Mike Rudd's mobile Stop Press

Mike Rudd's
Stop Press
Oct. issue #207

live gigs

Mike & George play the Gilmore Street Sessions at Smiths Beach on Phillip Island 30.10.22

Doc White evaporates the rain with some red hot blues..

Mike & George prevail, despite eating a bit too well..
2.11.22 - It’s quite a drive to Smiths Beach on Phillip Island from both Mt Evelyn and Elsternwick, but like the synchronised unit we are, George and I arrived at Gilmore St, home of Doc White’s Gilmore Street Sessions, within moments of each other at close to 6.00.
Because of the forecast wet weather, the stage we’d played on earlier in the year had been abandoned and George and I had been relocated to one end of the rather splendid verandah running across the entire frontage of the house and the expected audience had been similarly relocated to occupy the rest of the verandah. With most of the tickets sold it was almost a full house - and it was definitely a full verandah.
I haven’t settled on an amp for the Michael Kelly guitar yet, (indeed, I’m not totally sold on the Kelly for the solo thing), so I asked Doc White if I could borrow his amp, which happens to be an American-made Quilter, a brand I’d not heard of before. He readily agreed and I got an encouragingly acceptable sound for the Kelly in no time.
Then it was upstairs for Doc’s delicious braised lamb and prunes with mashed potato and peas, following which Doc disappeared downstairs for his solo set. Doc’s restless spirit is always taking him somewhere interesting and his latest gambit, combining his old-style blues picking with the latest guitar effects technology, seems so improbable you’d wonder how it could possibly work, but it does.
Then it was our turn. I had two sets worked out, but at the hour mark I had to bump three numbers because we’d run out of time. The second set was far more relaxed and consequently far more enjoyable, but again I had to prune to finish right on 10.00. (Note to self – we actually have two hours’ worth of material).
There was too much adrenaline in my system in the first set, but everything came into sync for the second and I had moments where I felt that my song-writing style and presentation actually had some merit. The audience, clad in their waterproofs to protect them from the light rain that had begun falling from Doc White’s opening song, looked positively engrossed, almost as though they agreed with me.
That’s nice, because although the solo thing remains a challenge in some ways, when you make a connection with an audience like that as the songwriter and the performer, it really feels like a personal connection, much more-so than in the band context. It’s particularly gratifying when you consider that, apart from a couple of my better-known songs, the audience on the night was probably unfamiliar with nearly all the songs we were playing.
At this point I’ll digress slightly, because I‘d like to mention George Butrumlis, my musical accomplice in this venture, for investing his time, energy and musical expertise and making my songs more immediately acceptable. His playing is so apt and so well-informed and his ear so empathetically attuned that he can effortlessly accommodate my inevitable fumbles, and his intuitive vocal harmonising is always spot on. By rights I should feel bullet-proof – and by George, I almost do!
I said to the audience at the start of the evening that I couldn’t have imagined playing with a piano accordionist as a young long-haired rock player in the sixties. Then I loved British bands like The Beatles and the Rolling Stones and their ilk exclusively and I could only tolerate the guitars, bass and drums line-up (with maybe a little blues harp) played by young men with attitude and the appropriate haircuts and groovy clothes. In other words, I had all the musical prejudices of a novice who’s totally besotted by the music of his generation to the exclusion of all else.
Now I’m considerably older and more sanguine I could be mistaken for a piano accordion protagonist. Even if the squeeze box is not your nip of absinthe, you’d have to admit that the sound of the piano accordion evokes a certain nostalgia, probably because of its association with traditional folk music. The sound of a harmonica has that same homely association - they’re both self-contained and portable instruments (although accordions tend to be pretty weighty George tells me) and that makes them instruments of the people that you can hear almost anywhere at any time - in the streets, on fishing boats, in the local dance hall or cabaret, on a mountain-side, or popping up beside you in a Ukraine bomb shelter. And these instruments will continue to make a connection with the people, no matter how much they may be derided by young rock musicians.
By contrast, rock music relies on all sorts of enhancements. Take away the power points for instance and you have - well, nothing. Just the attitude.
Where was I? As I headed into the night with the prospect of nearly two hours of driving home I reflected on the evening's events. Despite my odd fluff it had gone well enough. The second set was pretty enjoyable for me and that’s been a difficult plateau to attain in my singerslashsongwriter career to date.
A warm feeling welled from my midriff. A gust of wind whipped up a cloud of dust and the van started to be buffetted from side to side. And then I hit a massive pot hole..

back to the top

Spectrum and Madder Lake join forces one more time at Arcobar Thurs. 13.10.22

Mike looks pretty convincing as a rock dude for Susie

The Double Bill cracks another champers for Sunbury 1972
13.10.22 - The Double Bill series, with Spectrum partnering Madder Lake to celebrate 50 years since the first Sunbury Festival in 1972, returned to Arcobar in sodden mid-town Heatherton last night for the second and last time this year. I suppose the concept could be revived next year to mark the Sunbury Festival’s 50th anniversary in 1973, but I think that could be stretching the concept a little thin - although that’s never stopped anyone in the past.
(I should preface any further reflections on the gig with the fact that I contracted COVID a couple of weeks ago, just as we were poised to embark on a program of four consecutive gigs in the one week for Vic. Seniors that were all consequently cancelled, so we arrived at sound check last evening with not even a recent rehearsal under our belts to keep our musical trousers up).
For a change Madder Lake opened proceedings (we do swap occasionally, but the Madders have been stuck in the prime position for a while now) and they were in rare form. They were especially well received by the large Madder Lake cheer squad who were there to see and appreciate Madder Lake and more Madder Lake. The sound was impeccable and the band seemed relaxed in a good way and vocalist Michael O’Loughlin appeared in fine voice as well as unusually animated. For some reason I was caught by surprise when Bren asked me to contribute my harp to Badlands and had to fumble around on-stage to find the right harmonica, but that went down a storm too.
The incessant rain reminded me of the aborted Launching Place festival (or ‘the Miracle’) back in 1970, so Spectrum opened the set appropriately with Launching Place Parts One and Two. Launching Place Part Two went OK, but for all the reasons above, Part One was a little rough. (I explained to the audience that the original recording of Launching Place Part One had gone missing for a couple of decades, but in a strange coincidence a lovely bloke, (Duck), had introduced himself to me earlier in the evening and reminded me that the band had played at his 50th some years ago - and that was the last time we played Part One live).
We’d run over the revised version of What the World Needs (is a New Pair of Socks) at sound check - for some reason we didn’t play it in the set. (That’d be me forgetting it). After we’d run through Sox and I’d declared sound check to be over, Bren said he’d like to run through Rock & Roll Scars. but we didn't and so sound check was officially over.
In the event it could’ve done with a run-through, but I think we managed to successfully busk our way through that and the rest of the set with the energy and enthusiasm of five spritely sixty-year-olds - and we got a very warm response from the audience. Thankfully my voice didn’t crack-up, which had been a concern as I hadn’t ventured a note since I got COVID.
It was a special gig for me because my brother Jeremy and his wife Susie over from Auckland made it to the show. I was bestie at their wedding in San Francisco back in 1998 and I’m not sure I presented as yer typical rock musician on that occasion, so it was good they finally caught up with the alternative reality of the Mike Rudd dichotomy.

back to the top