Top Notch gesture
30.5.06 - I was surprised when I went to the post office box today - there was a bulky envelope addressed to SPTB care of me. I thought initially that maybe one of us had left something at the motel, but when I opened it over my morning jasmine tea, I discovered an intriguing little black cardboard box inside with a note from Jo at Top Notch Productions. So, the note is generic, and it's only a key-ring, but it's a classy key-ring and it's very much appreciated gesture. Thanks Jo, Simone and Michelle and all the staff at Top Notch - we had a ball!

French Island follies

1) MD Jeff Burstin tries to freak me out 2) Wayne Duncan plays the Old Man o' the Sea

3) Arrival at the French Island jetty 4) Leslie Avril makes us welcome in the Green Room

5) The crowd waits patiently - Richard & Mary discuss sandwiches 6) Leslie does her shit kickin' cowgirl thang

7) Intermission - and the crowd sucks in the subtly nuanced landscape and the ever-freshening French Island air

8) The crowd goes apeshit - and Mary revives her Stylist dance 9) Mike blows the inevitable I'll Be Gone

10) Aurora Kurth and our host, Stephen May 11) Rain clouds loom ominously over the jetty after the gig

All's well that ends in chaos..
24.5.06 - You might've noticed I don't get a whole lot of solo gigs, and I still manage to get myself a little wound up when they do come along. Stephen May mooted the idea for this particular gig on his home territory of French Island over a meal at Southgate some months back, and although Bill and I had played there some years ago, I could barely remember anything about it, except the ride home from hell on the ferry, which was late and we were cold and wet to boot, but that couldn't possibly happen again, so I reasoned that all I had to worry about was the performance itself, and as I had plenty of time to prepare, I accepted the date without hesitation.
Richard and Mary picked me up at ten o'clock on the Sunday morning as planned, and we duly arrived at Stony Point an hour early, at least partially due to Richard's hundred kilometre misconception about the ferry's departure point. We had a snack down the road at one of those curiously soul-less places that manages to look inviting from the outside, before parking at Stony Point and getting the requisite ferry tickets.
We clambered on board the ferry without incident, despite the crewman that welcomed us on board muttering darkly something about exceeding the maximum load, and safely crossed the narrow strip of oily grey water to French Island chatting to Wayne Duncan and Jeff Burstin. (pics 1 & 2) The venue for the gig was the first building you come to about a hundred meteres from the jetty, and the weather was sunny, (pic 3) so Richard, Mary and I elected to walk up, rather than use the courtesy bus provided.
To cut to the chase, the gig itself went swimmingly. The advertised starting time had to be revised back as the ferry was late from Phillip Island, but what can the definition of a captive audience do but adjust to this rustic conception of time and simply enjoy themselves? Certainly not construe it as an omen for heaven's sake! Anyway, my instrospective musical ruminations were received with due concentration and acclamation, for which I was relieved and not a little grateful, but the mood needed a reboot, and there was one cowgirl in the room wearing just the right style of boot-scootin' arse-kickin' boots - I'm talking about the inimitable Leslie Avril!
And the girl delivered in spadefuls. Even with an intermission the mood kept spiralling upwards in a dizzying succession of erratic elliptical loops, until the room pulsated with people jostling the band for party room and bum cheeks twitching in sympathy from those glued to their seats. It was fun I tells ya!
But now it was time to go. The ferry to Phillip Island had already left and our ferry was due at quarter to six, so, in fine spirits and chatting happily about the afternoon's events, we wandered down to the jetty to assure our possies, just in case the maximum load thing reared its ugly head again.
Of course, the inevitable happened. The ferry was nowhere to be seen at quarter to six and rain clouds were drifting towards us through the gathering gloom, propelled by an icy southerly wind. We huddled together for warmth and played silly games and sang sillier songs, but nothing could disguise the fact that we were getting wetter and colder. I visited the rest of the band members, sensibly and warmly ensconced in the courtesy bus, to see what was going on, but confusion reigned inside the bus as surely as it was sleeting down outside, so I reluctantly resumed my spot with Dick and Mares and silently rued not bringing my Driza-bone while trying to ignore the fact that my corduroys and fleecy jacket were soaked and soddenly clinging to my back and the back of my legs.
The cold was seeping into my skull and my brain was actually starting to hurt (I should've brought my beanie as well) when somebody spotted the ferry sneaking over the bay towards us - and we were saved!
So, we had an adventure. I jumped straight into a hot shower and thawed myself out after Richard and Mary dropped me off at home, and everything was back to normal. It was fun, wasn't it? All I have to do is to try and remember to dress appropriately next time and everything will be OK. Hooray!

