C.W. Stoneking & His Primitive Horn Orchestra

"I guess you like the blues otherwise you wouldn't be here." Thus spoke G.B Balding who, following this introduction, launched into a vigourous take on Walkin' Blues. This man, looking like an emaciated Kurt Vonnegut, was the second of three acts on a rainy Friday night at the Republic Bar where the third and headline act was the anachronism known as C.W. Stoneking & His Primitive Horn Orchestra.

I had heard bits and pieces about C.W. He had toured Tasmania a few months earlier sans-band. Already from these performances he came highly recommended by some of my friends who had seen him. This, coupled with the tracks I listened to on his MySpace, had me very intrigued.

Not much can be said about the first act, one man representing The Black Mourning Band, who simply had a bad night. Starting without a soundcheck resulted in constant feedback throughout his performance consisting of a few quasi-bluegrass songs played on a beatup nylon string guitar. As a consequence of the technical issues he got frustrated and swore copiously which was unnecessary especially when some of it was directed at the audience.

All this was forgotten when Mr. Balding came out with his guitar to play a set of traditional blues songs. He was so appreciated by the crowd that they called out for an encore when his time was up. This he did enthusiastically on a slide guitar. By now, everyone was in the swing of things so when Mr. Stoneking appeared to start with some solo numbers he was given a rapturous reception.

At this point I should pause to describe his look and sound. He appeared in simple clothing, wearing a black broad brimmed hat and trousers and a white shirt with an upturned collar, as if he just came in from the Sunday sermon. Supported by a thick cord slung over his shoulders was his steel guitar that he played for the majority of the night. If one were to close their eyes while he sang they would swear they were listening to a 1920s blues acetate, his voice plaintive. When the horns came to assist him they only further added to the illusion that we had all been transported to the Deep South. The tuba held down the bass while the trombone and trumpet harmonised together whimsically, never holding down a strict theme but also didn’t compete with Mr. Stoneking’s voice. And it was this, his voice, that was the most captivating thing of all. He had a lisp and spoke with the simplicity and style of one that was born and raised in the backwoods of Alabama. There was only an occasional slip in some vowel sounds which belied his Australian roots. Through the night he gave the rowdy audience two sets of hokum, calypso, New Orleans dirge, rags and blues. All of these were sung with a melancholy and rawness that I have never heard live. The music, with its simplicity, was all about setting the soul free, if only for a few hours. It demonstrated what the function of music is on the land when it’s the only relief against the backdrop of hard work.

With a nod to the present, he also did a cover of The White Stripes song 'Seven Nation Army' as an encore but added the caveat that he "didn’t go much on their version and they probably wouldn’t go much on mine."

And so, at the end of the night, Mr. Stoneking and his merry men left the stage after playing an hour and a half of evocative, honest music. In turn, the audience left the The Republic Bar with smiles on their faces and a warm glow in their hearts.

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