Bobby Flynn – the live show – with Omega 3

Have you heard of Bobby Flynn? If you watch Australian Idol, of course you have. Otherwise maybe not. We went to see him in concert on Friday 4/4/08 in the A&I Hall in Bangalow.

I was expecting not to be able to find a park. After all, millions voted for him on Idol, and surely they’d all be here tonight, I thought. But as soon as we turned into the main street – that is arrived in the main street: we didn’t actually metamorphose into bitumen edged with foot paths – there was a park right in front of the Bangalow pub. I suggested that I must have visualised it. If you know about “The Secret” you’ll know what I mean. If you don’t you’re lucky. Anyway, we walked… no, we sauntered… down the street, pausing to look at objects d’art in the windows. Bangalow’s that sort of place, if you haven’t been there – or even if you have been there. John saw a very nice hat and remarked that it would be good dipped, and thought the same about a number of tea cosies in another shop. Dipped? I hear you ask. In porcelain and fired. (see the photos of his work on Flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/7899872@N08/sets/72157602126431721/) Meanwhile, despite being able to park so easily I was envisaging a throng of people around the next corner waiting to get in to the hall. There were lots of cars, but no people. I panicked. Did I get the time wrong? Has it already started? Having been a theatre manager, I wondered if we’d be locked out until there was a break in the performance. But no, when we arrived at the hall there were a few people gaggling at the door, which wasn’t yet opened, and I wondered if I’d got the date wrong. I sneaked a peek through a crack in the door and saw that there were chairs in about half of the hall. Well, something’s on, I reassured myself, but it’s not going to be as big a show as I had anticipated.

As 7:30 approached the street began to fill with people all streaming towards the hall. Mmmmmmmm, I thought. The elves and fairies know when to appear, because at about that moment the doors were flung open and we all queued to get in; and waited, and waited, and waited. Eventually we were let in, stamped with the mark of the beast – I can’t imagine why it was necessary to do that when we had tickets but there you go, that’s rock and roll - and found seats; and waited, and waited, and waited. Well, it was fun looking at the elves and fairies. Finally the lights dimmed and a troll in fairy’s clothing appeared on stage – on tip toes arching up to the mike and said, It looks like every time there’s an event around here I’m up on my tip toes because the person coming after me is always taller. Well you should have heard the audience. There was a deafening silence as everyone stayed in their seats and remained calm. She continued in a perfect monotone for what seemed like some minutes regaling the audience with coming attractions and email lists and … and suddenly I realised that this was not part of the performance but an advertisement. So I stopped paying attention, because I never allow myself to be influenced by ads. Later I did ask if anyone wanted to go the hear the Spooky Men’s Choir which she had mentioned. Anyway, suddenly she wasn’t there.

A bloke who obviously hadn’t combed his hair since he was a little boy, snuck through the curtain carrying a guitar. It was him carrying the guitar, by the way – not the curtain. His name, we’d already been told was Sean Murphy. He was to be the fire starter. You know, warm up the crowd. Get them going. That sort of thing. He sang a very nice song about God, said it wasn’t a religious song and said he wasn’t a Catholic. Yes, well you may ask. It might have been this that triggered the memory of a scene from Katy and Kym in which they were discussing names for the soon to be new baby. Kym mentions a name that Kath approves of and Kath begins to write it down, spelling it out as she goes, and Kym interrupts a gives another, obviously over the top, contrivance as the correct spelling. Anyway, there were about six or eight numbers in his bracket. It all sounded like the same song to me, but. Eh? Different words. Even different notes. But it still sounded like the same song six or eight times. The problem isn't a lack of diversity in his musical composition. I think it was the sentiments expressed. All of his songs were about emotional dependency. ...give your live to me...what if all I wanted to see was God...don't hold me inside...our love will always remain the same...show me the ways to love... But to be fair I have to say, he had a very nice voice and did a fine falsetto – which is a hell of a lot more than I can do. And yes. The crowd did warm to him. So he did a good job. Oh, and when I bought his disc at the end of the show I found that he wasn't Sean but Cheynne. Well, Cheynne was followed by Dan.

