CURRARONG CHRISTMAS 

Festival 2017 began with the surreptitious secretion of Kim's Christmas present amongst my discarded winter wear, a safe resort in 30+° weather.  Unlike buying, I view wrapping gifts as pleasurable, as I do another secret holiday vice ~ the "chore" of washing up the breakfast utensils while gazing at the waves breaking over the reef at Currarong. 

Provisioning for the family blowout takes time, planning and purchasing, another first world problem.  Nothing too tasking however for our "A" teaming of Capricorn and Taurean.  Ably advised by professional gourmand Alicia, the car was a moving fragrant cornucopia. 

Departing our cul de sac for the traditional Aussie summer road trip, we passed by a pair of schoolboys listlessly wandering the 'burb poking stuff with sticks.  What jolly japes and wanton weezes have they planned for the hols? 

Drivers with death wishes diced en route to their immediate holiday destinations as male cicadas fizz-filled the bush with their monotonal chirping on scrubby soldier settler farms exotically named Khandahar and Serengeti.  Ocean Blue, our yuletide abode abutting Cormorant Cove aka Pelican Point, finalised our three hour jaunt.  Circa PM Bob Menzies, ancient concrete sealed the sand supporting the multi-coated asbestos exterior. 

Next morning, following a preliminary session of festive cheer, Alicia and Alex prolonged breakfast with endless pots of tea over the chess board and a soundtrack of Kinks, Kingtide, Vile and Neil.  Post-afternoon surf, we repaired to the Sunset Lounge for a refreshing round of Apperol spritz, G&T's and "Greetings from LA". 






Scoring the best possie in Currarong means sharing the view with all and sundry on the JFK memorial bench.  Being such a popular resting spot, the grassy knoll has sunk into a mild depression. Tradies with Bundies, pale Finnish family groups, sun-blasted pensioners, and every man and his dog sat paying homage to the view.



Casting aside John Le Carre's machinations momentarily, I indulged in the must have decorative accessories tantalisingly displayed in the April 2014 edition of House & Garden.  Slimline high definition television from Dick Smith anyone?  Now, where is that collection of Reader's Digest omnibus kept?

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.

   

Musical Monday at Mojo

It's the last day of Bluesfest.  How did that happen?  It seems only yesterday we were hopping aboard our first bus ride to Tyagarah Tea Tree Farm for opening night with Kendrick Lamar and the hip-hop crew.  It was suddenly Easter Monday and the end was only eight hours away.  But what an eight hours.

First up ~ a solo Taj Mahal!  Any festival that includes Taj is way ahead immediately.  Bluesfest labels itself Australia's Premier Blues & Roots Music Festival and if anyone is both Blues and Roots, it is Taj Mahal.  To quote the Byron Shire Echo he was "famous for nearly singlehandedly reshaping the definition and scope of the blues, via the infusion of exotic sounds from the Caribbean, Africa and South Pacific" and had been performing for over 50 years!  As to his performance, you couldn't help but be mesmerised by his presence as he sang and growled his way through "Fishing Blues" and Sonny Boy Williamson's "Checking Up On My Baby".  A quick tuning and a tip of his cowboy hat and off into another great story.  As James remarked, his current fave Mac DeMarco has obviously been heavily influenced by Taj.  Imitation is the greatest form of flattery and it appears his influence resonates to this day.

OMG!  The infatuation is now full-blown.  Alabama sextet St Paul and The Broken Bones are on their first visit to Australia capturing the soul of Otis Redding, and have captured us.  Presenting a set of blue-eyed soul, their live shows during Bluesfest have been incredible.  Friday, Saturday and now Monday, the buzz has been "Have You seen St Paul and The Broken Bones?."  Great songs from their debut album Half The City interspersed by some incredible covers including Sam Cooke's "Shake" and Otis' "I've Been Lovin' You (Too Long)".

