STACK #241 November 2024

FEATURE MUSIC

SHAKE SOME ACTION

STORIES OF ME … AND PAUL Words Stuart Coupe

T here’s been a lot of Paul Kelly in my life. Still is. He was THE very first musician I attempted to interview back in 1978. I was studying in Adelaide while Paul had already left his hometown and moved to Melbourne. During the attempted interview, Paul didn’t say much. He still doesn’t. Talking’s not something that comes easily to him. But he’s alright at writing songs and singing. This could be a long story but let’s keep it short. Paul and I struck up a friendship. Not exactly close but that easy relationship that musicians have with journalists who like what they do. I moved to Sydney and would see Paul and his band every time they played. I was there one night at the notorious late night hang The Manzil Room. Paul with the Dots were playing their second set, so it was about 1.30am – the third set started at 3am. Looking to my right, I saw the famous artist Brett Whiteley. Paul saw him too and started playing his song Alive and Well . Whiteley had some well documented health issues associated with the same recreational drug use that Paul embraced at the time. Paul walked out into the sparse audience, got on his knees and, looking up at Whiteley, continued, softly intoning the lines, “I’m glad you’re alive and well,” before returning to the stage. It was moving and I’ve never forgotten it. One day, after taking the now legendary 13-hour bus trip from St Kilda to Kings Cross, Paul called and asked if I fancied a beer. Two hours later I walked out as the manager of Paul Kelly. What’s not to like? And it worked so well, as I’d just finished up managing the Hoodoo Gurus. I was with Paul for the recording of Post , negotiated the deal for the double Gossip album (the one that contained Before Too Long , the song that really started it all for him), then Under the Su n

Paul and I loved many, many things about America – the rationale seemed kind of suspect, not to mention it would cost money. Money we didn’t really have. “Don’t worry,” they said. “We’ll pay.” Paul and I booked tickets to New York, Paul’s first time in what some people describe as the Capital of the Universe. I asked what he wanted to do. “Let’s walk,” he said. We stomped 30 or 40 blocks from midtown to Greenwich Village. I was enjoying Paul’s wide-eyed examination of New York. Then we travelled to Nashville, and Paul and Steve Earle went out drinking while I stayed to hear the mixing of Earle’s Exit O album. We visited Graceland to see Elvis’s house – something that didn’t seem to impress Paul all that much. And Memphis – later the name of one of Paul’s daughters – provided an enduring memory. Somehow, I had a vague relationship with Tav Falco, an underground cult figure and Memphis musician. I called him up and he and his girlfriend took us to the now legendary southern juke joint The Green Room. It was everything I’d read about such places: sawdust on the floor, long tables full of people drinking beer from jugs, and a bluesy combo playing. After a few minutes it dawned on me that our quartet were the only white faces in the room. After returning from the bathroom, I saw Paul on the dance floor, his slightly built figure clutching for grim death to the hips of one of the largest black women I’d ever seen, as she propelled Paul around the floor. At the end of the song, he sat down. “What the f-ck happened there?” I asked. Paul whispered, “She came up and asked me to dance – I was too scared to say no.” There are many more stories, but they’ll need to wait for another day. Paul has turned into a pretty good dancer. Maybe it all started in Memphis?

and So Much Water So Close to Home . After Gossip had started to do very well, I was summoned to a meeting with Mushroom Records’ Michael Gudinski and Gary Ashley. They thought Paul and I should go to America for six weeks. “To do what?” I enquired. “Just drive, travel around.” While the idea sounded attractive – Paul called and asked if I fancied a beer. Two hours later I walked out as the manager of Paul Kelly

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