Regional Outlaw

Rip It Up, Issue 237, 1 May 1997, Page 12

Regional Outlaw

Don Walker

Don Walker feigns ignorance as he spies a TLC poster on the door of the office at BMG where this interview is conducted. I try to refresh his memory and begin to sing, rather badly, a few lines of ‘Waterfall’. Walker smiles and shakes his head. To this day I don’t know whether this most affable and gifted Aussie was having me on or not. And that’s part of the reason I like him and his music. Out here in support of “the swamp king”, Tony Joe White, Walker’s visit here has gone by without much fanfare. Even the people up at BMG seemed rather mystified when I mentioned I’m here to interview him. Maybe TLC have got a new single out... anyway, the loss is their’s, because Walker’s new album — We’re All Gunna Die — is one of the best things to emerge from across the ditch (make that anywhere) in some time. Think Johnny Cash or Nick Cave without the pretension. I mean, you just have to look at the cover of Die to know this is one sick puppy who’s seen his share of hard living. This guy don’t need to wear black. Walker’s still probably best known as one-time member of and songwriter for Cold Chisel. Since then, however, he has worked at his own material in an outfit called Catfish, and collaborated with musical mavericks Charlie and Tex on the pleasant Sad But True a couple of years back. His 1995 solo album is regarded an Aussie classic. Die,

however, is Walker’s most accomplished work to date — a record which recalls the glory days of outlaw country (a la Wayion Jennings, or even Tompall Glaser’s 70s output), whilst maintaining a strong regional flavour (best expressed on the epic ‘Carless in Isa’ — Walker’s paean to the hard history and country of his birth). The crowd at the Tony Joe White concert the night before gave Walker and band (which included the guitarist from the Clouds, among other young players) a hard time — causing Don at one point to state (and again, you couldn’t tell whether he was serious or not) that it was “a pleasure to come back to Auckland after 15 years”, before bursting into a rather sordid tale, ‘Harry Was a Bad Bugger, about running heroin through the outback. I applauded loudly... and conspicuously. “Oh, I didn’t think it was too bad,” says Walker when quizzed. “Back in the Chisel days we used to play a whole lot of prison gigs, and sometimes they got a bit hairy... but last night... nah...” Walker has a deep, booming, authoritative voice — and he’s kinda smiling all the time, which can be a little unnerving. I ask him if he has an interest in Americana — seeing the record is clearly influenced by American country music and its attendant iconography... “No, I don’t have an interest in Americana, but I do have a strong interest in Australiana. I don’t think the stuff I

do would make much sense to Americans. It’s very much about Australian landscape, not American. I mean, the basic vocabulary is written by Americans... you can’t get around it.” Amongst other things, Die is a very funny album. “Bands that don’t have a sense of humour,” says Walker, “can get a bit... ah... stentorian. The danger with humour is that, of course, senses of humour can be very localised. I try to write things that are funny, but I don’t know if they have any universality outside the Australian context.” The transformation from piano player to front man is one Walker’s still getting used to. “Fortunately I don’t play guitar, or else I’d have a big one strapped on and be hiding behind it! It’s only in the last year or two I’ve been comfortable about it. The first few years with Catfish I had to get comatose drunk just to get out there.” I ask him what he was drinking last night. “Oh, the promoter got a nice big bottle of Black Label.” These things seem important in the circumstances. A physicist before joining Cold Chisel, Walker hasn’t had to return to science, making a tidy living off Chisel royalties. “After Chisel broke up and [l] just did a whole lot of travelling to Asia, Russia — all the places rock bands don’t go —

I didn’t think I’d return really to music; but I found, much to my surprise, I kept writing songs without any real reason. So, it seems to be something I have to do.” And if he keeps coming up with stuff as good as ‘Party’ and ‘Eternity’ (both off Die), we’ll all have something to celebrate. I mean, who since Warren Zevon can come up with lines like, ‘I just wanna have a party I And see what I can kill,’ and almost mean it?

GREG FLEMING