What a band ~ a fantastic horn section supporting the rhythm section led by the unlikely but charismatic Paul Janeway, who has been described as everything from an IT geek with Otis voice to a plump accountant with a shoe fetish.  Today's performance went beyond the earlier shows where Paul gyrated, throwing his suit jacket and shoes over, at and into his drummer.  Half way through the evening show, he gingerly eased himself down off the stage all the while yelling for more and more microphone lead.  Surely he's not going to get down into that!  Without missing a beat or any reduction in power and passion, his progress through the adoring crowd was lit by a posse of phones, his bejewelled shoes sinking into the stinking black morass of Jambalaya.  Fantastic!  Upon completion, he re-emerged onto the stage his cheeks and fingers smeared with gunk.  This is a man of the people, unafraid of getting down and dirty!

"We need another beer", said James.  "I'll be back soon".  Bad move.  St Paul's cover of the Beatles "She's so Heavy" had finished by the time James returned.  I hadn't seen James so downcast since Saturday night when we heard The Raiders had blown the home game against The Titans.  "I love their version of that song."  Please come back St Paul.

Clutching my beer and catching my breath, I left James and headed down the midway to the Juke Joint where Scotland's Shooglenifty were making their final appearance.  What the...?  Have I fallen down a Hobbit hole and emerged at Canberra's National Folk Festival?; for a rag-tag bunch of performers were playing a heady stew of music that had the good size crowd reeling.  Described in the free Official Program as originators of "Acid Croft", a fiery and infectious blend of celtic traditional music and dance grooves, their potent brand of fun was hitting the spot.  It would appear my solitary immobile stance (not counting toe tapping) was just not on, for a rather attractive 30 something slid her arm about me and implored me to dance.  Yes, Mam!  Who doesn't love Bluesfest .

The long and winding road

The Pacific Highway.  Where to start this Odyssey?  In our case, at the Ewingsdale junction ~ the scene of many bus trips to Bluesfest this past week.

Relax, enjoy the journey, look at the lush vegetation.  You've got all afternoon and Port Macquarie is not too far down the coast.  Half an hour into the trip we encounter our first patch of roadwork near Wardell.  80 Ahead......  60.......  40.......  Where are the roadworks?.  Well, there's a bloke in a fluro vest over there draining the sump of a council truck.  60......  80.......  End of roadwork.  "Look there,  there's dual-lanes up ahead."  "The 80kph limit should finish soon."  Nope!  For the next 30 minutes we drove at 80kph on a modern NSW dual lane highway until the next bit of road-work just past Woodburn.  Slow down, Roadworks ~ Speed Limits Will Be Enforced.  60........ 40.........

It appears the NSW Minister for Transport got a load of speed signs for Christmas and boy! Was he going to share that gift with us.  Frequent signs notified drivers that Speed-T-Cams were Managing Speed and Fatigue.  Now that's just overkill!.  Minister Duncan Gay's festive gift has responsible road use under control.  80.......  60.......  40.........

"I'm getting hungry and tired, let's stop at Grafton, maybe pubs are still serving a late lunch."  It's remarkable how memories of difficult traffic conditions come flooding back once confronted by them.  "Shit!, There's that terrible roundabout in South Grafton that we sat at 2 years ago".  A quick U-turn and we were back at the T-Junction with the Pacific Highway we had gingerly coped with a minute before.  Vehicles came and went from left and right.  Minutes passed.  Finally a gap appeared ~ Coff's Harbour, here we come.

"Urunga welcomes careful drivers."  Turn right for the town centre.  The Pacific Highway was chokers through Coff's and not even the offer of "Authentic Tapas" at initially the Toreador, and then at the Matador motels could entice us from the highway of destiny.  What's another 30 kilometres at this stage.  Urunga was an oasis with the town centre accessed by a secondary road that lead under a bridge, up a hill and around the bend.  We parked the car in a fifteen minute limit space and walked towards the enticing sign "Fish and Chips".  Closed.  The cafe next door was in a similar state of preparedness, and I was only cheered by a fluro clad tradie wrapping his laughing gear around a juicy burger.  We walked along the street towards a posse of school kids bunched about a shop entrance.  Inside an old farmer in moleskins and an Akubra was ordering a coffee.  "....and could you put a piece of chocolate in it like last time please Doris."  "Sure love, I know what you like."  "What's that? You know I don't hear too well anymore."  " One coffee with chocolate coming up".  Doris yelled.  "Righto, thanks.  I'll be outside."

