DAVE'S
DIARY - 11 FEBRUARY 2008 - BRUNSWICK OR BUST
ON THE ROAD WITH THE SHAMELESS HUSSY & THE COWGIRL
ON
THE ROAD TOO LONG
WITH A SHAMELESS HUSSY AND A COWGIRL
BRUNSWICK OR BUST
"Every man I love is either married, gay or dead/ I can't find a single man to share my double bed/ there's a ring on their finger or they're light on their feet/ or there's a tombstone on their head." - Every Man I Love Is Either Married, Gay or Dead. - Rich Fagan-Sharyn Lane.
 David Heard, Becky Hobbs, Kacey Jones & David Dawson |
It was a
spiritual homecoming of sorts - returning to the ancestral home for a
concert with a Shameless Hussy and a Cowgirl.
And it happened just 157 years after the Dawson clan arrived in Victoria
on the Orient on December 12, 1840, and farmed the rolling plains of Phoenix
Park in Brunswick.
It was perhaps fitting there were no livestock grazing in the Dawson Street
hinterland as Nashville comedienne Kacey Jones and stone country singer
Becky Hobbs arrived for their sound check at the Noise Bar at the Railway
Hotel.
Jones, born near Gilroy, California - garlic capital of the world - and
Hobbs from the tiny Oklahoma town Bartlesville - were beaten to the bucolic
bar.
Instead, first cab of the rank was Becky's benefactor Rodger Delfos of
Dead Livers fame who purloined his daughter Connie's Kurzweil piano for
the Hobbs-Jones Nu Country TV debut.
Delfos, multi-instrumentalist in support act Snowy Townsend's Bona Fide
Travellers was one of the first to arrive and last to leave.
Well, he wasn't exactly on site when sheep and cattle roamed far and wide
at Phoenix Park as the brickworks dominated the skyline in the 1850s.
Or when clan tributaries set up shops in bustling Bourke St when patriarch
Michael Dawson bought the farm in 1841 - and also died there at 63 on
June 1, 1875.
But Delfos gave the duo essential audio relief on an odyssey of sorts
that kicked off on January 17 in the wild west of Geelong - greatest team
of all.
NASHVILLE TO GEELONG
"Gold
is not as golden as his golden hair/ when his blue eyes sparkle even starlight
can't compare/ he stole my heart but it was grand theft/ I thought he
was Mr Right but he left." - Kacey Jones-Barbara Cloyd.
So let's
jump a century and a half and backtrack to the seeds of Jones tour - October
12, 1988.
That was when I first interviewed Kacey in Nashville when she was leader
of MCA recording trio Ethel & The Shameless Hussies who were launching
their debut CD Born To Burn.
The interview, replete with live performance on my sturdy Marantz recorder,
was the catalyst for Australian airplay on High In The Saddle on RRR and
PBS, Nu Country and way beyond.
Kacey activated her dream to tour here by ensuring diverse distributors
released her albums in Australia.
Becky was reliant on import stores and community radio and TV fanning
the flames.
But, ironically, it was Hobbs who activated plans for the belated tour
in the summer of 2008.
Becky and fellow honky tonkers - Texan Sunny Sweeney and Missouri born
Dallas Wayne - were originally booked as a triple-header tour with Bill
Chambers.
But late in spring the wheels fell off and Hobbs was left riding solo
until she shared a car trip home with Jones to Nashville from a gig.
Becky revealed she was booked to perform on the Tamworth Country Music
Train - stopping all stations from Geelong to the Peel River plains on
January 19.
So, with a name like Kacey Jones, it was a classic case of Hey Porter
- Hold On I'm Coming - and Jones convinced the Catland loco promoter
Arthur Smith to give her a belated berth.
It was not a Hollyweird chapter like Jones soundtrack triple shot on 2000
Del Shores movie Sordid Lives - but a caboose cameo as Jones, Hobbs
and Nashville singer Julie Taylor and a local posse sang for their supper.
