It’s a quarter past midnight as Bob Evans throws down a final gulp of his pre-gig purchased bottle of Shiraz. He squints into the blinding wattage of the Corner Hotel and asks for a suitable request to fill his encore.
He looks in the direction of this reviewer and his two companions after hearing the cries of ‘Turn’, an ode to imperfect love from his solo debut album.
Evans accepts the request and invites one of these companions to join him on stage. Following a 10-second crash course on the harmonica (“all you need to do is suck ‘n blow,” he advises), he and his new collaborator proceed to swoon the near sold-out crowd to its knees, almost to the point where – if this reviewer didn’t know any better – you could’ve sworn it was a set-up.
It’s a lovely moment; symbolic of his knock-about nature and boyish charms. After fifteen years of snapping strings and shifting capos, it perfectly captures why he’s still one of our most-loved singer-songwriters.
Prior to Evans’ appearance, five twenty-something Sydneysiders staked their claim as one of this country’s most promising acts. Without getting too gushy, Tigertown were astonishing.
There is a deceptive nature about the quartet. Though the foundation of their style drips in folk, there’s an ever-looming wall of sound that explodes whenever they opt to unleash their powerful harmonies.
The delivery of ‘Morning Has Finally Come’ and ‘What You Came Here For’ promptly overrides their support slot status, providing proof as to why their bandwagon will be filling ferociously during the next few years months.
There’s a love for Bob Evans (aka Kevin Mitchell) that stretches from the Aviation Museum of Bull Creek, across the dusty bitumen of the Nullarbor, past a few jam donut vans at Dandenong market and into the heartland of south-east Australia.
Last night that affection swelled to the point of male marriage proposals.
He demonstrated everything we adore about our local artists, whether it is his ability to down a bottle of red or his handling of a persistent front-row heckler (“look mate, I love your passion, but you’re annoying me”).
Adding to Evans’ affable nature are his numerous – and tipsily explained – back stories, including recounting his first support slot at the Corner and meeting his wife at the same establishment.
For the most part, however, the night was about the songs; tales of love, loss and hand-me-downs.
Without ever really needing to dip into his Jebediah, Basement Birds or Like A Version catalogues, Evans delivered an hour-and-a-half of nostalgic bliss.
It’s easy to forget just how rich his back-catalogue is. It takes songs such as ‘Nowhere Without You’, ‘Don’t You Think It’s Time?’ and new cuts – ‘Maps’, ‘Footscray Park’, the lovely ‘Bruises’ – off Familiar Stranger to quickly remind us why the Sandgroper-turn-Melburnian is so much more than a laid-back journeyman.
A fitting tribute to the late Chrissy Amphlett with ‘I Touch Myself’ is lovingly received. So too is a walkabout rendition of ‘Wonderful You’, which sends Evans strumming and singing unaccompanied on a path from stage to bar to sound desk and (nearly) to the gents.
Later on, a rousing jam allows his band – in particular an impressive Davy Lane, who also excelled as first support act – to flex a bicep or two. It provides the ideal lead into the aforementioned – and, again, bloody darn memorable – encore.
Look beyond Evans/Mitchell’s schoolboy charms and depth of talent and what’s left is an artist who genuinely appreciates the revered position his fans have placed him in. Accordingly, he gives his all in every show.
At no other stage or time has he demonstrated that appreciation more so than with this performance.
