There is no venue in Perth quite like the Quarry Amphitheatre; innocuously tucked away on a hillside, in the midst of rugged bushland, almost unnoticeable to passers-by. When you enter the venue, you are faced with huge cliffs of limestone, towering over neat rows of spacious steps, all adorned with perfectly manicured lawn. After setting up your blankets and chairs, you can sit back, tuck into your picnic dinner and glass of wine and take in the wonderful view behind the stage – acres of bushland with just a hint of civilization in the far-off distance. It’s no wonder Tim Freedman had been wanting to play here for quite some time; although he confessed that he didn’t realise everyone would be quite so “comfortable”.

What followed was a lovely evening of nostalgia, surprises and a few laughs – nothing too heavy, but definitely a beautiful and moving show. It was the perfect way to wind down after a hectic work week

After the sun went down, we were treated to a beautiful, gut-wrenching performance of Charlie No 2 (Buy now and Pay Later) that left the crowd tingling – it was so silent between each carefully phrased lyric that crickets could be heard. It was magical, and by no means the only stand-out moment of the evening.

What makes this band so special is not only their superb musical talent, but their honest lyrics about real people and real things. The songs are relatable for people of all ages – as was quite apparent by the eclectic crowd. The Whitlams are the kind of band you don’t mind sharing with your parents, and that parents don’t mind sharing with their kids. With around 17 years of music behind them, their songs cover such a huge variety of themes and depth of emotion. Throughout the show, it became apparent that the songs really have matured with the band; coming from frivolous songs about picking up girls: I Make Hamburgers: “My first customer was Megan she came in for a hamburger with the lot; no meat – œHey that’s a salad roll’ I said, and we started going out.” To more recent reflections on the world as it is now, with Beauty in Me: “Unwired like a child of the rich; she’s pretty and long and part of the scene; playing with her phone like it’s a rosary”.

At one point in the evening, Freedman noticed a young girl in the audience and thereafter made a promise to tone down his language; he has a three year old daughter himself now, and is obviously cautious about impressionable ears.

There was no shortage of stories about the origins of songs or about life in general. We learnt that Freedman is a bit of a wine-snob, who always brings his own to parties and sits with it next to him so that he “doesn’t have to drink any of your piss.” Most of the stories thereafter were about wine, and the various methods he uses to sneak in his own – although he did thank the good people at the Quarry for providing the lovely Margaret River Cabernet Merlot, (or something to that effect.)

“Have you ever lived with a drummer?” asked Freedman. “I used to live with a drummer… we lived between a rubbish tip and an airport – we could make as much noise as we liked and no one cared – it was great! This song is about him!” This preceded an unforgettable rendition of You Sound Like Louis Burdett; full of jazz beats and life and unexpected lyric changes to protect the ears of the innocent: “masturbating” became “masticating” – way to think on your feet, Tim.

Towards the end, three girls, ranging between about eight and ten years old, couldn’t contain their excitement any longer and got up to dance in the isle; much to the amusement of the crowd and band alike. When one of them began to bust out “the Worm” Freedman thought it was too good to waste and promptly invited the trio up on stage, dubbing them “The Whitlets” – and there they stayed for the remainder of the show.