Although the Tamworth Train didn't leave Geelong until dawn on January
19 the trio flew into Tullamarine on January 17 before heading west on
Highway 1 to Geelong.
Their nest was not a Frank Costa hideaway at stately Eastern Beach but
the home of promoter Arthur's partner's mother - a spritely 82 year-old.
So what do you do in Geelong if Costa's cats are not on the prowl or displaying
the Premiership silverware at various venues?
Well, when the Internet cafes douse the lights why not tread the boards
and have a flutter with other sleepy hollow habitués in the surrealistic
surrounds of the stately Sphinx en route to where the buses don't run.
THE KINKSTER AND THE SPHINCTER
Arthur's
mother-in-law was a dab hand at pulling pokies levers so the trio set
to work exploring the bowels of The Sphinx.
Yes, The Sphinx at the Vegas end of Geelong West - the Taj Mahal for the
Pharaohs and Pharisees seeking shelter from the desert storms of life.
Little did the artists know that when this direction challenged driver
became lost as chauffeur for Kacey's chums - singing Texan crime novelist
Kinky Friedman, Little Jewford and Billy Joe Shaver - in February 2002
his first port of call for compass chat was The Sphinx.
"This will become Australian HQ for Sphincter Records," Jewford
jabbered as The Kinkster shook his cigar in the shadows of The Sphinx
while his pianist explored why his Houston based record label needed Australian
digs.
And, like a dingo in the desert, we remounted our Tarago and found the
Bell Post Hill Sports Club at Batesford where that memorable, mirthful
show shook the shite out of all present.
But that was then and this was now - long after Jones graduated from producing
The Kinkster Tribute disc Pearls In The Snow to recording her own
tribute disc to the late Texan legend Mickey Newbury.
Arthur's mother-in-law had long decamped The Sphinx with the Nashville
trio by the time Nu Country membership officer Peter O'Keefe, fighting
Friday night road works on Highway 1, arrived with flyers for the Noise
Bar gig.
The flyers, a marketing tool, were designed to provide stimulation for
train travellers and patrons of the Family Hotel in Tamworth where Kacey
and Becky performed on January 23 and 24 - the latter being Becky's 58th
birthday party.
 Becky Hobbs & Kacey Jones with birthday cake Photo by Anna Rose |
But, alas, we'll never know if mama won a mint or suffered the Sphinx jinx.
MERLE AND THE GIRLS
"Mama was a green eyed city girl/ a perfect lady in her lace an pearls/ daddy was a wild haired country boy/ and I was their little bitty bundle of joy." - Mama's Green Eyes (And Daddy's Wild Hair) - Becky Hobbs- Don Goodman-Jerry Hawkins
Kacey, Becky
and Julie were eager to sing for their supper on the Tamworth Train so
it was lights out and silence for the early birds to catch the dawn worm
at the Geelong station.
But on arrival at the Southern Cross colossus - replete with a roof that
may have made a Sphinx blush - the passengers decamped and mounted a bus
to travel on Highway 31 to Albury to catch the border town loco to the
country music capital.
Now, it's many moons since I have ridden in the swank sleeping cars of
the Spirit Of Progress so I can't comment on the, ah, progress.
But I suspect it's not like Billy Joe's Amtrak (And I Ain't Coming
Back) or sibling of the interstate train that Californian former convict-country
legend Merle Haggard rode on his 1996 Australian tour.
On that occasion Boxcar Merle requested and received an extra private
smoking car to travel to the cultural hot spot of Adelaide.
There were no such smoker requests by Kacey or Becky or indeed for a coterie
of cats to swing in their sparse sleepers.
This was a character building adventure - with no ablution facilities
or aqua activities at stations - that has already produced Jones song
I Was Caught On The Crapper At Cootamundra.
Suffice to say the combatants survived and fellow passengers were ably
resurrected to attend the Noise Bar concerts.
BALD FACED STAG
"Aged to perfection in her prime/ years since she was on the vine/ and she knows just what to do/ yeah, it took a lot of livin' just to get here." - Woman Getting Older - Becky Hobbs.
