An hour into Cold Chisel’s concert in Ballarat last weekend, there was a sweet spot. Flame Trees followed by Khe Sanh, then Bow River . Yep, I’d been on the Canadian Clubs, but that aside it still felt like more than just songs playing.
It was a vocalised piece of Australia’s psyche, bringing randoms together in a shared, spoken understanding. Every word was sung by 37,000 people, arms draped around each other, women perched on shoulders, like we were all part of an impromptu choir shouting “and it’s only other vets could understand” at each other. Kate Halfpenny and her friends at Cold Chisel.
Anyone who’s seen Chisel before (or on this 50th anniversary tour ), or just listened to the radio since the 1970s, will know what I’m on about. We all know the songs. And we know there’s something about this band and what they represent that maybe feels more Australian than any other single thing.
Six of us made the roadie to The Rat, dropped bags at a motel, stood through sets by Birds of Tokyo (are they the Wiggles for adults?) and The Cruel Sea (Tex looking banger with his Just For Men quality hair). The crowd was half oldies like us, the rest looked like the ink wasn’t dry on their tradies certificates. And that was the fabulous part.
Once Chisel kicked off – Mossy the MVP in a sleeveless puffa over an old Tarocash shirt – the younger generations were word-perfect. Loading Peter, a young bloke from Melbourne, latched onto our posse when his own wasn’t gam.
