From Lynda on Buderim: A bit of serendipity. I headed the wrong direction to the RSL here in Southport and stumbled onto an internet cafe. They close in a half-hour and I have no notes with me, and those two factors should combine to make those to whom length matters in negative way happy, but for those who don't care to read about how impressed I am with what Russell and Alan have joined together to do...sorry to say, but I can say plenty along those lines in a half hour. Especially when it is so true. I said in the review of the second Vanguard show the the truest measure of a performer and a band's courage and commitment is how they face up to the difficult outings; now comes time for the final part of that theory: The second truest measure of that courage and commitment is in how they come back from that difficult outing, what kind of show follows the one that was such a struggle to get through. Some of the best shows I've ever seen Alan do have been the ones immediately following the shows that were a real challenge to do, and after having seen what Russell and The Ordinary Fear of God did on both nights at the Buderim Tavern, it seems safe to say that they can more than hold their own with Alan when it comes to coming back with a roar and a fury and a refusal to let past circumstances impede forward momentum. Granted, I've not seen very many of their shows, but even so. these past two shows have been the best so far for sheer power and energy and, best of all, what looks like a real sense of having a wonderful time on Russell's part. And to think I nearly didn't go to Buderim. Getting there was a pain in the ass, and even once I got there, I came within a hair's-breadth of packing up and heading out, still inclined that direction up until about the fourth song of the first show. What a fool I would have been if I had done so and how much I would have missed out on: Hand-to-hand (hand-to-leg?...hand-to-antennae?) combat with roaches the size of small sports cars, a wild-turkey-inspired epiphany (not the liquid Wild Turkey, but instead the kind that you'd expect to be popping in the oven on Thanksgiving, only this time having my leg head-butted by the unexpected poultry while lost in thought trying to reach one of those Big Decisions, the resultant surprise and laughter caused by that head-buitting putting said decision in proper perspective and making it so much easier to stay the follow-your-heart course, since how can one possibly argue with a choice that leads you to being head-butted by a wild turkey in Buderim, Queensland, Australia?), a collection of fascinating and poignant stories from some of the Buderim seniors about what life and love and hope and heartbreak were like in Queensland in the 40s and the 50s, the thought-provoking travel stories of a fellow who followed the band Phish around non-stop for years, and most of all, best of all, two nights of some of the best live music and live performances I've seen in a long time, by some of the best players I'll likely ever see. It was a comparatively small crowd (but packed and pushing and squeezing to get a little closer to the source of all of that heat and energy, so much so that this claustrophobic couldn't even look back to see what was happening in rows 2 and higher without feeling a little queasy), in what was also a small place, hence the packing and pushing and squeezing. About 450 the first night, closer to the way-too-many-venue's-size 600 the second night, after word had gotten out to the locals about how good the first night had been. Good it had been, and good it would be. It was a wild mix of a crowd, from young boys barely old enough to get in to uni students to groups of middle-aged women to elderly couples; the locals from towns all around had come to see Russell Crowe play Buderim, not many with much knowledge of his music (there were far more cries of "Gladiator!" than shouted-out song titles) but all with a knowledge of him, most with no shortage of awe and affection either (hearing grown men shout out "We love you, Russ!" and "You're a legend, Russell" was something special to see and to hear). It was a happy, rowdy, raucous crowd - the opener, a fellow by the name of Cameron from the band The Daisy Cutters, had to work hard to get his catchy songs and big-guitar strum heard by those of us up front who were actually listening while waiting for Russell, instead of talking about Russell while waiting for Russell - not at all a bad crowd to get to rock along on the hard-driving songs, but a crowd that would be a real challenge to get to listen to the quieter songs. For the most part, on both nights the band pulled it off with both kinds of songs, a combined testimony to their own poise and power (with much credit going to the strength of all of the song's arrangements, which have now grown noticeably beyond their versions on the official My Hand, My Heart download album) and also to all of that awe and respect these Buderim crowds had for that fellow up there in the spotlight. For the most part, I got the impression that the majority of them were rather surprised that it sounded as good - as professional and as polished and as musically powerful - as it did. Turning and looking back into the crowd, it was like seeing little light bulbs coming on over more than a few heads, and being able to witness the moment when people first realise that the music is pretty damn good when you least expected it to be is one of the best things about going to see live music in the first place. Before I run out of time, here are set lists for both shows, with a few very smart changes, especially starting with One Good Year instead of Weight Of A Man for this much rowdier pub crowd: Buderim 1 Buderim 2 Add in those two deadly pick slides Alan did during Another Girl (Alan's version of the whole notion of "breathless" and being "like a prayer") and it was about as good as it gets for me, especially since it followed one of Russell's most spectacular performances as The Preacher. On both nights Russell had come out in front of the stage to strut and strum and swagger (and leap) from atop the equipment boxes they had set up as a "stage barrier" to what was a very low and completely accessible stage; he was rivetting while doing it all (being able to look straight up into Russell's eyes - and to see a light and desire and need in those eyes that is very familiar to see - while he is performing his heart out just inches away is yet another one of those breathless experiences, and he took our collective breath away on both nights, but for me, the highlight was at the second show when he finally brought all of the prior elements of The Preacher's persona: the crosses on Calvary, the fast-food sponsors, Eating For Jesus, the foolishness of televangelists, the divine perfection of a tree, the hair-plugged Gene Hackman as the Man of God in the Poseidon Adventure, and last but not least, Shelley Winters and that life-altering episode of tumescence. He wove all of those characteristics into one living and breathing character, who came to life before our eyes; Russell was The Preacher. But as fascinating as the final result was, what I enjoyed the most was observing the process, seeing his face change expression, watching his hands moving restlessly, witnessing an act of creation taking place in the moment. And the one part that was the very best was that little smile of delight when he broke character for a few seconds so he could make the comment when he hit the word "community," rolling the word on his tongue in The Preacher's drawl, then saying in his own voice "'Community,' what a wonderful word that is in this accent." It's that kind of delight in words and in creating that can be heard in the songs he and Alan have written together, and I believe that's what gives those songs so much of their resonance and honesty and strength. I was talking to one of the Perch lurkers at this show, and she mentioned that Russell and Alan's collaboration was most likely a one-off kind of thing. And I said to her what I'll repeat now: I hope otherwise. I hope otherwise very much. This is something too good not to continue. And I think quite few of the good folks of Buderim and the surrounding area might be feeling the same about now. Give it a few hours, and those from Southport can join in too. Speaking of hours, and of half-hours, that's the limit of mine. The
latest of Mickey's stories and the Queensland honeymoon speeding ticket
tale will have to wait for later, as well as the description of Russell
licking Stewart's ear while Stewart tried to play his horn. But one
last note to squeeze in despite the dealine - at both of these shows,
I've watched Russell take the time to talk to people on his way to
and from the venues (he absolutely made the day and maybe the year
of one young man at the first show by chatting him up about the boy's "I'm
As Horny As A Moose t-shirt), and the way he doesn't just blow past
fans with the attitude that they are no more than The Faceless Other,
instead seeming to really look at them and see them as fellow human
beings, has impressed me very much. It's quite the accomplishment to
be that impressive both on stage and off stage. |