More than lucky – Kylie’s triumphant and indisputable magnificence

It is no accident, although unplanned, that Kylie Minogue performed the final show of her US “Tension” tour the same night as the Australian federal election. While the humungous audience at Crypto Arena was largely American and male and gay and sparkly, the joy and pride for the Aussie icon whose unpretentious star shines so bright, whose home accent seems more evident than I’ve heard in years, whose decades of hard work have ascended her to global success few really imagined possible when she released “I Should Be So Lucky”, was as glorious and victorious as an election result in favour of what is good and true and fair and free.

Cold Chisel – Take a bow FFS

I love Cold Chisel – Aussies all, or mostly, do – but this is not going to be the kind of write-up all those blokey music writers were writing during this 50th anniversary tour or the kind of breathless salivating social media posting everyone – men, women, children and their pets – were populating my feeds with through 2024.

It is difficult for me to write anything particularly original about a band that is so adored and lauded and so cocky that they refuse to even take a bow to acknowledge their adoring audience at the end of their show but whose music I genuinely do enjoy. Sharing the photos I took over the two nights I saw them might be the best I have to offer, along with a potted history of my experience of getting into their music.

From Nick, with love

“I love you Nick!”
Between every song came that call out. From a woman or a man, a disembodied voice from somewhere in the audience.
“I love you Nick!”
“I love you, too,” replied the gentleman on stage at the piano, each and every time.
And now and then he would add, “Now shut the fuck up.”

Night three of Nick Cave’s sold-out run at Los Angeles’ historic Orpheum Theatre, final night of a North American solo tour, accompanied only by bass player Colin Greenwood of Radiohead, and there was a huge amount of love in the room.

Enchantment on an LA night: Brandi Carlile, friends, rainbows, and that Joni thing

Somebody told me today that I live an enchanted life. I had been sitting on the beach thinking about what to write to accompany my photos from last night’s Brandi Carlile and Friends show at the Hollywood Bowl, and as music is inextricable from life for me, naturally I dived into existentialism and experientialism. …

For four years I have started to write about Brandi Carlile and stalled several times. There is so much to say and I’m surprised at how hard I have been finding it to say it in prose, to rise up to the standard of such an extraordinarily impactful artist. A much longer piece must be written but today I am just going to post these photos from a magical night at my favourite venue in the world.

Age, ageing and the age of adoring Joni

I’ve railed against ageism in recent years, ageism for women particularly, as it has affected my professional life. But there are a number of women in music whose lights are shining more brilliantly than ever in their old age and, in some cases, ill health, and I think it’s an interesting and powerful movement. If they are anything like me – and they must be, because I am a woman and I am human – they likely still feel childlike beneath their lined and weary skins and bones.

The girl is back in town and she can’t listen to the music

After almost two years of silence on this blog, how do I write something that might be music to your ears – or eyes?

This won’t be the most conventional way back in to writing about music in my life but that’s me, unconventional at best. This is not a story about a Thin Lizzy concert, either, despite the photo above. This is just a story about me and music, a relationship that does not feel as it should right now.

All roads lead to Brandi Carlile

On a beautiful end-of-summer/early fall day in Silicon Valley I stood in the sun for hours waiting to get into the grounds of Stanford University’s Frost Amphitheater for my first full live concert in 19 months. Many artists had recommenced post-pandemic touring at the beginning of that US summer, and by the time I saw Brandi Carlile on this stage she had played through the summer at various outdoor venues as well as appearing at AmericanaFest and Ohana Festival. I had been somewhat preoccupied as I had taken off on a solo road trip around the United States, an epic odyssey that connected me more deeply to music – so often it was just me, my RAV4 and my music – and it also disconnected me from much of what was happening in the rest of the country and the world.

Sleeper Catcher – reawakenings and reminiscences

It needs to be said, unequivocally, that Little River Band’s album Sleeper Catcher is one of the most beautiful, exquisite, perfect rock albums ever recorded.

I say “one of” because of course there are many, and my tastes are particular, and don’t encompass a lot of the music that my friends and colleagues swear allegiance to. But as I recently wrote in “What was I thinking?” about the shameful, unforgivable culling of my music collection, and have had cause to look down the list of what vinyl I had owned, and what I still do, and what I have in my huge digital library, and make comparisons, I understand that there are some albums that really should only be heard in their original formats, and Sleeper Catcher is one of those. You need to play it on vinyl, as it was released to the world in 1978.