they were experiencing something special.  I thought her performance tonight surpassed my previous encounter with her five years earlier at the Opera House.  Maybe she is mellowing with age.

 My Thursday night commenced as it has in earlier Bluesfests, taking a leisurely wander along the festival midway checking out earlier offerings.  At the small Juke Joint tent Joan Osborne, accompanied by guitarist and keyboard, treated us to a master class in song interpretation with a fabulous version of Dylan's Leopard Skin Pillbox Hat.  Despite having been nominated many times for R'n'B and Blues Grammys, Joan was no diva and treated the small but growing crowd to a fine show.  After a particularly emotional performance of her own XXXXX, she apologised to us for America's election of Donald Trump.  We understood when she said it would be cowardice to run away.  I will be seeing Joan again this weekend.

At the adjacent Delta stage Nikki Hill was tearing the place up! I had not selected her in my personal planner application which proves the old adage You will regularly be surprised by the breadth and quality of acts at 'fest.  I had mistakenly thought Nikki was from the school of modern R'n'B where 'tude was as much an ingredient as content.  Boy, how wrong could I be.  To quote the Planner This blues shouter and growler is a southern bona-fide rock'n'roller strongly influenced by Little Richard.
 ... a spitfire with the soul-drenched voice of Etta James and the attitude of the Cramps' Poison Ivy.  She and her hot band rocked!

All these new-fangled technical toys are a wonder to behold, but for a practising Luddite nothing beats the trusty printed schedule.  By Monday the holiday house will be strewn with dog-eared seamed copies covered in illegible markings identifying housemates' devotion to obscure artists and tastes.  A couple of pristine copies will have found their way into my luggage for archiving and future perusal  Ah!, Remember how good Steve Miller was back in 2013.

Despite a stellar lineup at Jambalaya (St Paul, Trombone Shorty, Mavis Staples et al), Mojo was our principal stage of choice.  Vintage Trouble, resplendent in snappy titfers and frock coats and fronted by Ty Taylor in an armoured silver snakeskin suit, were up first.  How did I miss them last year?  Their rhythm and blues style is right up my alley, and like Leon Bridges play a stew of authentic sixties soul music reminiscent of the days of juke joints and vinyl records.  Ty's acrobatic antics utilising the mic stand is a fun trademark.

Courtney Barnett had the unenviable job of being followed by Patti Smith, but she and her band just went for it.  From the no-frills CB3 taped on the bass drum to the in-your-face hairstyles, they punk-rocked Bluesfest.  The bemused look on the faces of the chair people was a joy as Courtney's trademark Aussie deadpan drawl was not what they expected.  Favourite songs like Avant Gardener and Depreston with their banal suburban lyrical content were starkly enclosed by the scratchy lead breaks, thumping rhythm section and feedback of her other songs.  Courtney's farewell to the fun festival was endearing.  She's a gem!

On The Road Again ~ Bluesfest 2017

Driving songs ~ You've gotta love 'em.  Going up the country, Let's go, On the road again had all made an appearance on the iPod before Kim had finished her second cuppa in bed.  Khan off to Curtin Cat Care by 8 am and I was itching to get going - Boy, that car's packed!

It's gratifying to see some Easter traditions linger.  Thanks NSW Minister of Transport for the roadworks.  Travelling the Hume and Pacific Highways is a joy at the best of times and the perfect location to appreciate Tradie Rage - gleaming 4 x 4 twin cab utes up your arse!  So good an experience, it should be shared.  Rego plates remain a constant source of amusement - a VW Golf labelled "GILOPY" and a Rav 4 that's JODEZE.

Having bypassed Wallacia we late-lunched at Ourimba Rest Area in a homage to past Aussie music fests where we were serenaded by Whip birds and Bellbirds in the surrounding bush "By channels of coolness the echoes are calling............The notes of the bellbirds are running and ringing.  The silver voiced bellbirds, the darling of daytime!" (Henry Kendall).

Getting off the Highway is the only way to appreciate off-highway Australia.  Sticking to the main trek north means you fail to acknowledge what a rich cultural treasure trove is the Port Stephens area.  The world renowned Stardust Circus is enticing customers at Old Anna Bay Oval with "International" clowns, trapeze artists and dancing ponies!  In addition, We are persistently admonished to "Rule the Sands" on a steed from Quad Bike King.

As the Trump hospitality empire is yet to be introduced to The Antipodes, we settled for the Nelson Towers Motel handily located near Port Nelson's culinary centre.  Our motel host regaled us with the latest words of wisdom from Alan Jones, and the post-hibernation plans for his beloved North Sydney Bears before we headed out for dinner.  Selecting the Greek operated Nigroni Italian restaurant we entered a rococo interior so authentic I expected Joe Pesci to burst in and shoot up one of the vast faux chandeliers.  First impressions however are not to be trusted as I relished a plate of slow-cooked lamb shoulder straight out of Shirley Valentine.  Replete with facilities (men dress to the left) and a fine American Graffiti flavoured playlist (Goodnight Sweetheart by The Overtones), we finished with short blacks and sambuccas before hitting the sack.  It's a tortuous trek to Coffs Harbour where we will meet up with son James.

James commented his cuppa smelt like Earl Grey but that was attributed to my shaving cream slathered face.  An offer of a breakfast mango bikkie from the mini-bar went unheeded.  Crowding 9am, James turned down the volume on Joni's "Woodstock" on the iPod "because people might still be sleeping" and then apologised because that wasn't very Rock'n'roll.  Watch out Byron Bay!
 
After driving from Port Stephens to Coffs Harbour, I thoughly enjoyed being a passenger to Byron.  James took responsibility for tunes beginning with "The Very Best of The Byrds".  My trusty rucksack of discs is on its last trip as our new car will not be CD-equipped.  Still, I survived the demise of the 8-track cartridge.

Crawling up the Pacific Highway en route to Byron Bay gives you the opportunity to observe the minutiae of construction ~ a fluro-clad worker carrying a matching orange shovel.  I wasn't close enough to see whether it was a Spear & Jackson No. 9 with the brass ferrules.  Vestiges of Cyclone Debbie became apparent soon after Grafton, as did more frequent sightings of kombi vans.  At Ulmarra, by the mighty Clarence River, a shop sold a selection of hand crocheted dream catchers.

Tasty egg'n'bacon rolls were savoured out back of the Ulmarra Hotel underneath the largest silk tree ever.  Inside, a bushy in an Akubra exclaimed "Hooly Dooley" when his mate answered his question "What's new?" with "It's all new, It just depends if you were there at the time!".  Now you don't hear that in the big smoke.

They say you can't halt progress.  The Commonwealth Bank building at Woodburn has been reborn as Allure Hair Styling.  A fence comprised of cut branches and surrounded by receding floodwaters has begun sprouting just before Broadwater.  The parish Catholic church is now a cafe called "Our Daily Bread".  Roll on big river.