"What will you folks have then?".  "One snapper and chips, and one flathead and chips please."  "Oh, and I will have a Solo and Kim will have a Schweppes lemon, lime and bitters thanks."  "I'll just go and get the car and bring it up here, I don't want to get booked."  Was that a faint chuckle from Doris?
"Have you travelled far yet?"  "Yes, We have just been to the Byron Bay Bluesfest and are headed for Port."  "Oh well, that's not too far now.  I heard you had a bit of rain."  "Yes, lucky I took my gumboots, my son found them very useful."  Chuckle.  Following Doris' directions towards the facilities and lakeside park, we hopped in the car and did a U-ie.  If Urunga needs a new mayor, I know just the person.

Parked opposite the beautifully presented Ocean View Hotel est 1927, we took our food down to a shaded picnic table located next to the camping ground.  Top shelf tents replete with banks of solar panels were parked just near sparkling 4 wheel drives sporting fishing rods.  Another bunch of kids nearby were doing their best to scare away any fish they were attempting to catch.  An increasing flock of Ibis were greedily circling our table.  Yum!  I'll bet Doris comes from a long line of fish and chip shop operators.  My flathead was delicious!.

Special Saturday

"Who's coming with me."  "Nah, We're going later."  "OK, I'll see you in there."  Clutching my roadie, I headed off to the bus so I could catch The Decemberists at Mojo.

Storm clouds had been building along with the humidity and I could feel perspiration dripping down my back.  Oregon's favourite indie folk rock band were back headed by leader Colin Meloy.  While The Decemberists figurehead mightn't exactly fit the rockstar mould, the band's popularity is hard to ignore.  So it shouldn't have been a surprise to me when the four nut cases in front of me went nuts!  Their album "The Hazards of Love" a tale of pregnancy, murder and shape shifting has occasionally accompanied a late night port by the fire, however, I wouldn't have thought it would go down so well in festive Byron.

Every Bluesfest an artist emerges that just blows you away, and at the 2016 Bluesfest that is St Paul and The Broken Bones.  Today's description, care of a tie-dyed baby boomer, was an accountant with a shoe fetish.  Around about the second song of the set that said sequinned shoe soared over the drummers' head and was soon followed by his suit jacket.  Capturing the spirit of Otis Redding they represent the new generation of blue-eyed soul.  Singer Paul Janeway channels Otis's voice and James Brown's stage presence but remains completely individual.  More please!!

Surprisingly, Saturday night wasn't the most attractive of Bluesfest's five nights, with a number of repeat performances at Mojo by D'Angelo and the hip hop crowd.  At Crossroads, The Mick Fleetwood Blues Band were playing the same earlier set we had enjoyed on Friday replete with Mick's entertaining history lesson on the British Blues bands I had grown up with.  Things were going on swimmingly when crash, bang, wallop!, down came the rain.  As photographed earlier by my cousin SueEllen who resides near Lismore, the inky black clouds dumped 50ml on Tyagarah in a very short time.  Those thousands of gumboots will finally get an outing.

The previously dry and dusty grass in the 5 Seeds bar was engulfed by a tsunami causing the crowd to clump together on the bar's duckboards.  When the rain stopped, we gingerly made our way out through the sodden Bluesfest crowd in search of surer footing.  "Hey, let's go down to the Juke Joint."  "I want to check out the Residents."  "Who?" quizzed Kim and James.  "You know, that legendary avant-garde performance group who have kept their identity secret for over 40 years by hiding their true identities behind masks including giant eyeball heads, and are currently answering to Randy, Chuck and Bob."  "Oh, that Residents" they responded.  We lasted one minute.

Steve Earle and the Dukes were on again at Jambalaya, as we farewelled Alicia on her quest for the hip hop/modern jazz/urban R'n'B Nivana that was Mojo.

Good Friday Grooves

It was like calcium carbonate and ambrosia comparing last night's offering of "Contemporary#" artists to tonight's value-packed program. Sure, there were artists and bands who could be lumped in with the Kendricks and  D'Angelos of last night, but Good Friday's program had much wider appeal.
# Bluesfest's description.

