The Cowboy's band Grand Banks were rather charming like a bumbling Englishman transferred into Canadian Cowboy format. The Cowboy himself stood centre stage with a guitar and microphone wearing his usual clothes and standing in his usual way. I think it was his complete lack of pretentious stage presence that I found most charming watching him up there singing and dancing artlessly with his bum stuck out like a chicken.
The Cowboy appeared to remember feeling comfortable on stage but then he would forget again. I stood near the back of the crowd leaning on a tall table sipping at a pink lemonade. Loene Carmen walked in like a shining god and stood at the bar smiling benevolently in her orange lycra cowgirl dress and tall boots. Grizelda said "Who's that!" while I smiled at Loene and she smiled back. Loene's daughter Holiday Carmen looks like a marble figure carved from the memory of her mother.
The Cowboy's music is cowboy music. He seemed absent from the first few songs like if I squinted I'd see the ghost shape of him standing behind himself clutching worry beads but then in a sudden rush the music became inhabited and was good like an open road and a sure destination.
Loene Carmen played next. Sam, the bass player, was absent because he was traveling back from his Damo Suzuki gig in Melbourne. He was missed. Loene needs Sam and The Mess Hall boys driving her glow out and over the audience with an assured force but still she captivates me.
The Cowboy accidentally popped his collar during a guitar change, then apologised, after discovering his collar was popped, for singing the last song with a popped collar. He's the charming opposite of that pretentious stage twat Tex Perkins. I'll be going to the next gig carrying a hope of hearing him inhabit his music.
The Cowboy appeared to remember feeling comfortable on stage but then he would forget again. I stood near the back of the crowd leaning on a tall table sipping at a pink lemonade. Loene Carmen walked in like a shining god and stood at the bar smiling benevolently in her orange lycra cowgirl dress and tall boots. Grizelda said "Who's that!" while I smiled at Loene and she smiled back. Loene's daughter Holiday Carmen looks like a marble figure carved from the memory of her mother.
The Cowboy's music is cowboy music. He seemed absent from the first few songs like if I squinted I'd see the ghost shape of him standing behind himself clutching worry beads but then in a sudden rush the music became inhabited and was good like an open road and a sure destination.
Loene Carmen played next. Sam, the bass player, was absent because he was traveling back from his Damo Suzuki gig in Melbourne. He was missed. Loene needs Sam and The Mess Hall boys driving her glow out and over the audience with an assured force but still she captivates me.
The Cowboy accidentally popped his collar during a guitar change, then apologised, after discovering his collar was popped, for singing the last song with a popped collar. He's the charming opposite of that pretentious stage twat Tex Perkins. I'll be going to the next gig carrying a hope of hearing him inhabit his music.
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I'm listening to her right now in the office. Oops, shouldn't be looking at my blog in the office. Sorry about there boss style person who is hopefully not going to read this.