So right now, we’re bombing it to Cunninghams Gap on our way to Severnlea which is down on the granite belt near Stanthorpe. Actually, bombing it is rather an optimistic term to use as we’re in Mannie’s van. Chugging it would be more appropriate. A good-paced chug. Despite the rush (it’s a good three hour run from Brisbane), the idiot drivers and utterly disgusting Brisbane traffic towards Ipswich, it’s actually a very cool and chilled out place to be. The iPod is on a random shuffle of a genre it loosely calls ‘Americana’ (Ry Cooder at the moment, though we’ve just had some Matthew Ryan, King Curly and a touch of Sinead -not all Americana, I know, but the Genius list isn’t without its own quirks). The Great Dividing Range is laid out before us, just a magenta silhouette against a burnt tobacco sunset. The sun is going down smoking.
The downs between Ipswich and Cunninghams Gap are usually brown, sunburned to within an inch of dust, but not this evening. There’s been so much rain that we’re literally passing incredible, though temporary, lakes dotted with waterbirds and happy cattle. My fingers are tingling, which they always do on the day of a gig, but I’ve got no idea quite what to expect. We’re playing tonight at the superbly named Whiskey Gully Winery, a ticketed event where we get to play our favourite material in front of people who actually want to be there, as opposed to those that just happen to be. It’s a nice change. I’m a terrible one for trying to predict things. I guess it comes from being a writer; my head never really shuts down. But tonight I’m not. Tonight I shall be a guitary leaf on the wind of the band. And after the roadhouse food we just scarfed, it’s going to be a blustery night….
The Whiskey Gully Homestead
1:29am, Diamondvale (The Big House)
The gig was in an old homestead, all high ceilings, antique furniture and verandahs. We were set up in a little corner of the main room, close to the huge fireplace big enough to roast Mannie in, backed by a wall polkaed with beautiful guitars. I’m resisting the temptation to describe them, but let’s just say there were some gems there. So, two small, cosy sets to a wonderfully attentive, well fed and wined audience that sang in all the right spots, laughed at Sarah’s naff jokes and got on the take-the-piss-out-of-Mannie bandwagon nicely. There was some great support from Terry and Bob, and a handful of numbers from John the owner that mixed up the night wonderfully. It was a lot of fun. We were all very relaxed and firing quite nicely. The kind of gig we love. Outside, loading the instruments it was -2c, and Mannie was almost sobbing, despite being wrapped up in his polar Scott of the Antarctic coat, genuine Sherpa ascent boots, World War Two bomber pilot sheepskin mittens and a rather fetching pair of arseless llama-pelt chaps.
John with Sarah and Bridge (and lots of tasty guitars)
Then it was back to Diamondvale, Dave & Trish’s incredible house for more drams and a wee sleep (with Mannie being acoustically isolated in the guest house of course). Wickedly comfortable beds with nice electric blankets.
Diamondvale.
2:12pm Somewhere north of Aratula
Back on the road again. After nomming a huge traditional musician breakfast of sausages, eggs, bacon toast and Coke, we’re once again on the chug. We have a few hours to get back to Brisbane to load the van before we head off down the coast for tonight’s gig at Harrigans. The iPod is still playing silly buggers, as we’re alternating between Neil Young, Dougie MacLean, the Police, Mark Knopfler, Pavarotti and Roxette. Funny, as I have no memory of ever putting Roxette on my iPod…
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