CW Stoneking

It was bloody hot. With lots of bodies in the room, the beer didn’t stand a chance at staying cold past the barman’s hand. So warm beer, sticky clotes and some cool ass music. Recipe for a good night really.

Stringybark McDowell opened proceedings. I thought the guy was a myth, turns out he’s flesh and bone. He plays a mean brand of bush doof blues too. Having just finished recording his latest album in Rory Ellis’ lounge room, he was happy to explain the premise of each track; “I wrote this song to have a sook”.

There were some covers, with Leadbelly, Bob Dylan, Ry Cooder, and Blind Billy Johnson all making an appearance, yet he managed to keep the sound all his own. The port barrel for a kick drum worked better than any stomp-box contraption I’ve heard lately, and the overalls and goggles over top hat look made the whole thing surreal and smiley.

CW is a man nobody can mistake. His physical presence is one thing, with every head turning as he walks through a room, but his voice is quite another. Raised by American parents in the Australian outback, he has a unique southern mumble when speaking, and it’s not put on. Once he opens those lungs to sing though, there rings a voice of clarity like an echo through decades of blues music history.

After opening by himself, he soon invited the brass onstage to join him. A tuba, a trombone and a trumpet all respecting the talent that leads them. It was great to see. For the rock pigs of the world, who are sitting there wondering how three horns and a banjo or guitar can possibly sound so great, let me translate it this way: the tuba was the backbeat of your regular drummer, with so much more versatility, the trombone was your bass, providing licks and occasionally harmonies to the trumpet, the lead guitar of the outfit. Gold.

It was a little hokey, there’s no denying that, but when you can get a crowd at a pub singing along in full voice about Cabbage Greens, then it doesn’t really matter. The diversity that was somewhat missing from Stringybark was there in spade with CW. He played a calypso track he’d learnt off the internet, a few Charleston rags, and even a dark, perverted number called ‘Son of America’.

The blues man may seem to be a hodgepodge of history, influences and sounds, but when it all comes together to produce what CW is, all we can do is say thankyou lord.

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