Ed Kuepper

Ed Kuepper

The sight of Ed Kuepper hunched over his electric guitar, tight-lipped and terse, is one of the Brisbane music scene's most cherished. When he steps away from the microphone and gets into the zone - grooving from the ankles up with a gentle swaying of the hips, while the fingers do the work - few players throughout the city's colourful history of rock can match him. And when he's playing not to promote a new release or to “look back” - well, look out.

Performing with his Kowalski Collective - which consists of Sunnyboys bassist Peter Oxley, with long-time collaborator Jeffrey Wegener behind the kit - Kuepper draws upon eight songs from across a sterling career. The trio open with a compact version of the Laughing Clowns' 'Eternally Yours', wherein the guitarist mimics Louise Elliott's towering, proud saxophone melody. Even if he'd only ever written this song, Kuepper's career would be singularly commendable.

I love middle-aged concertgoers. Where youthful music fans clamour to stand as close to the performers as physically possible, tonight's crowd uphold a respectful sense of personal space, both between the stage and each other. As a result, viewing is never a problem; from the second row, I cringe time and again, as Ed nearly steps on his glasses. From the outset, it's clear that he's not in a good way: his vocals are mixed low at the beginning, and after eight songs and 45 minutes, he can't go on. “My throat's fucked,” he croaks, before including a touch of typically sardonic humour. “And you know, this place has a strict curfew anyway...”

While Kuepper is crippled vocally, the band are musically strong. The bluesy swagger of 'Yellow Dog', a punishing read of 'Electrical Storm' and set closer 'The Way I Made You Feel' represent the harsher side of the set, while 'Real To Me', 'Messin' (part two)' and 'Little Fiddle' offer delicate moments. Oxley studies his bass parts in silence, while Wegener stares into the middle distance and feels out rhythms in his idiosyncratic manner. Kuepper signals the end of each song by holding his instrument aloft vertically, and the other two stop on a dime.

Despite his ill health, he's a calm conductor, and a gracious host. He gestures toward the "fine selection of recordings and apparel" at the side-of-stage merch desk, and before the house lights come on, offers a final statement: “Thanks for being here tonight, and not at the football.” A cheeky reference to the 50,000 packed into Suncorp for the rugby.

by Andrew McMillen