|
Taken from Sydney Morning Herald (April 12, 2004)
All red hot blues and Brown(e)s
by Katrina Lobley
You can never have too many guitars, it seems, nor too much soul, writes Katrina Lobley from Byron Bay.
It's taken 10 years for Californian balladeer Jackson Browne to return to Byron Bay's annual blues festival but even his biggest fans were a little shocked at what he brought with him.
As long-time admirers started jostling for position before his performance, two roadies carted out a rack holding five guitars.
"Look at his guitars," exclaimed a middle-aged woman with blonde cornrows who was trying to work out how to get herself through the wall of people who'd beaten her to prime, front-stage position. The sight was enough to stop her gushing "I just love him, I love the words he sings, I love the way he looks, I love his hair ..."
But she soon resumed her reminiscences, telling her mate that Browne usually dresses down on stage, wearing nothing fancier than a T-shirt, when out came an identical rack of guitars, followed by one more instrument that stood on its lonesome.
"Eleven guitars! That's just pretentious," said Jackson Browne's loudest fan.
Browne didn't seem at all pretentious when he wandered out in, yes, a T-shirt, and ratty trousers with falling-down cuffs.
He chatted about how Byron Bay reminded him of what Santa Cruz was once like, raved about the roof-raising performance by the Chicago gospel singer Mavis Staples the night before, and gave fans plenty to sing along to, with old favourites such as These Days.
Then Browne created one of the moments that festival-goers would talk about for days. He brought out country-rock troubadour Steve Earle to share the honours on Cocaine (Rehab Version), a song written by Browne and Glenn Frey using the music of the revered blues guitarist, the Reverend Gary Davis.
"Steve sings the defiant, unrepentant, f---ked-up verses and I sing the rehab verses," Browne announced. Together, they brought the house down.
Browne also felt the need to explain about the equipment he had with him. After making another selection from the racks, he said: "It's just so obnoxious coming out here with all these guitars, but it just means I can do what I want when I want."
If Browne thought he was being over the top, it was nothing compared with what was about to unfold over on the main stage. Most of the 15,000 fans on site had packed into the biggest of the big tops to see soul brother number one, James Brown, do his thing.
Perhaps the first hint that Brown's show was going to be nothing like anything else at the laidback festival was a request, up on the big screen, asking that no flash photographs be taken during his performance.
Out came the band, out came the backing singers, out came an emcee. The groove was happening but where was the main attraction? "Are you ready for some super-dynamite soul?" repeatedly asked the emcee. Everyone was - the tent was so hot that people were shedding as many clothes as they decently could - and 10 long minutes later the man himself emerged, twirling and funking it up and flipping his mic stand about. Before long, two dancers in skimpy costumes - including some misjudged stars and stripes - joined him on stage. It was all very Las Vegas cabaret - and not everyone was pleased.
It's not that baring a little flesh on stage is a problem - many people who saw Nigerian afro-beat star Femi Kuti and his three exotically bejewelled dancers on the first night of the festival went back for more the next day. Yet where Kuti's show managed to be stylish, powerful and sexual, Brown's seemed shallow, even a little tacky.
Sometimes, you don't need to move much at all to put on a great show, as demonstrated by Solomon Burke. The soul pioneer, who had to be helped out of a wheelchair to sit on his gold throne, alternatively bewitched and romanced the crowd. As he crooned hit after hit, he tossed dozens of long-stemmed red roses to the ladies. He even hauled himself to his feet at one point just to briefly waggle his enormous rump to the cheers of the audience.
But this year, perhaps more than at any other time in the 15-year history of the Byron Bay Blues Festival, Australian acts were holding their own against the imports.
The first sign of patriotism came when the North Coast's John Butler Trio emerged on stage on Friday night. Thousands of fans had overflowed out of the tent and were standing in every crevice imaginable to hear Butler's nimble, fast-picking blues.
Butler was at the festival last year - he appeared as a guest guitarist all over the grounds - but he wasn't listed on the bill. In the course of the past year, his band's independent album has debuted at No.1 and he's in demand.
The John Butler Trio could have easily headlined on the main stage last night following the cancellation of Lucinda Williams just a week and a half out from the festival but that honour instead went to fellow Australian act the Cat Empire. The six-piece band from Melbourne have had a phenomenal year as well - they played last year's festival as virtual unknowns.
On Saturday they played a mid-afternoon set at the big top and, again, it was hard to get anywhere near the band as they delivered their high-energy mix of Latin and funk rhythms.
Perth folkies the Waifs also pulled thousands to their gig, and last night fans of Australian music faced a difficult choice, when former physio turned singer-songwriter Pete Murray and multi-instrumentalist Xavier Rudd were up against each other in the same timeslot.
 But perhaps no one personifies what the blues festival is all about more than Michael Franti.
The lead singer of Spearhead, who on Saturday afternoon had his first-ever surf with local Greens state MP Ian Cohen, turned confessional during his final performance.
In the wee hours of yesterday, Franti, who lives in San Francisco, talked onstage about his adoption, finding his birth parents, and how he now had a different concept than most about what family meant.
To him, he said, family included friends, parents of friends, teachers, coaches and more. "We create extended families around us because the family we're born into isn't always perfect," he said.
And with that, Franti urged everyone to put their arms around whoever was near them and to make a friend. As his band left the stage, Franti himself did what he preached. He jumped down onto the ground to shake hands, talk to fans and make new friends.
|