Dan told us he was Dan quite a few times in the first little bit. I think he was nervous and couldn’t think of anything else to say. But he settled down and started to play his guitar and sing and all of a sudden he had my attention! This guy could PLAY. Not to mention sing. And WRITE. He was all of twenty and had been a professional muso for three and a half years – and sounded like it. And his sentiments are about engagement...for the first time in my life I don't feel the same...a one night stand was hardly worth the drive...you leave me no choice but to disagree with all you do... 'cause the reflection that I see, never smiles back at me (that same reflection once smiled from ear to ear...can I please explain the way I feel...ya can't catch hearts with every line you cast...why can't they see that there's no need to be so greedy with me...have you ever seen people living day to day, never thinking twice before they throw their love away...he likes to sail, but man does he hate the ocean...street fighting man I don't wish to be around him...I get the feeling he don't wanna like me... To my ear, his words have a poignancy you expect from a mature song writer like Paul Kelly. The eight or ten songs he sang were very distinct. In a more discerning world, Dan would not be a support act.

Intermission came next. Or was it half time? Intermission, I think. The crowd was far too well mannered for it to be half time. Speaking of which, if you’re thinking that our party of four must have stood out like geriatric thumbs, you’d be dead wrong. I was certainly expecting a young crowd, but it was more like what you’d expect at a Musica Viva bash. You know, young faces to be seen for sure, but as many from 40 up as 30 down. I mention this because it says something about Bobby Flynn.

Yes, he was on Australian Idol. But so was Paul Potts. Paul who? Paul Potts was in British Idol – and won. Soooooooooo? Well, he is an opera singer. Here’s the link to his website, http://www.paulpottsuk.com/frontpage and if anyone’s interested, he’s appearing at the Adelaide Festival this year, will be in concert in Brisbane on 20/4/08, the SOH on 21/4/08 and in Melbourne on 23/4/08. Anyway the crowd – or should that be patrons – drank a lot of Chai during interval – which answers my question about how they should be described: clearly they were patrons – they’d have been a crowd if they’d drunk a lot of beer – and had photos taken with the stars. 50+ was not too shy to take a turn in the frame with Bobby.

Like Paul Potts in Britain, Bobby Flynn brought to AI a quality that set him apart. It would either break the mould or ruin his chances of getting to the Opera House. You don't hear a Bobby Flynn song on the radio and whistle it from memory five minutes later - and not just because you don't hear them on the radio at all. He doesn’t sing “tunes” – you know, She loves me yeah yeah yeah; or Sadie the cleaning lady. He expresses complex sentiments in music that nails the emotion. If I had to compare his music with someone well known, I might mention Sting – but he’s actually nothing like Sting, so you’re none the wiser, especially if you don’t know who Sting is. Another group with whom he might be mentioned in the same breath is The Guillemots. But once again, the similarity is tenuous. The range of his voice, its power and the gut wrenching yearning for life that his choice of notes wrings out of the cosmos is as “operatic” as anything I have ever heard – which, I admit, is not really saying all that much, because I’ve only recently started paying attention to opera. But whereas Teddy Tahu Rhodes induces in me a sense of the sublime, Bobby Flynn brought me to tears. I can’t remember feeling so exhilaratingly sad – except, when, at about fifteen, my first girlfriend dumped me. And isn't that what opera's supposed to do?

Having said that, it was not all down to Bobby himself. Omega 3, who shared the stage with him, were breath taking. Two of them in particular delivered riveting performances. The percussionist produced a truly astonishing range of sounds from so many different gadgets that gave up trying to keep track of what he was doing. He was deservedly given a moment of glory towards the end of the show. The stand out performance of Omega 3, however, was the lead guitarist. Even though he was up front with the star, he was, for most of the time, a model of restraint, yet in those moments when his guitar stepped into the lead, the sound he produced and his body language easily matched the zeal of Bobby Flynn’s performance.

The most astounding moment of the show came right at the end when everyone else had left the stage while lead guitarist lead singer engaged each others guitars in a contemplative post script that had the flavour and fragrance of one’s first ever post coital cigarette. If there was a dry in the house it belonged to someone made of stone.

Keyboard, drums, bass guitar and someone pushing buttons in the wings – as well as up the back – all contributed indispensable layers to performance that is probably impossible to capture on disc or video. The discs I bought after the show are a worthy souvenir of the experience, but they are not the experience – not by a long shot. So if you’re interested and you have to opportunity to go to one of these shows, don’t be thinking the discs and a good set of head phones will do.

One final point to make is about the understated stage wear of everyone involved. Far from being a criticism, I am really impressed at how a show that could easily get away with a touch of Demis Roussos is content to look like its wardrobe was supplied by St Vincent de Paul or the Salvation Army. The show was about music. That’s what anyone who attended will remember, because it seriously exceeded expectation. Next time Bobby Flynn is in town, guess who’ll be there to hear him.