Mike & George have a pleasant Sunday arvo at The Railway Hotel
1.9.25 - The Stop Press is making a tentative return, not because of any clamour for its return, unless you think that a couple of correspondents mentioning they were fond of reading it qualifies as clamour, but because I find that it’s a useful platform for me to measure my progress or otherwise from gig to gig and, of course, it keeps me ‘writing fit‘, (an expression that I’ve just coined, if I’m not mistaken).
Anyway, it’s back. The gig for comment in this edition is a ‘solo’ i.e. me and ever-reliable and ever-amenable George Butrumlis, and was on yesterday arvo (last Sunday), our first gig together since the Queensland tour with Tim Gaze back in May and the subsequent birthday party in Geelong, about which a book could be written. (And yes, we do do private functions).
My biographer Craig Horne’s outfit The Hornets, occasionally plays at the Railway Hotel and Craig very kindly sorted this gig out for me. More to follow about Craig Horne, who I was happy to see there on the day.
Maria drove me in and the little Citroen cheerfully coped with all my paraphernalia. You wouldn’t think that a solo gig would demand that much equipment, but its more-or-less the same as playing with the full band, with obvious exception of the Eastman AR 372 guitar that I play in preference to the usual white Strat.
The Eastman is a Chinese made guitar that unashamedly mimics the Gibson ES 175, a hollow, arch-top, single cutaway guitar that looks much like a jazz guitar, moreso than a blues or rock music guitar.
I’d read quite a deal about the Eastman (and the Gibson) before I bought it, and owners of either or both of these guitars said there was little difference between the two in most respects, but that if you really wanted a Gibson, that’s what you should get.
That’s where cost comes into it, and although I had to wait for months before the next shipment arrived post COVID, the Eastman was a fraction the cost of a Gibson 175, especially the cost of the older and therefore more desirable versions.
Doc White loaned me his Eastman a couple of times. I’d already heard him playing grungy blues on it and I just liked the unexpectedness of it. I’m not a jazz player, nor any part of a jazz players anatomy, but I do like the feel and sound of it and visually it makes a statement about the solo as opposed to the band thing.
It was quite chilly outside, but as soon as I walked in it felt warm - very warm. The ‘stage’ area (floor) was being cleared and I was setting up next to this enormous gas heater, masquerading as a log fire.
I took off my jacket and then my tee-shirt. Just before we started I felt this compulsion to take off my socks as well.
I was still hot, but there was no stopping now. In descriptions of previous solo gigs, I referred to a condition called the ‘yips’, a malaise associated with professional golfers, who remedy the problem on the greens by adopting long-handled putters.
I needn’t tell you there is no musical equivalent of a long-handled putter for nervy guitarists, but I was pleased to note that there was only the very occasional yip surfacing yesterday. I put this down to the Queensland tour, where George and I put in three consecutive gigs in three days and I regained that advantage that only continual playtime gives you.
So, that just leaves my hearing - or rather, my lack of hearing - that I have to deal with these days on and off stage. In this case I simply accepted George’s judgement as to the volume of my amp and my microphone (we were using George’s PA). I also questioned Maria, who was on the table less than two metres from my mic stand, and she said it was fine, which I accepted happily because 90% of the time she says it’s too loud.
Look, it was all fine, apart from Soul Man, my dedication to Max Merritt, which rather crashed and burned. I rambled on a bit, but the more I rambled the more the audience seemed to enjoy it. My new (white) recorder sounds no worse than the original wood Dolmetsch one that’s currently relaxing on the couch back in Canberra and, while my looping was imperfect, it didn’t necessitate me getting on my knees to beat it to death, so I regard that as a triumph of sorts.
Craig Horne appeared as I was packing up, the bane of this ancient performer’s life, and he mentioned that when The Hornets played there he just turned the heater off! Why didn’t I think of that?
So, Craig Horne is here and this is what I’m talking about. The gigs list on the last mail-out failed to mention that The Indelibles and The Hornets are doing the first of a series of shows together at the Oakleigh Music Hall (formerly the Caravan Club) on Sunday arvo, the 5th of October.
The show’s called ‘Brainbox vs the Boogie’ and could almost be a contemporary version of Spectrum and Daddy Cool’s Aquarius tour back in 1971.
I see the Hornets, with their irresistible dance groove, being a sort of boogie/blues version of DC. I also consider The Hornets to represent the very essence of a Melbourne band.
The Indelibles carry the torch for all those Ruddy outfits that Spectrum spawned, some might say too cerebral for their own good, some might say plain nutty in their unpredictable diversity.
Ya gotta be there! The contest will begin only a week after the depravity of the AFL Grand Final. It’ll be a wrestle to the death. Who will win?