Vorn Doolette

Arriving late to North Hobart’s Alley Cat was annoying and confusing.

A serious looking man, strumming and humming on the small stage in the far corner, sat under a mirror ball and huge wall-hung mirror with a few-dozen folks seated and standing around him, all paying due respect to the artists at work.

Using the mirror to see around the stack of speakers to right of stage, I could see the otherwise hidden bassist stood beside the pianist, violinist and the main man, Vorn Doolette.

The quartet was a few songs into the set billed as the headline act for the night, with Moondogs in support.

Hereupon I was struck with the brunt of my confusion. It wasn’t 10pm and already I was watching the main act. I knew it wasn’t Moondogs. There were too few on stage and they were too well behaved.

This was either going to be a long set or an early night… or there’d just been a late change in scheduling.

With scrunched squares of white paper at his feet that could easily have been tear-soaked tissues, Doolette was addressing the gathered punters in melancholy tones through personal tales dressed as delicate and somewhat mournful songs.

The scrunched paper, he explained, were his set lists.

He later confessed feeling flat throughout, and distracted by the party at the pool table on the other side of the pub.

Nevertheless, none who were watching could have complained. Doolette seemed conscious of connecting with his audience, particularly during moments when he pared the band down, giving us an unaccompanied glimpse at his acclaimed song-writing and story-telling skills.

With a recent support slot for the legendary Paul Kelly under his belt, perhaps my discovery of Doolette ceding to Moondogs for the later time-slot became more confusing.

He explained the decision had been made on a couple of fronts. Moondogs had a drum kit that he could do without cluttering the stage and it was to be their last gig together. It would probably be a raucous affair that deserved room to move.

Vorn had figured on applying his coat of grace and melancholy to The Alley Cat early in the evening before the local lads came in and messed it up all over again.

He may have secretly wanted in and away as early as possible because of how hot it was in the pub following what had been a long, sunny summer Saturday.

But Moondogs soon burst onto stage amid whistles, cheers and grins from what was now a solid Saturday night crowd in front of the stage and around the bar, offering no sign of intending to cool things down.

They looked set to summon up a storm inside the pub as full-to-bursting clouds gathered over Hobart and sure enough, down came the rain.

But inside there was only beer, cider and sweat pouring as one-and-all took it upon themselves to fire up for some good old-fashioned ‘I don’t care what I look like’ dancing.

The band played, the crowd bayed. Pretty soon, the first round in a game of musical instruments (it’s a variation of musical chairs) was played on stage. By night’s end, I’m not sure there were any more combinations left to try.

The five-piece almost all sung, played guitar, bass and drums and had certainly incited riotous behaviour across the dancefloor.

I’ve been humming ‘Big Black Cloud’ to myself since Saturday. I’ve also been grinning at the choice of covers late in the set… Beach Boys and Led Zep classics getting the Moondogs’ treatment and full participation from the enraptured audience.

But off into the night Moondogs eventually wandered at the end of a set lengthened due to outright refusal from the crowd to let them step down any sooner.

Maybe Moondogs will rise again one day. No doubt various members will remain involved in music in some guise.

Maybe Vorn Doolette will be back to Tassie soon, too. He might be sporting a bigger profile by then. He might even headline his own show.

But in case he lets the locals go last again, be prepared to get in nice and early to make sure you don’t miss out!

Share this review on Facebook