WakeUpBluey
You'llMissBrizzy
I've been doing a lot of old mannish stuff recently.
This includes helping my brother, who is doing all the heavy lifting, take care of our ailing Dad.
As such, I've been going to and from the Republic of SouthVanIsle most weekends.
Which means a whole lot of commuting by boat.
Which further means that I've been listening to a lot of musical playlists on the evil streaming service, particularly when I'm riding in to our fine province's capital city from the Swartz Bay ferry terminal.
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Now.
The best of these playlists arrive by way of my youngest kid, who, as I've mentioned here before, keeps me up to snuff on all things new and happening.
Which is why we're going to see another young kid named Julia Jacklin, live and in-person, in the fall.
But, as an old guy, sometimes I can't help but build my own
And, as you might imagine, these lists are often larded with personal aural nostalgia.
And one group I've been overdosing on these days, which you've likely never heard of, is called 'Cold Chisel'.
Like Ms. Jacklin, the Chisels are from Australia.
Unlike Ms. Jacklin they hit their peak in the early 1980's before they imploded spectacularly, pretty much for good.
At least creatively because, as you might have guessed, the filthily lucred reunion tours are never ending.
I've never been to the Bow River, which is located in northern most West Australia.
But I did spend a few months vagabonding around the 'Struth Island, mostly in a used Holden HD, with my friend S. in the second half of 1981 and the first bit of 1982.
And while we spent the first few few days of 1982 trying to learn how to surf on a beach just off the Great Ocean Road near Australia's southernmost tip that is festooned with the so-called 12 Apostles, we rang in the New Year at a concert in Melbourne watching, you guessed it...
Cold Chisel.
They were a powerhouse of blues-infused rollicking rolling pub rock with a hulking, stage-stalking Jimmy Barnes on vocals, masterful Ian Moss on guitar, a wicked rhythm section, and the maestro, and chief songwriter, Don Walker way at the back, stage right, on keyboards.
Anyway...
Whenever, I listen to to the song Bow River (see above) these days, I'm transported right back to the time I discovered the group while I was simultaneously doing and thinking all sorts of young man not-so bluesy, because-everything's-rosey-not-grey-and-out-in-front-of-you, type things.
Gosh.
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I've never been to the Bow River, which is located in northern most West Australia.
But I did spend a few months vagabonding around the 'Struth Island, mostly in a used Holden HD, with my friend S. in the second half of 1981 and the first bit of 1982.
And while we spent the first few few days of 1982 trying to learn how to surf on a beach just off the Great Ocean Road near Australia's southernmost tip that is festooned with the so-called 12 Apostles, we rang in the New Year at a concert in Melbourne watching, you guessed it...
Cold Chisel.
They were a powerhouse of blues-infused rollicking rolling pub rock with a hulking, stage-stalking Jimmy Barnes on vocals, masterful Ian Moss on guitar, a wicked rhythm section, and the maestro, and chief songwriter, Don Walker way at the back, stage right, on keyboards.
Anyway...
Whenever, I listen to to the song Bow River (see above) these days, I'm transported right back to the time I discovered the group while I was simultaneously doing and thinking all sorts of young man not-so bluesy, because-everything's-rosey-not-grey-and-out-in-front-of-you, type things.
Gosh.
It really is incredible how music can do that to you.
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In a weird way Chisel is Australia's version of the Tragically Hip, massively popular at home but no matter how hard they tried the failed miserably in their attempts to crack the American market.
SubHeader?...At the start of our sojourn we landed in Sydney and immediately took a bus out to the end of the line going north (which is another Chisel lyrical trope) because we'd been told that was a good place to start hitch hiking...And it was...Our final ride got us to Brisbane, which is where we plunked a few hundred dollars down on our super reliable Holden HD, which looked kind of like a late 60's Rambler sedan...Anyway, during that last hitch trip, one of the other passengers was a young red haired kid that the car's driver called Bluey, which is apparently the Australian version of the Irish 'Ginger' designation for folks of certain fiery follicular hue...Brizzy is, of course, slang for Brisbane...They shorten pretty much everything and stick a 'y' or and 'ie' on the end of it.
Thanks so much to reader EG for prodding me into doing the editing and publish button pushing on this one...It had been sitting in the queue for a few weeks now.
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