James and I arrived just as Graham Nash made his entrance at Crossroads with former Springsteen sideman Shane Fontayne.  Steamy conditions more suited to swamp fox Tony Joe White warmed the audience as Graham opened with "a song from last century" ~ Bus Stop!  "I didn't know he was in The Hollies" exclaimed James, furthering his education.  It would be one of those days that made you love Bluesfest all the more.

Three songs from his new album "This Path Tonight" nestle in between Nash's earlier compositions including "Marrakesh Express", "Cathedral" and "Immigration Man".  The background to the latter was amusing: CSNY were passing through UK Customs and an officious bureaucrat passed Stills, Young and even The Cros through before preventing Graham from entering his homeland.  "What the....?".  More celebrity tales ensued with the story of how He and Joni were shopping and she saw a vase in a shop window that would be perfect for the flowers they bought that day.  "Our House" was followed by "Chicago" and "Teach Your Children".  A memorable performance with more than one grown man later admitting he had tears in his eyes.

Jeff Tweedy (Wilco) was next up on Crossroads and kicked off with some serious sonic disturbance powered by his band including son Spencer on drums.  His long ranging set included a solo acoustic portion that provided background to the family reuniting just outside a drinks tent with fellow Canberran Mark O'Brien, who, like daughter Alicia, was enjoying his first 'fest.  Next up, St Paul and The Broken Bones.  Who?....

Only the STARS of Bluesfest 2016!.  James takes up the story:

"Mmm gurl. St Paul. What a voice!."  He reminded me of an American Idol contestant.  You know, the type of contestant who on first viewing isn't exactly appealing to the eyes.  But man oh man, once they start singing, they're suddenly the best-looking person in the room.  Think your stout IT geek, mixed with the voice of Otis Redding and you get St Paul.  Close your eyes and you would have thought it was the great Otis himself.  Let's not forget about St Paul's fabulous backing band, with the brass section particularly on point.  A great melting pot of Soul and RnB originals straight out of Birmingham Alabama, mixed with a couple of fantastic covers ~ "Shake" by Sam Cooke and "She's So Heavy!" by the Beatles.  St Paul and the Broken Bones were definitely my Friday night highlight.
Thanks James!

The National in Mojo were delivering, but a 30 metre deep mosh pit is simply not my scene.  Rather, the next destination must be back at Crossroads to see the Mick Fleetwood Blues Band.

For some, Bluesfest is getting in early, picking a seat, storing your luggage/food/drinks/blanket/crystals etc and getting nice and comfy so you can stare at a screen just like in the cinema.  Getting down up front with the singing, dancing and sweating hoi poli is not their thing.  We, however, like to move about checking out the stages at the dark end of the street.  Tex Perkins (and his Ape) were doing their thang at Delta, sending a frisson of uncertainty down the spines of the uninitiated.  "How you doin'?", Tex enquired.  "Boy!  This is some Bluesfest ~ something here for everyone."  Pause.  "The Residents?...... Really??........ Wow! Who booked them???.  He must be a shill for the legendary experimental avant-garde currently answering to Randy, Chuck and Bob.  Tick, another notch on my schedule!

Across to the tiny Juke Joint for Chain and their Robert Johnson fixation before dropping into Jambalaya where The Wailers were performing their album "Uprising".  Fantastic, just as good as last night, and probably just as great tomorrow.  The bus line was getting rowdy as we wearily joined the queue for the trip back home. Au revoir.

Hip-Hop Holy Thursday

Thursday night loomed large at Bluesfest as premier stage Mojo was turned over to the contemporary sounds of urban RnB, a move to attract the younger aficionados and fans of Grammy winner Kendrick Lamar, D'Angelo, Kamais Washington and our own Hiatus Kayote.  To emphasise the significance of the occasion, daughter Alicia likened tonight to my seeing The Beatles.  Hmmm...
As subsequently reported to my friend Barry McGloin, a fellow Bluesfest tragic, that tonight Mojo was not quite my cup of tea with melody replaced by 'tude and way too much motherf.......

