Lazy Lester sang in a compelling, rough-hewn voice and played harmonica, guitar and various percussion devices. Not blues from the delta, not the electric blues of the big cities but blues with a looser feel.
For the first time in years, after hearing a song for the first time I had to listen to it again, and again, and yet again.
The song reached in hard and touched me. That night I have a fan moment and purchase three of Corin's CDs during the interval.
The crooning chant you hear in the background pings and pangs as you slump on the floor, hands in your head.
You can tell by the catch in Neil Finn's voice that it was a tough gig to play and sing this song for his former band mate.
Mary Gauthier entered my little world and reinforced the notion that songwriting is a great art form as worthy of any other. To me, she was, until then, an unknown master of songwriting.
Save for the weeds, not much grows in our front yard. The soil is rubbish, almost literally. “What’s the plan?” my neighbour says cheerily, as I'm weeding.
We saw miles and miles of flat plains of farmland from horizon to horizon. A big blue sky above the endless cotton fields, cattle ranches and oil wells pumping up that black gold –Texas tea. We discovered where the saying ‘As big as Texas’ came from that day.
Can’t think of a song all festival that blew me away like Old White Men did. When I caught it at the tail end of Vance Gilbert's set I welled up like everyone else.
I'm up on top of the house looking at a hole in the roof. A storm is coming. I’m thinking rain, I’m thinking possums, I’m thinking Handyman, wherefore art thou?