Jeff Lang

When I enter The Basement I think it's an odd place for the mature statesman of Australian blue folk-rock to be playing. There is some kind of irony in the use of blue to evoke a feeling antithetical to the music; sterile and "ultra-modern" hip. It feels nonsensical to have Jeff Lang associated with a whoring nightclub like this, but once you descend the stairs and walk past the poofs and blue drenched booths, the aesthetic of a rural pub hall usurps the atmosphere of the entrance.

It's 9:30 when I walk in, catching the end of Jeff's support act Ms. Kara Grainger. The doors had opened two hours beforehand, but the venue had been kind enough to advertise a specific start time for music. Of course, being a pub venue, there was at that point, nothing to do but stand to the side for the entire show.

Kara Grainger plays for forty minutes with a comfort and conviction that eradicated any traces of the common fears some support acts possess in front of hungry crowds awaiting 'real' show, the one they had in mind when they paid their money and headed out of their cosy homes earlier in the evening. Kara is strong. Her smooth but smoky voice emanates from a frail frame which emphasises the dichotomy of the will to live or love and the pain of doing so, the nature of the Blues. In songs like Secret Soul and The Sky is Falling she can make you cry and make you stomp your feet with a smile, within minutes, simply because she seems to do just that.

Her sound, is a comfortable lounge blues with a pop feeling, but her brother Mitch's effortless harmonica work and simple harmonising, she kicks the beat up to remind the audience that the night has barely begun, and we are in for a big thundering ride.

Unfortunately, there are other passengers on this ride, passengers no iPod can drown. I am privy to a photo-shoot taking place in front of me and subsequently to the immediate left of the stage. An impromptu use of a mini digital camera by two glossy, over-dressed, over-tanned, over-dyed, and overweight women, I feel generous in stating, still in their twenties. This is Sydney of course, and what matters more than looking good and getting some sexy dancing crotch fulfilment on a Saturday night? To my left is a nook filled by three or four couples, boasting about their drink tally thus far. In the front rows (tables) the lighting allows me o see the faces of some people in thoughtful staring, and some people mildly dumbstruck there is no dance floor, or some such place to 'pick up'. Isn't a gig a funky, hip thing to do? But of course, after this there will be clubs and promenading along the Quay with everyone else in uncomfortably tight and rarely worn clothing.

Mr. Lang uses no ingratiating intro, he moves onto the stage as the lights return after a twenty minute darkness, and begins showing us The Savannah Way. Not long into the song a tall middle-aged Euro-Mediterranean man sidles over to me, apparently assuming I am in a talkative state, being that words are coming out of me via the pen in my hand. Too much credit given I suppose, this man cups a Vodka, Lime & Soda while he points to Jeff and says to me rather dismissively, "What value would you put on this guy?". I give him the simple answer, "Good", so that he can potentially figure out speaking is a rude thing to do during a performance. He continues to peck me with words and derisive lead-ins, but eventually bumbles a couple of metres away.

The next song is the fast paced Southern Highlands Daughter and in this moment you can see the mastery of Jeff Lang. He has more than amazing skills on the guitar, for, although you cannot even say his fingers "dance" across the frets and strings because dancing appears extraneous he is dressed in a three piece suit with no signs of sweating through, I is the silence he creates with his music. The room is almost completely silent by the end of this song, and that was nothing but a simple diddy for him, there wasn't even need of emotive crescendos, nor long held notes. This continued as he pulled out another new song from the Half Seas Over album; Copper Mine.

After three songs, all from the new album, Jeff finally greeted the crowd and introduced them to the questionably young Grant Cummerford on Double Bass, feeling assured of now owning their respect. Then he made himself supremely likable as he told a couple of stories to amuse us and gain a glimpse of the life he leads as a musician; "Why do they say, 'here's a song that goes something like this…' well no it goes exactly like that doesn't it." With the familiarity buzz in full affect, he shows us an arrangement of the traditional folk song Pretty Polly, and during this, the Vodka, Lime & Soda man re-appears to ask me what I am writing. In an economic use of syllables I oblige him with an answer he simply responds ambiguously, "He crosses traditional barriers this fellow doesn't he…" and shortly he has faded into the peripheral crowd.

I have no idea why people seem endlessly obsessed with breaking moulds, crossing barriers, fusing musical worlds. Well I actually know that it I mostly arrogance of 'the times', but that seems overly pessimistic to say. Jeff's music is not revolutionary but rather evolutionary, as he simply takes from his most affecting sources of music to create his own legacy of art. It is acknowledgeable that his vocal skills are to be found sparing in light of his musical gifts, but we would be prone to hate him at least secretly were they equally as extraordinary.

The Vodka, Lime & Soda man's duties as an irritating voice of drunken self obsession and disregard for the crowd of fans were usurped as the night wore on. A small group to my right seemed to believe they were in a private show with Mr Lang and Mr Cummerford, but such is live performance as Jeff related while he related more quick and humorous stories from the life. This show truly was one of the great examples of an artist in music, a master and a statesman in a loose usage of the term.

Not enough has been said of his indispensable partner in music, Grant Cummerford. His boyish looks contrast strikingly to Mr. Lang's self described "Geography teacher chic" but their teamwork as displayed perfectly in a rendition of "London" (A song all Jeff Lang lovers should be familiar with) and is ease of skill in both double bass and stand acoustic bass proves that Grant is a valuable musician beyond the stigma of a 'bass player'.

It is two hours until Jeff finally leaves the stage for the last time, and it is amusing to see anyone who thought this would be a funky little gig to kick start an otherwise typical Sydney Saturday night. They leave at 1am some kind of exhausted, and yet, Mr Lang seemed barely sweating still. He took us through eighteen songs in two and a half hours, showcased his new album and delivered older songs and traditional songs (including a extract from the Bob Dylan song Outlaw Blues inserted into his last encore Too Easy To Kill; the mention of "An Australian mountain range" was brightening to say the least) in ways that if you had a seat you would have been electrified or tenderized. For those standing there were sadly a lot of looks of regret, "should have got here earlier and grabbed a seat", "should not have abandoned that seat", "should not have worn heels", "should not have had so many drinks" and many more; I am no psychic.

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