Like a country rube wandering the State Fair goggle-eyed, I dipped in and out of various stalls and stages window-shopping their contents.  Juke Joint featured stalwarts Chain, Eugene 'Hideaway' Bridges and gem of a blues pianist Lucky Peterson.  He was entertaining  a small crowd hardly commensurate with his talent, the usual Thursday night crowd vacuumed up by Mojo's headliners.  Nearby big brother venue Crossroads was partially filled as the Cold War Kids presented their indie pop, followed by the classy, if slightly indulgent Tedeschi Trucks Band.  I caught a little of Mali blues band Songhoy Blues with their unique take on the blues, and up and coming Rhiannon Giddings who is garnering exceptionally good revues.  I would have stayed, however my appetite was insisting I search for forgotten sustenance from the always inviting Crossroads food hall.

Past festivals have convinced me Jambalaya is just about my favourite stage, and tonight was no exception where The Wailers were playing album "Exodus" in its entirety, the first of three successive performances that would include "Uprising" tomorrow night and "Survival" on Saturday.  As I entered the tent "Jammin'", a crowd pleaser if there ever was one kicked in and I was soon getting down along with the crowd.  Original Wailer Aston 'Family Man' Barrett, topped with an ancient dreadlock crown, laid down a seriously pure chunky reggae groove for the new lineup led by singer Dwayne Anglin who channeled Bob Marley.  So great, we will return.

On The Road Again to Bluesfest

Like a two bob watch or a politicians' promise, Bluesfest and it's gym buddy Easter has again arrived irregularly.  Five days of fun, feasting and music await.

Our trek north from the nations'capital has proved yet again that the journey is as vital and enjoyable as Bluesfest itself.  We committed early in our planning to drive the 1000 plus kilometres instead of flying, but chose an internal route rather than that stressful beast ~ the Pacific Highway.  Departing Canberra late morning, we travelled to Cowra where we lunched on sambos washed down with a cuppa ~ "Where's the fruit cake?".  On to school-exiting Bathurst and our destination Mudgee.  As more road works temporarily blocked our way, we turned right into historic Sofala, Australia's oldest surviving gold-rush town.  "Great, there's a pub, I'm parched", any excuse will do.  "A glass of your finest Chardonnay and a schooner of Toohey's Old, Thanks."

Ben, mine host at the Gungegong Valley Motel, suggested I top up with cheap fuel as Easter was approaching and it's boon companion price-gouging was awakening.  Seeking sage culinary advice I approached old school friend Paul Marshall, an expert on Mudgee's hospitality.  "Whatever you do, don't drink and drive ~ the cops are deadly".  Despite Paul's faint disapproval, we walked into central Mudgee and dined at The Court House Hotel opposite the cop shop.  My never-ending search for a pepper sauce that rivals Kim's remains, however it wasn't bad with the rare inclusion of green peppercorns gracing the gravy boat of sauce.  We complimented our hostess Amanda on the meal and the robust local Shiraz she suggested and found that she and Kim shared North Shore roots having both grown up in Pymble.

A leisurely jaunt back to our motel was enlivened by the undulating streetscape and the various architectural stylings.  Good vibes and good night!.

Train trip to York

Our 9.24am train trip to York from Edinburgh was taken in the company of a host of Newcastle United fans lagering up for the big home match with Leicester later that day.  Fortunately they were in the next but one carriage, and closer to the buffet than us, should their store run dry.  Six ample ladies ensconced nearby were Eating for Britain ~ Well, it had been two hours since they last had tasted breakfast tatties and pudding.

The silver-liveried Eastcoast train terminating at Kings Cross flew by fields and stone walls at 90mph leaving M1 traffic in its' wake.  Sorry about the mixed transport terminology.  White sheep, black sheep, white sheep with black faces, brown sheep with white faces, you get the idea..., grazed on rolling and tumbling Herriot hills reminiscent of every BBC rural series you have seen.  As we slowed to navigate a rural Yorkshire siding a faded green sign suggested Hadrian's Wall was nearby.

The five nice English ladies in the adjacent seats, having exhausted their conversation, picked up their reading material.  "Well!, Who would have thought that?.  According to Best magazine, "Dawn French has a new lover!.  Pass the crisps will you Jane?."  Outside a crop of peas pumped nitrogen back into the soil, and fly fishermen in green waders cast their lines upon swiftly running shallows beneath a miniature harbour bridge.