Kacey and
Becky dismounted the loco at the West Tamworth station and found solace
in the arms and warm showers of the Family Hotel hosts Joan and Bevan
Douglas and popular publicist Anna Rose.
Their Tamworth concerts, aided by a half page feature in the Northern
Daily Leader, resulted in crowds of 300 each night with 300 fashionably
late patrons turned away. Dead Livers bassist Michael Schack, on a two-week
music sabbatical with one of his six alternate bands Rusty Buckets, arrived
early enough to find a vertical visionary position at the men's room door
of Dom's Honky Tonk in the Family.
The librarian, from the Koroit satellite suburb of Yarpturk, was one of
the chosen few to catch the Shameless Hussy and the Cowgirl before another
of his Shipwreck Coast bands Lost In Suburbia performed on the Sabbath
at the Hotel Warrnambool while he was in absentia.
Meanwhile Kacey and Becky enlisted services of 2RRR-FM DJ Eddie White
to score a gig at the Bald Faced Stag in the inner western suburb Leichhardt
- named after the Prussian scientist and explorer Friedrich Wilhelm Ludwig
Leichhardt.
The suburb, not the bar, took its name from the explorer who fronted in
1842 and led an expedition from Dalby in the Darling Downs in Queensland
to Port Essington.
Luckily for the lasses their train didn't take the same route - Friedrich
went to God at 35 in 1848 after a short but eventful life.
Instead it was Eddie, not quite asleep at the wheel as chauffeur, who
drove the divas up and down the mean streets of sin city after picking
them up from their decidedly upmarket digs - the Douglas family Darling
Harbour apartment with a multi-million dollar view of trains, planes,
boats, yachts, limos and everything.
There was no need to worry about being caught short on the throne at stations.
This enabled them to strut their stuff for a celebrity-studded audience
- few of whom had decamped from the train way south of the Murray Dixon
line two days earlier.
Fast Eddie also ensured his charges and luggage reached the Mascot tarmac
on time for their Virgin Blue flight to Tullamarine where the baton change
took place with aplomb in a Subaru Outback hired for the occasion.
FROM MELROSE DRIVE TO EASEY STREET
"And if you're back in Oklahoma and you're very feeling lonesome / lookin the yellow pages under blue / I'll be in the yellow pages under blue." - Yellow Pages Under Blue - Becky Hobbs.
 |
It
wasn't hard to find Jones and Hobbs at terminal 6 - the devil had
already been down to Geelong. Now, with just a guitar, a laptop or two and phalanx of suitcases it was time for some Hollywood touring. The passengers suggested a short spin on Melrose Drive - maybe a glimpse of Paris, Britney, Nicole & Keith or a peeping Tom and Katie. < Becky's boots - photo by Anna Rose |
But this
was Melrose Drive, Tullamarine, where they shared digs three nights before
with a roach or two.
Not with the latter day Noosa scribe J J McRoach - the 1977 Honourable
Marijuana Party Senate candidate who scored 18,000 first votes just 31
years earlier - but with those little black critters who become banal
baggage.
This excess baggage pick-up from the storage castle at the Best Western
was the only pit stop before arriving at yet another Best Western at Princes
Hill with a leafy view of the Carlton footy club colosseum.
Aided by Con - the motel useful - we airlifted guitars, bags and everything
to Level 1 where the artists freshened up in their apartment, replete
with kitchen, for the trip to Easey St for an afternoon rendezvous.
Easey Street may be light years away for country and comedy artists seeking
airplay on mainstream radio but in every cultural desert there is an oasis.
David Heard, celebrating 30 years in the saddle at PBS - 106.7 FM - provided
one in the studio of his Thursday temple - Acid Country.
The duo, whose radio hosts down under ranged from syndicated veteran Nick
Erby to the avid volunteer Armies of community radio, were soon at home
on Easey Street.
