Issue 19 Volume 1
May 2009 
May 2009 Page 4
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Issue 19 Volume 1
May 2009 |
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GOOD OLD FASHIONED MEDICINE
When an Old Timer/Americana band plays, people have a tendency to be misty eyed and expect a retrograde sound. Old Crow Medicine Show delivered to an extent, massaging wild thoughts of long forgotten idyllic times sitting on the back porch. But at the same time they’re young, brash punks, treading a beautiful and wild line between nostalgic pre-bluegrass tunes and furious, idiosyncratic ‘new-grass’. Their harmonies were tighter than their strings with Ketch and Wilson’s distinctive voices belying their ages as Ketch simultaneously all but battered his violin in a fit of foot-stomping bluegrass. Seeing Wilson croon, tongue in cheek, about a pint-sized con-woman stealing his heart kind of sums up the humour of Old Crow Medicine Show. They can turn their wits and passion from fatalistic humour, (Cocaine blues) to whisky-soaked filth (Mary’s Kitchen) and raucous bluegrass. It’s surely a skill to possess, added to which, they can switch yet again to mournful tones, genuine and ragged (Lift him up). Their versatility is obvious on their latest album Tennessee Pusher, but live their music is even more sublime. At their Metro performance they nudged everyone towards foot stomping and actual bodily contact - dancing together. Usually everyone wants to dance at gigs but feels too awkward and opts instead for hands in pockets and swaying, with their overenthusiastic grin being a dead giveaway for how much they yearn to jig. This was the genuine, faithful rock’n’roll and who could fail to obey its nostalgic and yet unfamiliar tones?
I used to ride around on my three wheeler bike when I was a kid. I could hear my brother playing the music of Benny Goodman loudly as I passed the window. I thought it sounded so good. So, from a young age, that was all I heard so it made a big impression in my mind. Then, as time went on, the big bands seemed to fade away, which made room for smaller rock groups, like Bill Hayley and The Comets. It was the ‘50s and it seemed to go so quickly, like my childhood. Then came the ‘60s with the English revival, American Motown and more Australian groups. The Australian bands formed over here, mostly made up of migrants and Aussies. Some of them exploded on the overseas charts too - that had never happened before. In the ’70s Australian groups kept on coming but not as many as the ‘60s. Towards the end of the ‘70s, they all must have just grown up and got married. I didn’t get married in the ‘70s; I was having too much fun. I got married later in life, and I still haven’t grown up properly, I think. I think buying a vinyl record from the music shop in those days was so much better than buying a CD today. I can’t explain it. It just seemed like you got better value for money. It felt so much better carrying a record home under your arm. It felt like you really bought something substantial rather than taking home a little square piece of plastic. Even though times do change, sometimes I think it’s not always for the best. REVIEW THE REVIEWER
No, but seriously, it has to do with the work we require words to do. Words can inform (‘it’s windy today’); they can embroider (‘what a lovely day’) and they can recreate (‘animated fronds semaphore by invisible forces’). They can also stand as a code for “insiders only” as in the case of the following quote from the review under review - “these works offered cathartic exploration of the relationship between the human condition and the sublime, variously touching on spirituality and mysticism, beauty and romance, the struggle with nature and the value of self-belief and perseverance”. The words used in the extract quoted above, actually have meanings — as varied and flexible as they may be. But, all these words in Kelly’s review perform the same duty that War and Peace lodged up against a library door to keep it open performs. The stability Aristotle’s Metaphysics offers jammed under the leg of a desk is not unlike the solid substructure these words offer in this review. Anthony Powell believed books do furnish a room; in the same way do these words furnish filler. Their entire content can be summed up in the trademark retort of Barry Humphries’ benefactor, Sir Les Patterson (“Les is a splendid membered thing”): “Are you with me?” They are examples of journalistic insider trading; their use is like a secret handshake; their meanings irrelevant. They serve as nudges to those who hold the key to the code; the insiders to whom the whole shebang means nothing more than, “Oh, yes, I know what you mean and I am so comforted to know I am among friends”. To search for more is to invite a paraphrase of the Borg: “Asking is futile.” As for the rest of us, all we can do is utter a protest and remind such writers that words have a far greater possible amplitude of use — as do the books wherein they may be found. Apart from that minor quibble, the review is an adequate demonstration that the reviewer was at the concert in question, that certain pieces were played, that they pleased the audience and that the reviewer has control of the technical vocabulary required to describe elements of style and execution. Well done! What more can I say? That’s a very good question. I will have to think about it. Read the original review at: www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,25197,25190140-5013575,00.html
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THIS MONTH’S EBOOK REVIEWSReviews of Sam Rottenberg’s Adolphus Figges: A Life in the Okinawa Cinema “Like, this baby burns, bro.” “Ouch, my arse is on fire.” Tim Brook-Taylor, in The Goodies “I never could abide these movin’
pictures, with their hoopin’ and hollerin’ and
shenanigans.” “What better accolade could anyone offer that
great and memorable man, Adolphus Figges?” “Yuk, yuk, yuk, yuk.”
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