Show Day, Brisbane
I have an epic sleep – 2AM through to midday with only one stop for defuelling. I potter about with some emails and head off out. I aim for Story Bridge but I have no ambition to see anything. I’m going to weave about randomly. I step into a record shop for a bit, buying two things – Roberta Flack and The Impressions. Second-hand record shops are weird. No matter how long in the tooth, you always feel judged by the expert music geeks behind the counter. It’s always one or two blokes in obscure band T-Shits and they’re always about 48 and haven’t seen daylight since 1986. You wonder – do they think I’m a wanker, a dilettante? Am I betraying naivety in my rack riffling? Will they secretly scorn my pathetic selection? Ha! The fool has bought the dodgy Canadian reissue!
I take a river stroll along the boardwalk vaguely thinking of eating but not fussed. It’s pretty hot. I walk through what seems like a mile of a single establishment called Felons. There are hundreds of tables around several huge bar sheds strung one after another along the Brisbane. It’s a craft beer cattle market. I spot an elevator scaling a sandy cliff that takes me away from the waterfront. I find myself in a salubrious residential neighbourhood that reminds me of San Francisco with its clapboard houses and wide hilly streets. Round and round I go seeking nothing but the killing of time. The sun beats down onto the crown of my head and a hot breeze shimmers through the hair on my forearms. There are the exotic aromas that come with proximity to the tropics.
I walk back to the hotel after the show in the warm night air. Not much happening on the streets, a few people under thin blankets in doorways. I have a ragged sleep dreaming of miracles which dematerialise on waking. I peer down from my sleek box at the old cricket ground. I sense the mounting heat on the other side of the glass. I do some old man exercises before repacking my bits. We swim smoothly through the airport to the gate, the emu cranes arrayed on the horizon beyond the tarmac and tree line. Clouds, blue and white like mountains, bank above a heat haze. We embark in a shuffling line – stow, sidle and sit. From waddling landlubbers to lords of the air.
After years of successfully refusing all invitations to concerts, my daughter thoughtfully reminisced about our long-ago vehicular soundtrack, and wrapped her memories with a couple of Del Amitri tickets for my wife and I. Damn! Why did she have to spoil the memories with a little current reality. Surely, everyone knows concerts are never as good as the records. Concerts are for band-fans, live venue collectors, and, the show-offs who won’t dance in the back corner but insist on putting their ass in the faces of the front row.
On concert night, looking down from “the mezz” onto the flat-packed Ikea-like audience, I see the first of the ass-wigglers heading down the aisle. A caricatured 65 year old man, still thinking he had the moves of someone far, far, far younger and fitter. Soon, he is followed by a ‘party-pair’; Two younger women who seem to think they’re at a John Farnham concert – outstretched hands longing for a touch from our kneeling vocalist. Thankfully, JC is not like JF and does not indulge in the ‘he touched me’ BS. I see hundreds of women, who were ready to rush for a me-too touch, disappointingly slump back in their seats. They’ll have to settle for listening to a wonderful DA tune.
But the die is cast. Slowly the shy-acting look-at-me’s’ head to the front to block the view of those who, just seconds ago, had an uninterrupted view. Pinky, the pink-bloused woman who once was thrilled to have a front row seat on the centre aisle is not amused. Her neat blonde pony tail wobbles as she vigorously defends her turf. She picks her marks carefully, pushing any man in her way (and verbally giving him grievous bodily harm of the earhole), but leaving the women, who are more likely to push back. Security gives her a stern word. My wife, who was a lead singer/keyboardist in a long-ago popular Brisbane band, is laughing AT Pinky and defending the intruders who are now bobbing up and down like lost tea-bags. I’m defending Pinky. Our difference of opinion, on feeling entitled to block others views, has the potential to spoil our night, so I quickly leave Pinky to fight her own battles.
The pleasing thing about the whole concert was that I was wrong. The songs *were* as good as the records. (As opposed to the Stones live – Mick is always the weak link.) My bottom line on shows or movies is simple – ‘Was I entertained?’ I don’t collect concert tickets, photos, or tshirts. I just want to be entertained. And I was.
So I thanked my daughter by telling her that I am very pleased that my last ever concert was seeing Del Amitri live, with tickets thoughtfully gifted by her.
After this side-track into a blog reply, I shall resume my search for ‘who were the musicians who played on JC’s solo albums?’
And, BTW, Justin if you read these blog replies, please re-master or re-record “Lighten Up The Load” then have it featured in a suitable movie soundtrack. I love this song but the recording, to me, sounds a tad muffled/fuzzy.
I desperately need to moan, whinge, vent. I currently suffer from a “profound deficit of meaning”. I had a ticket to the Brisbane show Tuesday night. I’ve waited 30 long years. My anticipation was palpable. I was 1600 km away on Tuesday night. The universe conspired in so many ways to prevent me being there.”All the shit that no one chooses”. I watched on via live streaming with a truly shattered heart and tears streaming down my face. You played my most favourite tunes. This was some “knockout”.
I volunteer in a second hand record store – I believe you have been known to darken our doors – and will cheerfully sell you Sydney Devine if that’s what floats your boat. I don’t quite understand the blokes (always blokes) who get exercised about the issue number etc. If you like the music, buy it and enjoy it. All are welcome in our shop when I’m on shift. Although I’m printing out your blog post to pin up in the shop and see if anyone recognises themselves…
My worst time in a record store: I had “street cred” with the guys behind the counter as I was always there to buy the newest R.E.M. and whatever alt or else that sounded good to me. “Here she comes again; it must be Friday. What’s she got now? Hey, how’d you hear about this album?” One humiliating day I had to buy a birthday gift for my sis. It was the only thing she asked me to get. I tried to hide it behind other fun stuff for me, but no…”Corey Hart?!?!?!” (I don’t hate Corey Hart, but I’d never have bought it.) They almost screamed it across the store. And they never let me live it down. I still cringe just thinking about it.
Thank you for coming to Brisbane. It was great to see and hear you all play. I saw you last in Southampton in 2002. It was too long.
You wait until you hit Melbourne’s muddy waters JC – San Fran with a hint of Bognor Regis. Can’t wait to see you guys – 25 years since I was last trekking from Buchanan bus station to my sleepy London hovel having “wonder womaned” my way to your gig from the nurses home. Tis an epic adventure to have you come visit finally.
Sat between an old Glaswegian and a couple who said your songs were the soundtrack of their life, we all met to savour our own memories of your lyrics. And your vocals on Empty were as sweet as ever they were. Thanks all for visiting our hot little town. Stay well Justin.
Thank you for returning to our shores and playing a fabulous show last night. It was one of the best performances I’ve seen for a while. Your music is so good for the soul.
PS That was my husband laughing when you introduced ‘Mockingbird, Copy Me Now’ – sorry!
Thank You for the amazing show! I wasn’t able to make it to your last show in Australia as I wasn’t born yet!😂
I absolutely freaked when you played your guitar during Stone Cold Sober RIGHT in front of me! It really made my night as it’s my favourite song!
And for the record, I didn’t get “dragged to the show by my mom”, as so many people thought- I was the one that dragged her! ❤️
At the risk of being tedious, thanks for the Brisbane gig. We decades-old Del Amitri fans can be tragics, I know, but our opportunities to catch you guys are far and few between these days. Last night was special. Strangers in the audience became friends, united in your expert song writing and the band’s energy. I know it’s a big call but we’ll be waiting, just in case.
Beautifully said Sean 💞 I’ll be waiting too 💞