Heard, oft invaded by a motley crew of country, folk and roots battlers
with gigs and CDS to flog, had fond memories of his encounter with singing
Texan crime novelist Kinky Friedman in 2002 and other literate lads and
lasses.
So, with Heard's impeccable research, this proved to be the creative radio
pinnacle of the tour.
The host, unlike some community radio riff raff, did not try to upstage
his guests - he dug into their colourful past and let them regale listeners
with highlights of their rich careers dating back even further than his
own radio birth.
With the interview interspersed with live renditions of comedy and stone
country, this was riveting radio - a trusty template for chappies and
chappettes learning the ropes.
It was no surprise their appearance, feeling like a short 10 minute cameo,
lasted more than an hour - with host Heard mixing the live performance
without losing a beat.
And, unlike the two young women murdered at nearby 147 Easey Street in
January 1977, there was no blood on the tracks in studio 1.
FROM K-FAT AND K-PIG TO KRML
"I miss my man but my aim's getting better/ he turned into a pig and left em for a big old sow/ gonna drop him a bomb in a tear stained letter/ if I'd shot him when I first met him I'd be outa jail by now." - Kacey Jones-Richard Fagan.
Jones likened it to the pioneer seventies alternate Californian free form
station KFAT-FM that long ago morphed into K-PIG-FM.
Those stations blazed a trail in the geographical environs of Clint Eastwood's
Carmel based KRML-FM - locale for his 1971 movie Play Misty For Me
- where he became mayor in 1986.
Jones and Hobbs were so impressed with host Heard they requested and received
a CD of their appearance for posterity and family.
Radio is thirsty and hungry work but Heard passed on doing a Lygon Street
limbo and dinner in Carlton for a prior commitment with Billy Bragg.
The hunger of the divas was such they resisted running the gauntlet of
street spruikers and settled on the first offer of a three free glasses
of vino as a bribe to dine.
 Becky Hobbs & David Dawson |
Then
it was back to the motel for Hobbs and work for Jones as she entertained
Derek Guille and his many 774-AM listeners in another hour song special. It was there that Jones revealed she was so fascinated by Australian town and suburb names she had begun writing a song on the subject with such exotic locales becoming body parts. She repeated the story of being caught short on the Tamworth Train at some stations and writing I Got Caught On The Crapper At Cootamundra. |
It was laugh
a line radio as the phones and Internet ran hot with listener suggestions
including Poowong, Koo-wee-rup and Nar-Nar-Goon, to compliment Dandenong,
and, of course, Pakenham Upper from a Gippsland gal.
Rapport between musician host Guille of Ugly Uncles fame and country comedienne
and songwriter-producer was warm enough to suggest a repeat on future
tours.
Although the night was still young the chauffeur, suffering from Hopkins
River fever and Port Fairy surf hearing defects, was feeling decidedly
old and left his charges at her motel.
FRIDAY ON THEIR MIND
"He's got a Sears And Roebuck polyester suit/ he wear nineteen dollar imitation lizard Walmart boots/ he took me out to lunch today/ he's a real spam gourmet." - 1-900-Bubba - Kacey Jones-Wynn Varble
 |
The
chauffeur arose at dawn to drive his valuable cargo to even more
salubrious digs at the suggestion of roots promoter Rob Hall. It was also dues east on the Lost Highway to their cerebral Saturday gig at the Bayleaf Restaurant in downtown Dandenong. |
But this
was Friday and Jones saved the chauffeur's back by persuading mine host
to move their digs from upstairs to the ground floor - a short drop kick
from the pool.
After having sacrificed an interview with Richard Stubbs on 774 AM by
replying too late this was a rest day in preparation for a hectic night.
So when the convoy arrived at the Noise Bar for a 5.30 p m sound check
there was a crowd milling.
First cab off the rank was Barry Wass - former owner of long defunct CBD
record store Honky Tonk Heaven and host of Friday night INR-FM show Honky
Tonks & Heartaches in Warringal Mall in Heidelberg.
