Tonight I went to see Tim Freedman, Katie Noonan and a jazz band doing Peter Sculthorpe pieces...The Sculthorpe Remix. It was the most random gig, and I went with a fantastic but unusual mix of people. A small-ish circus type tent was put up in MacCabe Park, and a very small number of locals came to suss out this very special show. Included in the intimate crowd was Louise, Winnell, my dad, and myself. I told you it was a random group. Not that the people are random, but that it's not very normal for me and my girlfriends to hang out with my dad, and especially not 2 girlfriends who had never met each other before. Anyway, it worked.
Tim was wonderful as ever (Louise and I justify being in love with him by the fact that we've loved him since he was 30, and now we're almost 30...yeah see, it's not creepy at all), Katie Noonan is beautiful, and the jazz band did some really interesting arrangements of some pieces by the Australian composer that I wasn't particularly familiar with, but appreciated anyway.
After the gig, because it was so intimate and casual, dad decided it would be fine to go and introduce himself to Tim. So us girls followed meekly, shook his hand, said some kind of nonsense, and left as giddy as school girls (well, I think Mel held herself together, Louise and I on the other hand...).
I was thinking that part of the reason I love Tim so much is the nostalgia that his music creates for me. He is/will be to me what The Eagles are to my parents. His music reminds me of good times and good friends, such as discovering Triple J for the first time, the camping trips affectionately referred to as New Year's Parts I and II, Woolshed dinner + show combos, arguments with Alex about the nature of pop music (a battle Ben Lee finished for me) and using Louis Burdette lyrics for social commentary when I was 17 (terror, like charity, begins at home...).
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