Wagons

At 9am on Monday morning the streets of Melbourne were empty; the consequence of an orphan working day nestled between the weekend and Cup Day, that most incongruous public holiday perversely embraced by even the most strident anti-gambling advocates.

Twelve hours later and every man, woman, child and their dog seemed to be in public view, taking in the sights and sounds of a balmy late spring evening. Competition was plentiful: in St Kilda there was Timmy and Johnny, in Fitzroy some bloke called TJ was putting on a show and in Northcote we had the cast of Wagons in all their plaid glory.

Henry Wagons is a born entertainer. Unlike those other tortured souls for whom art is a means of purging emotional demons, or massaging a fragile ego, Henry is as happy as the proverbial pig in shit. And why shouldn’t he be? Modern times are certainly good for Henry and co. The band’s latest album, The Rise and Fall of Goodtown, has precipitated a quantum leap in the band’s national popularity. As he introduced ‘Eagle on the Hill’, Henry joked that even Adelaide seems to have come ’round to his shtick.

The band appears on stage with Henry out front. A western shirt, black jeans, the headband a subtle indicator of the enthusiasm with which he’ll approach his craft tonight. His eyes dart around the crowd, and the banter begins. He’s like the MC you always want at your cousin’s wedding, able to make a couple of marginally ribald jokes that will put the crowd at ease, punctuated with a self-deprecating edge that dilutes any suggestion of inflated ego.

The gig begins with ‘Man Sold’ from the Draw Blood album and there’s a surge of attention – and bodies – to the front of stage. Much of the set is drawn from Goodtown – ‘The Gambler’, the Wangaratta meets Canned Heat boogie of ‘Drive All Night Till Dawn’, Elvis’ Vegas-era ‘Never Been to Spain’, ‘Goodtown’, ‘Keep Your Eyes Off My Sister’ and ‘Evette’ – with the occasional dip into the back catalogue (‘Send a Message’, ‘Pamela May’ and a crowd augmented ‘Willie Nelson’).

The whole show is permeated with the sense of fun and enjoyment you might associate with the touring circus shows of yore. Henry never loses his Cheshire cat grin and even Matty Hassett’s impromptu rendition of ‘Believe It Or Not’ (the theme song from The Greatest American Hero) slides under the radar of acceptable taste purely on account of the goodwill with which the band has flavoured the room.

Having encouraged us to return the next day to witness him calling the “Race That Stops A Nation”, Henry bids us farewell. The next day will be characterised by the twin demons of gambling and drink, but tonight there is only goodness in the air.

by Patrick Emery