SPTB at Blues on Broadbeach
20.5.06 - This gig's been in the pipeline for some months now, and I've been getting e-mails from Jo and Simone at Top Notch Productions asking for this and that and sending me details of accommodation and radio interviews and the like all the while, so when the day finally came, I should have been ready for it. Nevertheless, I managed to have a very broken night's sleep on Thursday night and was awake well before the alarm went off at 6.30 on Friday morning, feeling like shit. Melbourne was cold and smoggy as befits the time of year, so despite my jaded disposition, it was very pleasant to arrive in Broadbeach with the temperature in the mid-twenties. The accommodation at the Antigua was not only very comfortable, it was only a couple of minutes walk away from the stage we were due to play on that evening in Kurrawa Park, not to mention the mall where Bill and I met with the ubiquitous Geof-with-one-F for lunch, where we discussed the options for a more comprehensive Spectrum return visit to Canberra in October.
After a bit of a lie-down, Bill and I sauntered down to the stage, where we were pleasantly surprised to find Robbo already there setting up (that'd be a first) having flown up with Lil' Fi and the gang the day before. We had a leisurely sound check and I had time for a bit of a chat to regular Queensland correspondent Ray Hogan and Pam Cleary who was in Queensland on holiday and had brought her mother Nancy along to see the show.
It must have been the warm weather, but I felt unusually energised during the set, and got myself quite hot and bothered stomping about the stage - the born-again Dutch Tilders remarked on how wet with sweat my tropical shirt was when we came off stage. We got a great reception for the main part, with the exception of one wit who requested a Paul Kelly number early in the set. Only in Queensland..
The Cafarellas naturally arrived late and only caught a few bars of our last number (the same number they heard on the LWTTT tour, strangely enough) but were able to hang around and share a reunion over a meal at a local restaurant. I noticed at lunch that the service at these establishments seemed to be fairly, shall we say 'laid back', but my top service moment was that night, when I suggested I'd like a sauvignon blanc to my charming young waitress, and she responded with "Would that be red or white, sir?'
I got back to my motel room in time to catch most of the Eurovision Song Contest instalment, but couldn't stay the distance, and after packing and setting the motel radio and my mobile alarms, gratefully fell asleep. Bill and I walked out of the motel in the morning just as our shuttle bus arrived and we had an uneventful trip to the airport. All of the bus passengers bar two were flying Virgin, so when we pulled up at the terminal and the driver called out that Virgin people should disembark, the entire busload trundled out and stood around waiting for their respective bits of luggage. It was as he was taking out Bill's and my luggage (first fortunately) that I asked the driver just where we could find the Virgin terminal.- and he did the most magnificent double take as he realised we were actually parked outside the Qantas terminal - so everybody got back on the bus. Everybody that is apart from the Qantas couple - and Bill, who decided to walk the extra fifty metres.
I was wearing a T-shirt that Jenny had brought back from Israel (pic 8) with the Coke logo in Hebrew, and I suppose I should have known I'd get singled out for special attention as a result. I wasn't anally probed mind you, only given the once over with the explosives wand, but I know it was the logo that did it. It gave me the faintest hint of what some people might have to endure on a daily basis just because they're 'different'.
Bill arrived in his seat a few minutes after I did, and I presumed he'd been chatting a bit further with Renee Geyer, whom we'd encountered just before the boarding announcement, but he eventually explained that he'd had an incident himself. When asked to produce his boarding pass before embarking, he'd pulled out the boarding pass from his journey up - and realised he'd thrown away the wrong ticket! They printed a replacement for him on the spot, but I think he pulled off the Dick of the Tour award with that final stroke.
Hey! It was great fun, and I'm looking forward to another spot (or two) next year. Come to think of it, a fully-fledged Queensland tour wouldn't be such a bad idea..

Broadbeach ringtone scoop!
8.5.06 - To mark the Broadbeach Blues Festival, participating artists have contributed a few bars to be downloaded as ringtones. Spectrum's donated Hey! Good Lookin' - check it out