Coming at you like a Punk rocket out of the Deep South lab, Brenny & the Bushwhackers have just released their debut album, a paean to all things Southland and by extension the rest of Godzone.
As the title implies, a level of care, clarity and respect for the singular in the title (song) which pre-empts anatomical confusion.
The Land of the Rolling R is the ultimate way to distinguish the Southlander from the rest of the country, an irreverent and upbeat declaration of linguistic independence.
Secession might not be in the air, but succession certainly is. We R what we R and will always Remain.
Shooting, shearing, fishing, digging, mining, permeate these historical and cultural mementoes of Southland (and by extension New Zealand) life, delivered in relentless Pogue-like passion with a representative tip of the hat to the Scottish and Irish musical traditions which contribute significantly to today’s broad church of Country and Folk.
Brenny is Brendon Fairbairn, who repairs bagpipes but also loves harmonicas. You’ll see him in his kilt leading the Celtic Unlimited offering at the Tussock Country Music Festival in Gore.
Brendon is also a poet, and his son Liam Fairbairn captures his father’s words and surrounds them with sound and melody and licks. Local legends Chris Chilton and Lachie Hayes provide rhythm above the driving beat of Antonio Mercuri’s drumming.
It’s a compelling smorgasbord of sonic splendour, no doubt gaining a Shane McGowan toothless leer of approval.
The Ringer’s Song opens the batting with an energetic tribute to the shearer and specifically the technique pioneered by Godfrey Bowen in pursuit of 300 a day.
An acoustic intro dives quickly into a driving rock riff which promises to be sensational played live, but the issue is the more serious sensation of Stanley Graham, whose Bad Blood was spilled after a murderous West Coast rampage in the early 1940s. Seven people lost in wartime but not due to war.
Ministry of Works recognizes the role the Think Big projects of the 1960s provided work and income to many of Southland’s workers, skilled and unskilled.
Often controversial, environmentally agnostic at best, it’s nonetheless an essential and overlooked part (certainly in song) of the role heavy industry played to build the Southland of today, despite the view of many that the ministry of jerks was little more than that.
In contrast, Paddy the Culler is about an Irishman shooting deer and collecting tails to prove his work, seen as essential to preserve our native forest. Ah, what pivots and postures arise in the name of progress.
But there’s no Southland song without a Rolling Stones intro backed by a duck call.
It’s alright now, in fact it’s a splash as the ducks go down, the aroma of cordite mixes with the smoke of the fire and the taste of whisky and the Mai Mai becomes My My on Duck-Shooting Day.
Which invariably ended back in the day with a race to the bottom of the glass in the mosh pit of alcoholic insanity created by the six o’clock closing rule, known as the 6 O’Clock Swill.
And not just in duck shooting season, all the bloody year-round!!
The pace becomes sombre and slow, as the almost obligatory reminder to such a collection of songs that sacrifice underpins growth and identity, and the Southland story is not immune from the experiences of the Great War, that most sinister of misnomers.
Chunuk Bair tells the story of a futility which has helped define us, an irony of identity which hangs over us like the sound of pipes………
But play it again and again and play it loud and potentially after a few beers you might even get up and dance to the swirling, whirlish-dervishness of harp and pipes and guitar…… and you might even be tempted to roll your ayes and wiggle your Rs…..
The Land of the Rolling R was created in Southland by Southlanders and is available almost everywhere. Check it out.
Roger Bowie
