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Backstage at the Moolight Festival (A personal view)
The first tune to inspire me to put my sister's high heels and shimmy to the beat was 'Little Girl' by John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers. I had spent the day at my freind Rosie Amstrong's house: I was twelve years old. Her big brother, who had an impressive classic Citroën with a sunroof and was possibly ane of Aukland's first beatniks, was playing the latest addition to his huge record collection. This was a defining moment for me; this was teh first music that literally stopped me in my tracks, the first time I felt the "groove". What is this music? I had to find out. He showed me the cover and to this day the face of John Mayall to me is the face of Blues. Two weeks later I was sneaking out the window when my mum was asleep and heading downtown to 'The Tabla' nightclub. Music became a guiding light for me from that day on and I have the scars to prove it. Thirty odd years later, standing backstage in the wings of the Moonlight Festival I was in awe of this greeat musician, John Mayall, who has put some of the most talented names in Blues on the map; Jeff Beck, Eric Clapton, Peter Green, Coco Montoya. A strong healthy man defying all myths that at seventy odd life is on teh decline. The Bluesbreakers rocked through songs from 'Sense of Place' and John Mayall remains a living legend. Someone whispered to me that he is renown for his pornography collection. Well, that doesn't surprice me, he's a man who has embraced life and all its senses. The Moonlight Festival was electric with talent. Backstage was a buzz with road crew, stage crew, and managers checking that the program was running to schedule. Two huge stages were set up side by side and the sound technicians were working overtime to run leads and plug in the alternative stage for the next artist. All seemed to be going smoothly until Wilson Pickett about to start. Three times the sound dropped out, three times as the MC was about to introduce the man with the Mustang all sound died. Panic stricken yet focused the technicians kept their cool at 100 mph. Pickett's band was totally professional about a deflating situation. Even after ten long minutes there was no way they were going to walk off stage and they rode the storm. The big dude in the long black coat swinging a saxophone was closest to the sound desk. He kept the band cool but tempers wavered when the third intro died on the second bar. Imagine the feeling, when you're out on stage, 12,000 people are waiting for you to hit it and there's no sound. Eventually, the problem was sorted and I don't care what teh critics say...this was Wilson Pickett, he's the Stax man, soul music, New York flash. His band rocked from the first note, it was awesome. The three part brass section was an entertainment showecase with soft shuffle grooves and moves; dancing in unison, standing tall, almost menacing the crowd, daring them to dance and keep up. The female back up singers wer powerful, and after such a shaky start I thought Wilson Pickett held his own. 'Mustang Sally' is a classic groove and not to be taken for granted as easy. There were many great moments on the day but one of the most outstanding performances would have to go to our very own bluesman Dave Hole. He played so well, his set worked like a dream, everything seemed to gel for him an the day and as he teased the audience with the 'Bullfrog Blues' intro then breaking into his world renown overhand wailing guitar style. Hole let the croed know in no uncertain terms that this is blues music, stand up and dance to the beat...and they did. Max Merritt was great, Little Charlie was swinging but Dav Hole shifted the a=laid back mood into top gear. He leapt about the stage and as the big video screen revealed here is a musician who feels every note, a man possessed by the sound of music. Bob Patient an keyboards, Roy Daniel on six string bass, Rick Eastman on drums, this was an awesome set and the smiles on their faces as they left the stage saig they knew they had nailed it for their hometown crowd. They are up there with the big boys. Ther's an enormous amount of organisation that goes an backstage at a festival of this calibre. Band rooms for one. Accommodating twelve glistening stars plus their entourages needs a lot of ground area. A row af transportables 100 metres from teh backstage area was the scene for an all star walk of fame. As I walked along each row I was smack bang in the middle of a who's who of dressing rooms. Ray was next to Wilson who was next to Tony Joe who was next to Charlie who was next to Dave who was next Beth and so the walk of fame want. As I was sitting amid teh maze of band rooms enjoying a cold meat platter and a cold beer with booge Bob, Tony Joe White's distinctive swamp drawl drifted across the showgrounds. For a duo, it was a full, big sound. As soon as he hit teh first note of his signature song, 'Polk Salad Annie', doors swung open and the wives and entourages of famous bluesmen headed for the stage to dance in the wings. Bob Dylan's band room was the exeption. He was positioned as close to the stage as possible. Here is a man who has insulated himself from the reality of performance social agandas. There was much debate and presumptions on his personality. Why would he remain so aloof from fans and people in the same business as him? Is he a snob? Does he think he's better than anyone else? These remarks are so naive and unsupported it makes me wild. It is a documented fact tah Bob Dylan has e great distast for journalists and media. When you reach the international status of Bob Dylan the reality af social agendas, which should be fun and friendly, are so often distorted into lies and fabrication, a prome source for character sabotage. Dylan is lucky enough to be able to put himslef in the position where he is surrounded by people he can trust, people who relate to him as a person and not some sort of novelty found in a curiositu shop. He is better off to remain a mythological figure and not be dissected by hungry media hyenas. Dylan arrives at the Moonlight Festival