Daskarzine - Cold Chisel

There was a period in my life where the obscurity of a song, its lack of visibility to the mainstream, would enhance the sound it made. 

I was always looking for something good, something new.  I listened to music so much, that I could quickly wear out an album.  I could take a purchase from sounding fresh and exciting, and listen to it over and over for a few months until it sounded as jaded and overplayed as Queen or Dragon or The Eagles.  So I was always looking for something new.  The more obscure the better.  

That kind of thinking led me into kidding myself that I didn’t really like popular bands like Cold Chisel.  In truth, I have always thought of them as one of Australia’s greatest rock bands.

 Cold Chisel broke up in 1983 and their legacy was almost immediately swallowed up by Barnesy’s early solo career. Some of his early solo efforts were decent.  Later on, he churned out over-produced AOR -driven FM radio fodder (which was probably the point - he sold a LOT of records in the late '80s and early '90s).  His voice went down the shouty end, and his hair went from sweat-straggled to well-permed.  The Aussie working class brawler, singer, famous for hoisting a bottle of vodka like a periscope at Chisell gigs, all the while belting out tales of the suburbs and the factory had become a carefully curated creature of the PR people, all with an eye on cracking the great white whale of the US market.  

I could have forgiven that if he'd only had Don Walker and Ian Moss writing him songs.  I realise that would have been beside the point, but he missed having great Australian stories to tell.  Listen to Driving Wheels. It's the voice of the Great Plains, not the Outback.

I liked Ian Moss' solo album, Matchbook.  The single, Tucker’s Daughter was a decent song.  It did get fed into the Classic Rock meat grinder.  Don Walker resurfaced after a longer period.  He formed Catfish and it was obvious to me that he was out of the radio hits game now. He seemed to be simply making music he liked.  It was late nights, smoky whisperings, a blues album laden with his distinctive writing style.

On a weeknight, Matt Nolan, me, and Amber went to see Catfish at the Orient Hotel. Going out on a weeknight in Brisbane in the early 90s was significant. In Brisbane, people tended (and still do) to stay home during the week.  When I moved to a place like Sydney it seemed at first even a Tuesday was pumped full of people like New Year's Eve.  If you’re out on a Tuesday night in the Brisbane CBD, it's because you’ve got a reason and a car. Public transport was rotten.  people would finish work and flee to the suburbs, warmed by the glow of Mike Willesee and Sale of the Century.

The Orient was half-full, the audience split between people keen on that late-night smoky blues of Catfish, and Chisel fans.  I was both.  I wanted to get close to Don.  To me, he had been the brains behind Chisel.  I was sniffy about the mullets and denim jackets on the Chisel fans, but I knew I was as excited as anyone else at the gig.

The first few songs went down smoothly enough.  The room was receptive to the Catfish material, no matter why they had actually come. The band paused to tune up, drink a drink, and light a smoke. The requests started.

‘Standing on the Outside!’  ‘Flame Trees!’ ‘Saturday Night!’ Someone shouted the refrain to Saturday Night.  Classic Cold Chisel hits.  We'd all heard them a thousand times.  Maybe a more obscure song might prompt a reaction from Don.  I joined in.

‘Daskarzine!’ there was a ripple of silence around me. Amber smacked her forehead. ‘For fuck’s sake.’, she said.

Don had been smirking at the Chisel requests. Now he looked over, straight at me, and said ‘You get 10 out of 10 for obscurity.’

I'd been quite pleased with myself up to that point.  But Don Walker had managed to point out the pointlessness of obscurity for its own sake.  I've tried to be better since then.  Not always managed it though.  

For the record, I do love that song.  But that's no reason to show off, is it?