Wass, who has played both artists from the embryo of their careers on
his show, was rewarded with a backstage interview.
The veteran DJ, victim of a pair of major strokes and eight seizures after
being pistol-whipped in the second of two armed robberies at a north of
the Yarra inconvenience store, was set to be on air when the stars were
on stage.
Also waiting were Delfos who had already set up daughter Connie's piano
for Becky.
And, of course, Kip Karpik - photographer to the stars and CD slicks who
was aiding and abetting recording of the show from sound engineer Ray
Moon's desk.
Other early birds, from as far afield as Colac, flew through the doors
to secure their squatting rights - not on the former farmland but the
chairs and tables dusted down for the concert from backstage storage.
This was a mature age audience - not the rabid rodents, poncing punks
and ecstasy bunnies that roamed the CBD and inner suburbs after dark.
Membership officer Peter O'Keefe arrived early with baggage - a suitcase
for Jones - and two hats (merchandising and door bitch.)
The former Nu Country FM Lubbock Or Leave It host also doubled as fruiterer
for the artists and interior decorator for the Texas flag, Jones tee shirts
and concert flyers.
Another early bird was former Eltham egret Leslie Avril, fresh from Tamworth
cameo with Hobbs on Cowgirl's Heart, and eager to reprise the role.
The before dusk denizens enjoyed a sound check by Jones and Hobbs and
support act Snowy Townsend's Bona Fide Travellers who performed Danny
O'Keefe epic Good Time Charlie's Got The Blues as a teaser on the
latest episode of Nu Country TV.
No need for a music review here - suffice to say it's in our review section.
CLICK HERE for the review.
IF THE PHONE DOESN'T RING IT'S ME
"I know the headlines/ don't have to read the news/ I can't feel read bad/ without singin' the blues/ I'm looking down and it's a long hard fall/ I got the message when you didn't call." - Kacey Jones-Sharyn Lane.
 Becky Hobbs & Kacey Jones - Noisebar Photo by Kip Karpik |
The artists,
blending Hobbs anthemic honky tonk hurting songs and Jones' comedic gems
and Mickey Newbury classics, should not have had sonic static.
But they did - not from the hi-tech sound desk but midst the fans perched
on dusted down chairs and tables retrieved from storage at dusk.
This was indeed the Lubbock Or Leave It hit pick of the night.
The jingle jangle that rent the night air was not the cash register but
the shrill ring of Indian promoter Bradford Newbound's mobile mid-way
through one of Jones' tender ballads.
"If that's Warner Brothers tell them I'm busy," Jones jibed
as Bradford blushed with candour - unlike former Aussie cricket hero Shane
Warne when often caught out with his errant mobile as horizontal as his
partners in slips and gullies.
It was not clear if Nu Country volunteer videographers Sean Tierney and
Tim Cole and the three-camera flotilla captured this momentous moment
but they preserved all the other on and off-stage action.
But they captured the Pythonesque skit when Jones and Hobbs took a merchandise
signing and selling break after 90 minutes before a planned stage return.
It was the exact moment a previously famished Delfos returned from a late
supper and began loading out daughter Connie's Kurzweil.
A horrified Hobbs and Jones hit the panic button as the keyboard colossus
was tucked up for a snooze in Delfos's departing wagon.
The miffed multi-instrumentalist, suffering support act's back, two-stepped
aside as soundman Moon and Noise Bar mine host Dan unloaded Connie's pride
and joy and the show went back on.
Jones and Hobbs finished the show with their customary marathon merchandise
sales and signings.
Then it was time to retreat from the Brunswick plains to their Kew heights
hideaway where solace was a bottle of wine but no Patsy Cline.
It was a quiet replace to reflect on the next day's meeting with a princess
reigning due east of Dandenong.