Approaching Newcastle, fields gave way to business parks, hire centres and wasteland pile with refuse.  "Aye, thar's brass in muck!"  Vacant pigeon coops and Geordie graffiti assumed prominence as we rolled into Newcastle's outer burbs.  A host of bridges jammed with traffic crossed the Tyne just before the station.

"Controversial, Compelling, Confronting!" threatened the sign promoting football legend Roy Keanes's biography.  The same could be said for the departing soccer hooligans who yahoo-ed and kicked a Tennent's can along the platform, narrowing missing a porter pushing a trolley laden with fresh supplies of Corkers Crisps and Yorkie Bars.

Edinburgh

Edinburgh

Mission accomplished!.  We have returned the hire car despite the GPS giving up the task just around the corner from the depot. Meeting a hire car deadline in an unfamiliar city is one of life's more uncomfortable crisis.  Thankfully our hotel had advised us to look for the multi-storey carpark just past Waverley Station.

Our trip from Pitlochry was memorable following our determination to take any road but the A9.  The minor road leading us over the high passes of Perthshire took us by breathtaking scenery and past a laird's pheasant shoot at Grandtully complete with beaters.  Penny asked for a photo to be taken of her at the Crieff town sign because she knows Crieff is significant to her family.  She just doesn't know why.  As is traditional, we stopped for more coffee and cake at the Waterford Crystal shop where we feared the car would be swallowed by deep, still potholes.

We visited Stirling Castle on one of the few inclement days we have experienced.  It was cold, windy and magnificent up on the summit overlooking Stirling and the battlegrounds that determined Scotland's history.  After a slight detour, that included another potholed suburban wasteland, we exited the city for Edinburgh.  Our side trip to Dunfermline was disappointing as we were unable to locate the street in which Penny's grandparents had lived prior to emigrating to Australia.

The hire car behind us, we bypassed Edinburgh's thousand steps to The Royal Mile and ducked into the second pub, The Malt Shovel on Cockburn Street, for a refresher or two.  A street blackboard promoting another Edinburgh pub crawl had the following request: "Dear Americans, While in Edinburgh, please refrain from saying Sp**k or Fanny and try not to pronounce Cockburn Street."  Our barmaid Elspeth has informed me that citizens of Edinburgh are called Edinburgers.  She also said she used to work at Mooseheads!.

No trip to Scotland is complete without plenty of haggis, neeps and tatties (haggis, mashed turnips and potatoes).  After all, you need a solid foundation if you are intent on sampling every single malt known to man.  Above our table a sign read "There are 2 things a Highlander likes naked, and one is malt whiskey!."  I have found however, that the odd whiskey may require dilution eg Oban, with it's hint of the sea requires a rock or two.  Dalwhinney, on the other hand is "roon" if it should come into contact with H2O.

It might appear to be a cliche but no one with Scots roots can fail to be moved by the skirl of bagpipes.  Yes, it's the equivalent of street magicians, and they're there to make money from passersby, but the sight and sound of a piper in full clan kit complete with dirk got my burn water running.  Young Angus in a blue McEwan kilt stood in a prominent spot on Edinburgh's Royal Mile and blew up a storm.  His only competition for the tourist penny was from the most blatant beggar we have encountered who sat directly next to the Bank of Scotland ATM!

As arranged, Kim and Penny were sitting outside Briddie Maloney's at a corner on Grassmarket enjoying a refresher and a performance from a talented busker.  Despite amplification, his voice was soon inaudible due to the Irish girls who had come to Edinburgh for a raucous hen's night.  The bride, who wore a blow up horse, ran round and round the bar accompanied by her girlfriends who sported blinking jockey caps. Their escapades were encouraged by the boys in the bar and ignored by the bouncer who had seen far worse.  Time would tell.

Highland Perthshire

It is said that "A man's home is his castle."  In Scotland a man's home sometimes is a castle, and for those without a hereditary pile or title, the next best thing is to build a home resembling a castle.  Castles lined the road out of Pitlochry as we passed by the Linn of Tummel Trail at the bridge over the River Garry.

