Early birds ahoy! The Corner crowd swelled quickly at the feet of the unsuspecting Jess Ribeiro Duo on a warm Thursday night. Low key and no nonsense, Jess’ husked voice warmed the chattering masses while musing guitarist Rob Law laid out some resonant tones. Curiously chosen openers but without lack of appropriation, “this is very exciting,” Jess asserted with a sigh before digressing toward a wee background to their being.
Rather than bunkering down within the typical urban scenester’s grasp, Jess and her more noted accompanying guise of the Bone Collectors have taken to the open roads of the big brown land, finding accepting audiences just as regularly in the harsh outback stages as the patronising snobbery of the sticky inner city carpets. For tonight in The Corner we’ll call it understated and mildly appetising. Like bread.
Without the time to light a fire and link arms, the lights were dimmed and the hairy, dishevelled Pinko figure of Mr. Steve Earle ambled out alone from the shadows, bouzouki in hand. Instantly the unmistakable Texan twang rang out as “Waitin’ On The Sky” opened the proceedings, running quickly through to “The Gulf of Mexico.” Crowing from his invisible wicker chair, the pines of ‘…we were rowing…’ to an eager group of ears would set the level of mutual appreciation. Barely ten minutes through the set, an apparent divide to the room would fester its irritable head, spiked by the rise of the idealistic militant shushers.
Ever the waffler, Earle took the time to forge a link with Straya’s own plight against desperate people in leaky boats. “Immigration is our past. Immigration is our present and if we have a future then it’s our future too… this song is called ‘City of Immigrants’ [from 2007 album Washington Square Serenade],” he plucked to warm approval from the seven people who weren’t busying themselves as vigilante librarians. You can’t deny there’s a draw to this. Knowing anything of his background would be a favourable head start to the show, however the interjections of kind hearted, personable politicising brushed over the idealistic musings that would litter the evening.
Back to more conventional strings – a guitar – Earle is swiftly through engaging renditions of “Someday”, layering on some tasteful harmonica over his simple, driven open chords. (Take note prog heads – write a song and go from there instead of the other way round.) Rambling on, professional and well armed with informative musings the nods, chuckles and claps allowed a fascination with the American Civil War to be told without interruption. All said, the sympathetic congratulations granted to the “revelations with a lowercase r…” admission of “I am a recovering heroin addict… so I’m gonna keep singing this song,” were a little self administered as the strains of “Jerusalem” from the 2002 album of the same name professed a wound had healed.
Amid a growing amount of distrust between jostling groups on the floor, the reasoning to the apparent divide was clearer. Earle has two sets of fans it seems. Fans who can read and fans who were in attendance only to hear “Copperhead Road.” The latter would have to wait, but not before sea shanties took hold, beers were swilled and Earle professed genuine bemusement to only being known in Ireland for one song – “Galway Girl”. While unfortunate and probably undeserving, that’s the appeal when you name check, regardless of intent. On this occasion the song closed the set, triggering a disappearance that barely saw Earle out of sight with little demand required.
Racing through 1982 hit “Guitar Town” to hoots and whistles before Earle spoke warmly of his contribution to the soundtrack of “a wonderful film, Brokeback Mountain” only to be affronted by a lone ‘boo’. Even in light of the cross culture clash, this sort of demented bogan protest triggered an abrupt hush from the crowd and a shocked reaction from Earle. Flailing both arms to his side and rearing a glance toward the knuckle-dragging dissenter, Earle groaned “What the fuck? Man… guess there’s rednecks in Australia too.” A supportive cheer was granted but there was still a sour presence to ignore.
Mercifully, “Devil’s Right Hand” took its moment after further tales of a certain stubborn teenage son having to be dragged kicking and screaming into the back of a car after hoarding his father’s gun. “… it wasn’t before… but now this is a gun control song,” as the cheers blended with ironic shushes, lightening the mood to a collective smile before Fan Club 2.0 had its time to shine. The mystifyingly popular hit “Copperhead Road” rang out in a clang of rattling strings, Southern drawl and off key karaoke heroes.
Steve Earle has his cross to bear and he holds it high, irrespective of any audience’s leanings. He sits between the folk legends of old and the modern day tax dodging inactivism that riddles the red star waving social moaners. A bizarre evening, near ruined by the meeting of minds and mindless. That said, by far the best part of the night was uncovering the friendly allies, happily mounting assaults of reverse-shushing. If someone could organise a night of that, without drowning out a Steve Earle gig, that would be fine with me.
– Ciaran Wilcox