SEARCHING FOR A PRINCESS IN HALLAM
"I remember when I saw them I was just seventeen/ the finest work of leather I had ever seen/ I laid down my last dollar, wore em out the door with pride/ they were the boots I came to town in every Friday night." - The Boots I Came To Town In - Becky Hobbs-Candy Parton
Dawn on the
Saturday was a salient signpost to another magical mystery journey - to
Hallam, gateway to the Gippsland dairy belt and an existential exit from
suburbia.
It was also where Jones, Hobbs and Taylor were the mains on the Bayleaf
Restaurant menu that also advertised Prairie Oysters as an entrée.
Perhaps a sub continental delicacy carved from the nether areas of Australian
cricket fans and served with tasty relish and spices on the odd occasion
the visiting cricket team enjoyed the fruits of victory.
But that was downtown Dandenong and we were headed further east to Hallam
where promoter Clifton Burnett had hired digs for the lasses to rest their
weary bones before interviews with the local radio station - SER-FM.
Photo opportunities were a major priority on the road but time restrictions
precluded this obvious headline grabber - a Shameless Hussy and A Cowgirl
in name stitched boots under the exit sign with the delicious description
- Stud Road, Dandenong.
Clifton's directions were specific - Kacey was staying at a motel that
shared her name if not spelling.
Princess On Casey - directly opposite the salubrious Hallam Hotel - on
what was once Highway 1 before the by-pass.
The artist didn't appear to have dreamed of sleeping under a princess
but maybe sang a small refrain of I Could Get Over You If I Could Get
Under Him.
With customary restraint we exited the off ramp and scanned the skyline
for glitter of a princess in all her glory.
Straight ahead the huge banner for rural NSW country singer Steve Forde,
support for Brooks & Dunn, was prominent on the front façade
of the Hallam Hotel.
So we circled - and then, like a locale from a Coen Brothers West Texas
movie - the Princess waved her wand.
There, directly opposite the Hallam pokies palace she beckoned erect,
more a block of cinders than Cinderella, as she lay baking in the morning
sun.
Once the nocturnal, but not always final resting place for many a truckie
on the road too long, she was now a bygone by-pass for chanteuses and
chaps strutting their stuff on the cabaret circuit.
Mine host Clifton waved us in so we unloaded and the stars prepared for
interviews to swell his already full house at the Bayleaf.
With a flourish of his wand Clinton revealed to the artists that he had
13 disc jockeys in the audience that night - but not all the bakers' dozen
would be doing their dough and simultaneously interviewing the lasses
on the wireless.
It seemed an apt time for a refreshing nap for chauffeur who headed west
to his digs in preparation for the finale - not the world cup - but the
concert tour.
AT HOME WITH THE BAYLEAFS
"I was 30-something when my big break came/ ready for my five minutes of fame/ I heard my song on the radio on the all night truckers show/ then I lost my bullet and the label sank/ I was all dressed up and riding a tank/ It was a case of rotten luck, yeah the music business sucks." Kiss My Ashes - Becky Hobbs
The return
trip from the leafy valley of Glen Iris to the music mecca was punctuated
by road works but cushioned by Hobbs and Jones on the jukebox in the Outback
van.
Searching for a Bayleaf in Dandenong was made easier by driving with window
down - not just to read street signs but to savour the aromatic ardour
of mine chef, known to diners as one in a billion.
Parking, like seating, was scarce as hussies' teeth in teeming Thomas
St - scene of the rhyme.
But, aided by a flotilla of Indians on the footpath but not the warpath,
it was a salient signpost to nirvana and a wide lens on action in this
Kumaresque made for TV sitcom.
Unlike the previous night there was one camera - not three - but far more
Kumars than you could poke a pappadam at.
I missed the entrée - Prairie Oysters from pristine paddocks of
the garden state and not to be mistaken for Texan Cornell Hurd's Genitalia
Of A Fool, also cut by Geelong born Adam Harvey.
So I arrived in time for the nutritious main course.
Jones and Hobbs picked and grinned while the capacity audience picked
and grazed on the wide galaxy of tandoori fuelled Samosas, pakoris, pappadams,
curries diverse as fishies, chook, mutton, rogan josh, vindaloos, beefalos,
beckaroos and many more delicacies destined to dispatch diners to a crowded
loo.
