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!