“Sod the wine, I want to suck on the writing. This man White is an instinctive writer, bloody rare to find one who actually pulls it off, as in still gets a meaning across with concision. Sharp arbitrage of speed and risk, closest thing I can think of to Cicero’s ‘motus continuum animi.’

Probably takes a drink or two to connect like that: he literally paints his senses on the page.”

DBC Pierre (Vernon God Little, Ludmila’s Broken English, Lights Out In Wonderland ... Winner: Booker prize; Whitbread prize; Bollinger Wodehouse Everyman prize; James Joyce Award from the Literary & Historical Society of University College Dublin)





14 March 2015


Chris Crago's Sugaree Promotions organised the perfect gig last night at the Semaphore Workers' Club. Ross The Boss gave two astonishing sets, working two (or maybe three) loops at once to carry us through a pudding of some the great music of the last fifty years. 

Ska, bossa nova, surf, Jacques Tati, Mickey Mouse, R&B, soul, doo-wop, gospel, love, swamp, peace, heartbreak, Fool Fool Fool, oozed and dribbled and barked out of him. 

Ross has a musical comic book encyclopeadia of all those genres flickering like an old cine projector in his soul. He sets up a groove, then throws quotes and reflections of everything onto it, like Jackson Pollock. Seurat and Lichenstein on an exquisite absinthe binge. And he's off the booze! 

It was like walking down the corner to discover Snoozer Quinn, Ry Cooder or Bill Frissell playing in the bar. Or all of 'em playing at once. There are few better guitarists in Australia than Hannaford the Dali and Lez Karski the Attila.

Coolest night of the year, thus far. Thankyou lovely Ross. We treasure you.

Scuze the drunk snaps. Milton Wordley was beside me at the bar throng, drinking Wolf Blass red and raving about what he could see that the rest of couldn't. Milt was walking with the King. His brother Mick, of Mixmasters was there too, differently-abled in a similar manner. Mick had been recently in Melbourne recording Ross, so there must be sumpin new goin on. Waiting, waiting.

The ticket said 8PM. The gate opened sharp on that dot, and a great queue of folks gradually checked in. 

It was cool chatting with the good folks in the line. You'd hear stuff like "I just looked and it said this guy from Daddy Cool's playing at the club so we came straight down."

That's Ross Wilson and Ross Hannaford in Daddy Cool, 45 years ago. I had visions of how these eager people in the queue would react to the loving soulful guitar lesson they were about to guzzle.  About o.01% of it was recognisable as Daddy Cool.

Out the back, I saw this. That lass was just listening, checking the photographs in her camera. This joint's a temple!


traviarti said...

What a treat with one of the very few guitar players on the planet who truly has his own sound.

Chris Crago said...

Blessed were we to have such a talent in town...a standout night to remember. x