There was magic in the air with two internationally acclaimed artists
performing with a rarefied radiance unlikely to be repeated in Dandenong
on a Saturday night.
Mine host Clifton surveyed the audience where Indians outnumbered the
cowboys 10 to 1 and reflected in the twilight of a beatific beam that
could have lit up the MCG for the duration of a test, one day game or
even a 20-20 spectacular.
But, with those odds buried deep in the psyche of the cowboys, it was
just not cricket to discuss the results of recent bouts with bats and
balls between flannelled fools.
Jones and Hobbs, trapped in the spotlights like moths in menopause, sat
their ground on piano and guitar.
With the Kumar clan chomping down on their chow with an appetite as voracious
as some historic chaps across the ocean with loaves and fishes it soon
became a case of a shameless hussy and cowgirl being thrown to the hillbilly
Hindus.
PRAIRIES OYSTERS AND PRINCESSES IN DANDENONG
"Now those good ol' boys are tellin' me I'm too old to sell CDs/ but in my mind I'm still seventeen/ and I still want to set the world on fire/ just call me a little old fashioned/ and if I die tryin'/ well they can kiss my ashes." - Kiss My Ashes - Becky Hobbs.
But this
was life in the crowded lane and the fans were as hungry for music and
tucker as agrarians in the front row at Farm Aid or a Willie Nelson July
4 Picnic.
Mine host's economic use of ergonomically challenged seating at family
filled tables meant no Indian was more than a googly from the cowgirls.
Not even those spinning Warnie leg breaks in standing room in the Bay
13 bar of the Bayleaf.
This also meant the frocked up artists received a potpourri whiff of curry
and cologne without having to lean forward to separate the milk from the
cream or the wheat from the chaff.
Definitely, nothing to be sniffed at - no matter what mixed messages and
metaphors were on the menu.
It was no surprise to observe that merchandise sales, conducted from a
stage side table seating Tamworth Train captain Arthur Smith, were akin
to that of the Geelong footy club in the post premiership weeks and months.
There was still copious cologne in the breeze as the Indian braves and
squaws hugged their idols and decamped with autographed CDS and photos.
Hugging, noticeably absent from the public arena since the departure of
former Prime Minister Boy Howardy, was now back in style like Merle's
manly footwear treading the broads in Okie From Muscogee.
FLUSHED FROM THE BATHROOM OF HER HEART
Smith's artful
dodging enabled the artists to invite chauffeur into their dressing room
- the door was adorned with the words Ladies.
Was this an ambush?
No, there backstage, were two chairs for Jones and Hobbs and a flushable
throne for the chauffeur, now relegated to prince in waiting.
It was indeed fortuitous that chauffeur had not dined on site and required
the services of award winning movie star Kev - also a Nashville plumbing
visitor of note.
Promoter Clifton politely knocked on the backstage door before expanding
the trio to a quartet and announcing dessert - more Prairie Oysters.
The Prairie Oysters, not to mistaken for revered Canadian Prairie Oyster
Band, were born from the ashes of leader Yorkie's Rough Cut Band who boot
scooted to fame in a previous life.
Yorkie's quartet impressed Nashville peers by showcasing tunes from their
six-track EP You Have A Ball - That's No Bull recorded at Oysterland
Studios in the Victorian capital.
It was fitting they provided the music outro from this cable cabal in
the making in the suburb that time forgot.
The Prairie Oysters were perfectly cast as the longest leaving act in
town as Indians whooped for more as The Shameless Hussy and The Cowgirl
ducked and weaved as they ensured they curried favour and flavour with
their hosts.
But the midnight hour was approaching fast on the dark side of town and
the carriage lay in wait as the Cinderellas exited in the boots they came
to town in just before the ticking of the clock.
It was a perfect fit, fitting departure and existential escape of sorts.