Having heard big wraps about The Queen's View, we stopped en-route to wherever we were headed, and parked at the spot where Queen Victoria once took tea in 1866.  Being The Queen, Victoria assumed the scenic spot was named for her.  Pity help the poor underling who may have had the temerity to suggest the title was named after a previous queen, Isabella the first wife of Robert the Bruce.  The walls of the tea room were inscribed with other historical facts and numerous musings, with one being a silhouette of QV entering the WC facilities and labelled "One might want to go."  Outside another silhouette pictured QV posting a letter under the protection of an umbrella held by good and faithful servant John Brown.

Massive lichen covered trees, that rarely felt the sun's rays, grew up out of the steep slopes next to our road to Tummel Bridge which presented another of those interminable Highland photo opportunities. We drove along the roller coaster B847 past fat sheep and more faux stone castles complete with twiddly bits on gables, until passing under a massive stone bridge and autumnal canopy of larch and oak at Struan.  We now know where many of the names of Australian towns originated.

We bypassed The House of Bruan  with its' high priced fashion statements and tour buses and lunched nearby at The Atholl Arms at Blair Atholl.  Seated near the raging fire, I enjoyed a lentil and vegetable soup that now ranks in my top ten potages.  Hearty, and full of flavour and flatulance.  We have only once broken the unbroken rule ~ "Never drink at the first pub you see" ~ once!  To our detriment, the pub lunch yesterday at McKenzies Hotel was not up to the Scottish standard we have come to expect.  Still it was cheap and the walls around the faded pool table featured album covers by Scots hit makers.

As you travel rounds Scotland , the difference between the Shires is striking.  The denuded mountain tops and cliff-lined lochs of the West Highlands, the stark bare mountains of the Isles and The Cairngormes, and the autumnal splendour of Perthshire.  Another continuing feature of Northern Perthshire are the dead pheasants littering the roads.  Bloody pheasants!  Still, if we can't find a pub we could survive on road kill.

The Jacobite Train to Mallaig and Back

"My ticket says Carriage G, Seats 11 and 12 B and F."  B and F?  Backwards and Forwards of course!.  Despite a small problem of double booking, the Jacobite Train departed on schedule at 10.15am from Fort William.

At Banavie we passed over Neptune's Staircase where a boat was perched in a lock high above the rail line awaiting passage to Loch Locky.  "Here comes the refreshment trolley."  "Where's the Witches' hat, butter beer and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans?."  We have to make do with Snickers and coffee delivered by Neil in a t-shirt labelled "Roll n Stock Buffet."  By carriage G, the catering thermos had almost emptied, and as Neil lifted the container and dribbled the remaining tea, he told a story.  Two linguistic professors, one Spanish and one Gaelic, were having a discussion.  "Is there a Gaelic word equivalent to Mañana?."  "Och nae! We don't have a word to discuss such haste."

Passing grand views of coastal scenes, we arrived at Mallaig for our 90 minute stopover.  Exiting the station we noticed a number of passengers were wearing Hogwarts' costumes and accessories, in some cases whole families had assumed the characters of Griffindor pupils and staff, complete with wands!.  There's not a lot to be said for Mallaig, and they must be dreading the end of the train season.  The sea ferry to The Isle of Skye doesn't draw tourists like The Jacobite service.  Once we had lunched and visited the wharf we headed back to occupy our seats.  A trip to the second hand book revealed whole shelves of JK Rowling's ouvre on sale.

Our worst fears have been confirmed.  The horrible English woman and her pliant husband "Tony?, Tony?!, Tony!!!", have been placed nearer to us than on the outward journey.  If we had Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans we could put them in our ears.  Perhaps that's how they developed the earwax flavour?.  Carriage G has been promoted and we are now coupled to the steaming black engine "The Lancashire Fusiliar".  "Chuff, Chuff!."  Being this close to the funnel means our carriage doesn't fill with smoke unlike the outward journey.  Train spotting tragics with zoom lenses continue to take snapshots from roadways and rocky outcrops.

Oops, we spoke too soon ~ as we entered a low tunnel coal dust and smoke filled our carriage.  The Japanese tourist in the adjacent seat fixed his camera setting to smog and pulled up his face mask.  "Tony, this clue in Friday's Telegraph is wrong."  "There aren't enough spaces for my answer!."

Ben Nevis loomed up ahead as we approached Fort Wiliam.  As we disembarked, the engine driver and stoker waved and grinned through grimy faces as they steamed past.