There was a surprise support act added to William Crighton’s Brisbane leg, stopping at The Old Museum (8 May), making it a triple dose of songwriting glory.
Jason Walker’s songs are simple and delightful, and over too soon. That kind of drawn-out suspense is intoxicating.
“This tour has been incredibly important to me.” Jason explained he usually sticks to playing shows around Sydney and Melbourne, and commends the women in the tour bus (Beano’s wife and daughter) for being graciously civilising influences.
“All my friends are drowning slowly, no rescue boat in sight.” Sometimes a still figure is super powerful. “Some of them need rescuing slowly, while they’re waiting on the break of dawn.”
Jason’s recovered from a stroke, which required cancelling of his shows once the album came out. “I’m just lucky I can try out my stage banter that I’ve been practising in my head for the last two months.” Now this is a good moment.
Next up is the UK act on tonight's bill. “Sometimes I feel uncool, when I gaffa tape my soul together... It’s nice to be important but it’s more important to be nice.” Beans On Toast bursts onto the scene, we’ll in a gentle way, with chirpy larrikinisms and LOLs.
“I’m barely breaking even but I’m paid more than I’m worth.” He pauses the song for a chat, and builds a moment of connection, relation and usurpation (I could have edited that fancy word out, but I really encourage you to educate yourself).
“I’m trying to pay attention to the fact we’re in such a beautiful old building,” says Beans. “Maybe I’ll sing about my Nan.” He’s exactly what you think a folksinger is – reminding you what you forgot to notice about your life, and delightfully describing what you do remember.
Here’s a dude who managed to rhyme arvo and servo with ScoMo, and makes reference to AusPol’s treatment of homos and reffos. Also announced his name in Australia will be Beano. “I’m not a poster boy for recreational drugs, I’m just a 38-year-old man with a pocketful or stories, a handful of songs and a three-chord master plan.”
William Crighton solo is a force majeure. It seems weird to contrast him here solo, to a band setting, because it feels impossible to determine what he’s not bringing to the table alone.
A few instruments fall off the rack when he swaps guitars, and he says: “I never really know what I’m gonna do... so I have this spaghetti on stage.”
Here is a storm in cowboy boots, with a beard to rival young Santa Claus – it’s just that the quiet parts are isolation and the heavy parts are frantic.
“You gotta dig your mind deep boy, you gotta dig your mind.” He sings away from the mic at times: it sucks you in and draws you along its deep story.
He gets choked up during ‘And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda’, and starts again. I held the hand of a stranger sitting in the row behind me who was audibly moved. “I found out the truth from an insect, that the meaning of life was happiness.”
William Crighton ends with ‘On My Way’, a haunting silhouette on sparse, distorted guitar and then piano. Having just signed international publishing and agency deals, yes this Riverina kid sure is on his way.
