Stories of me

I’m a Paul Kelly girl.

Not the footballer or the noted journalist, but the songwriting and singing Adelaide born genius. 

I’ve go the records, the tapes, the CD’s the MP3’s and the songbook. 

I know how to make gravy, both the wine and tomato sauce type and the book that told Paul’s life story through his song choices.

If I was 18 you might say I was a groupie, but truth be told, what I have lusted after was the story, the poetry, the imagery, the memories.

All in all, I’m a fan. 

It was Paul Kelly and the Coloured Girls that I first came across and Adelaide, and From St Kilda to Kings Cross entered the list of my all time favourite songs.  Listening to the latter in Rutherglen last Saturday evening reminded me of the timelessness of Paul’s lyrics and his capacity to evoke time and place.

I was often in Oxford Street in those days as I represented teachers on the NSWTF Council . I would come in each month or so on a Friday evening flight from up north with my nose pressed against the glass  never tiring of  how the city shines just like a postcard. I hadn’t been to Melbourne then, I was a North Coast girl. But when I started to visit later on, there were the landmarks: St Kilda Esplanade, Fitzroy Gardens, the MCG – every one of them more than their physical presence. They held Paul Kelly poetry and history and I came to them with greater expectations because of that.

I met Paul Kelly once. Not that he would remember, and given my star struck bumbling conversation, something I should equally forget. However, I never will. 

Here we were in the Coffs Harbour Hoey Moey – THE place for live music (and everything else you might want to experience, so I am told). It was the late 80’s. I can’t recall the exact date, but I  have a clear memory of being called out of the ladies at the end of the show  and ushered back stage for Crown lager and canapés with the band. The friend I had attended the concert with had told the barmaid I wanted to meet Paul and next thing there I was. Gobsmacked, stuttering, brain dead and totally lacklustre. No way to make an impression.

However, when you meet someone who uses words in a way you truly admire, who has seeped securely into your world, who has helped shape your understanding of it and added an incredible richness to your experience, you get over the fact that you have behaved like an idiot. 

I have all but three of the albums. I didn’t like the period with Professor Ratbaggery and the only disappointing performance I ever saw Paul give was with this band in Byron Bay at the Blues  festival. It was just too self indulgent for my liking.

I have been known to see a concert one night and then travel hours to see the show the following one somewhere else because I couldn’t get enough of it.

I loved the Uncle Bills stuff, the soundtracks to Jindabyne and Lantana. I carry the image of a buggy driving Kelly in How High the Moon. I’ve missed the A-Z series of concerts as I just couldn’t get times and locations to line up. Likewise with the movie doco Stories of Me. But I’ll get to that sometime.

What is it that makes this all so addictive? 

It’s the stories, the poetry, the melodies – the  fact that he can take the individual characters and incidents of everyday life and sketch them in such a way that they are excruciatingly familiar and about ourselves. Rally Round the Drum, Gutless Wonder…there I am again as a child.

A Day on the Green in Rutherglen with Neil Finn (supported by Mark Seymour) - I was in heaven. 

Paul:

You got my soul

It's such a beautiful feeling.

Thanks Michelle for a fantastic Christmas present.

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