I waited in line at The Corner with a friend and was confronted with a sea of people brandishing newspaper hats. I briefly thought I’d came to a newspaper crafts enthusiasts meeting and nearly turned around before I got caught in a potentially awkward conversation about origami or paper mache. Then it clicked. Newspaper Mama! I exclaimed, pointing frantically at all the hats with glee. My friend, who hadn’t been exposed to the wonder of Peter Combe at a young age, stared at me blankly, while I realised how long it had actually been since I had heard the dulcet tones of Mr. Combe.
When I was a young ‘un my mum won a competition on ABC radio and the prize was a selection of ABC kids tapes, which were given to yours truly to placate me on long trips away. So it was in the back seat of the car and on my bright yellow tape deck that I was first introduced to the magic of Peter Combe. I grew to love his strange, nasally voice, the soft, soothing strums of his acoustic guitar and the lyrical content which spanned from stories in the kitchen to telling the time. I spent many a night being put to sleep by this troubadour. It was a golden age, before the corporatisation of children’s entertainment, when it only took one man and a guitar to bring joy to a generation of children. But of course then you grow up, discover how to use the toilet properly, learn quadratic equations and you leave childhood heroes alone. Well, for seventeen years or so at least.
Once we got into the Corner band room though, it was impossible not to notice the charged atmosphere. It was a full house of punters utterly bingeing on nostalgia. People were brandishing lyric sheets and passing around newspaper hats with abandon, parents stood with now adult children reminiscing together and everyone was drinking like it was the News Limited Christmas party and Rupert Murdoch was picking up the tab. However before the real show begun, there was the matter of the support act – Bobby James.
I don’t want to dwell on Bobby James for too long. He had a palatable Australian Idol type of voice and played Jack Johnson-esque songs, which were all about ‘grooving’, ‘moving’, ‘girls’ and ‘beaches’. And while there are amazing songs about such subjects, it’s also very easy to write pedestrian crap, which is what Bobby did. He was lyrically deficient, using bland rhyming couplets and while his guitar playing was competent he couldn’t draw attention away from his uninspired songs. The crowd wasn’t particularly receptive, and to be fair it was always going to be a battle for Bobby James against such hardcore Combe fans.
Once Bobby finished though, a feverish excitement grew in the room and a restless audience waited with sheer naked anticipation. But what do you expect from a performer whose audiences usually can barely walk? How will he revisit his hits of the past? These questions and many more were being asked by the waiting crowd.
Then in one fell swoop they were answered. Musically. The Juicy Juicy Green Grass Band sauntered on stage and played an introduction to die for. All washy synths, reverby, wailing guitar and pounding drums, it was one massive, epic musical stew. We whooped with anticipation, already wowed by the talents of the band and as the music died away, a man in a purple Bill Cosby jumper bounded on stage and sung Big Yellow Ball.
Peter Combe didn’t drop his nasally tone or his before song patter. He spoke to us in the same manner as if we were kids (well I guess we were regressing), and his voice maintained the same timbre as his earlier work but damn, what a performance. I wasn’t sure if it was ironic or simply pure unadulterated good, because despite the strange situation of having a guy who looks like your dad dancing around stage and singing like a rock star, the fact was Peter Combe was rocking The Corner. His songs are arranged deceptively simply for children and once given an overhaul in a band setting, all the wonderful songwriting and harmonies which Peter deftly sneaks in could be fully appreciated. The work of the Juicy, Juicy Green Grass band turned Tadpole Blues turned into an E-Street-esque song with a solo breakdown showcasing the amazing keyboard skills of the irrepressible Phil, while the Toothbrush song became pure Queen with Peter providing hilarious vocal histrionics and faux passion.
Peter played for over an hour, and revisited all his hits – Newspaper Mama, Spaghetti Bolognese, Mr. Clickety Cane and Lullabye for Tom, which saw an embarrassed Tom Combe (Peter’s son and guitarist in the band) leave the stage. The crowd was in raptures and when the show finally came to an end I have never heard such passionate squeals and shouts for an encore. This was a crowd which knew they may never see the likes of Peter Combe again and when the band returned to sign off with their signature song Juicy, Juicy Green Grass (complete with fusion jazz keyboard intro), an extended call and response section saw the crowd become five again.
It was an exceptional night drenched in irony, exceptional musicality, nostalgia and good natured fun and was a strong advertisement for revisiting your childhood heroes one last time.
