Luke Davies benefit gig – booked out.
The Luke Davies benefit gig on Sunday 7 October in Wangaratta is booked out.
The Luke Davies benefit gig on Sunday 7 October in Wangaratta is booked out.
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.
I felt I had discovered the greatest song of all time, and for a little while it felt like a glorious secret that only I knew about.
With the murmurings of chatter from other tables around us, our own conversation flowed smoothly, a stream without pebbles to impede the course.
This song goes off like a nail bomb. It carries, not an earworm, but an ear leech, that latches on and will not be silenced.
If you can mark your steps in the grooves of your favourite records – and we can, of course – then there will always be those songs that guide you in your leaps of faith until you land, safe and sure footed, on the other side.
Slowly, I begin to understand. He thinks Australia is an army camp in South Vietnam. He thinks that’s where I’m from. And that’s when he starts screaming. And by screaming, I mean, screaming – in-fear-of-his-life screaming.
One singer is 77 years old. Greying curly hair. One singer is in his early 20s. Flowing ginger locks. Both are sitting at a keyboard, backed by a four piece band.
This love felt frightening. This love felt dangerous, even. And gambling everything for it – including my own life – felt reckless. But still.
We hit the road. I press play on the album Baby Caught The Bus by Clairy Browne and the Bangin' Rackettes. I lose count of how many times I replay Love Letter.