five minutes before his performance. The canvas canopies are pulled down, closing off the stage. As he walks up the back steps surrounded by five bodyguards led by his manager, the backstage area is cleared. His manager, who I met last time Dylan was in Perth, obviously remains one of Dylan's closest friends and associates. There are no grey areas when it comes to this man doing his job, no one, no one, goes past "this" point. How many times has he heard these songs, listened to this music yet the smile that beamed across his face showed a genuine admiration for the man and his music. Bob Dylan, dressed in a black suit with painted zips op the side of his trousers and jacked sleeves, is humble in his movements, he's careful and taken his time. Close up, his face is the face of a rock'n'roller, like Keith Richards. When you're standing close to someone and not watching from a distance, you feel the aura, the presence of that person, be it mechanic or rock star. To me, the presence of Bob Dylan wasn't that of someone who thinks of himslef as above everyone but more like a child in a state of question, and note understanding the answere. he knows he has to do something but doesn't understand why. His music is where his strength lies. His whole body strainghtened up when he walked on stage, he smiled, he grooved to the beat and although his voice has changed tone over years his expression and conviction to his words and tunes is still the essence of pure music. Befor he left the stage he did the most amazing thing. He stood there for three or four minutes and watched teh people holler and cheer and scream at him. He just stood there for them, looking mystified by their reaction. As he left the stage he was immediately surrounded by his manager and body guards and escorted to a waiting car. I stood next to Dylan's side mix engineer and as handed me a glass of MArgeret River white we stood silent, stunned by this magical performer. Being backstage at a gathering like this is a reality check. You are removed from the glossy magazines; the video productions, the record sales figures and the top ten lists; mere mortality, the sweat and the passion that goes into the music industry surrounds you. The Moonlight Festival was coming to a close and the anticipation of the last act was uplifting. Ray Charles arrived in The Sheriff's car. The Sheriff was in charge of security at the festival. His car is a black Chevrolet straight out of a Dirty Harry movie. Flashing cop lights, V8, the works. He chauffeured Ray Charles from his dressing room, down the hill to the foot of the stairs. What an entrance! I'm sure Ray Charles would have laughed when found out he was being driven to the Moonlight stage in a sheriff's car. Classic. The Sheriff opened the door, helped him from the car then handed him over to Ray Charles' friend who led him on stage. That famous smile, he knew he was walking past a gauntlet of fans and it seemed like he smiled his famous smile for each one of us. What a beautiful person that man is. It has been written he's a tough bandleader but once again the aura, the presence of this man was pure gentle generosity. He walks with a lean as if he's trying to hear the faintest sound. As he walked on stage years of blind instinct came to the forefront as he waved to the crowd and sat behind the piano. From the first note the dynamics of a day filled with loud music dropped by half to a smooth, class act of a four piece jazz ensemble. An invitation to lay back and listen to a master at work. At this point my respect for musicians and backstage crew plummeted to below zero. I couldn't believe my ears. Everyone kept talking. Okay, maybe after ten hours they'd had a few beers, maybe the adrenalin of the day took leave of their senses but that is no excuse for talking through a Ray Charles performance. Standing in front of me was Beth Orton and her drummer and not once did they stop yapping about their plane trip from England. Twenty people in the backstage area chatted away; creating a hum that went over the brilliance of Ray Charles. My friend rightfully spoke up and told the culprits to "shut up and listen". There was stunned silence and for a few minutes everyone listened but soon they were talking again. Is this because Ray didn't play in their face, forcing them to listen? His music is not aggressive or loud, it comes from a musician that is a gentle man. Those people displayed ultimate disrespect for a man whose music is rich in love and peace, honest and professional. Something they could only dream of aspiring to. My friend and I moved to a place backstage where we were fortunate enough to be touched by the music of Ray Charles and the sharing of his pure musical genius. Eat your heart out, you had your chance and you missed the beat. I would lie in bed as a little girl and listen to my mother dance to Ray Charles in the lounge room with her friends and all these years later I know now, just as I knew then, I was listening to a true music maker at work. The Moonlight Festival was the coming together of music I have listened to and been driven by most of my life. Being backstage made me feel very spoilt, and between you and me, it was a fantastic Valentine's Day present. The talent that ranges from audio to construction to lighting to musician to promoter is so impressive. It's the confirmation that we are all people, with the same sweat and we all have talent when we drop the imitations and impersonations and let it shine. Michael Chugg Entertainment should be awarded a medal for bravery for testing West Australian waters with a show of this magnitude. He was there on the day introducing many of the acts, this man has his finger on the pulse. I hope the Moonlight Festival was a successful venture him and he'll bring it back next year. All the artists that performed on the day were great, young and old but it was the pioneers of music, Ray Charles, Bob Dylan, John Mayall, Wilson Pickett and Tony Joe that for me, made this concert, under a full moon, a dream come true. |
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Sue Carter Feb 2003 |
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