If the title above makes it sound like another old surfer has left the building, let me hurriedly assure you that Peter Howe, the consummate surfer and sailor, storyteller and songwriter – a bloke with “a young heart, old soul and sparkling eyes”, as his publicity sheet puts it – is very much alive as he nears 80, and ready to celebrate being so.
It’s a mighty long drive from Noosa to the Tathra Pub for a weekend of old blokes singing the old songs with a few more audible gear shifts than they’re used to be, but these are no normal old surf muso dudes. These are the best. And everything about Pete’s A Songwriter’s Life two-day event made a road trip the only appropriate way to get there.
You see, Pete Howe’s life is one long surfing road trip of the mind, during which he has written, performed and recorded some of the most beautifully evocative songs and poems of the sea that I have ever heard. Perhaps you’ll recall Delightful Rain, and the whirly, whirly wind he summons up. The best moments of the Morning Of The Earth soundtrack were pretty much all his. As that copywriter put it: “There’s a generosity to his performance as he humbly and inadvertently imparts wisdom through his stories and the questions they raise. His songs and stories shimmer with love, care, spirit, adventure, landscapes and community.”
For the past couple of decades Pete has shared his passion for oceanic acoustic music with another old mate whose musical lineage goes back almost as far, and who is widely recognised as one of Australia’s greatest guitarists. I refer, of course, to Dr Tim Gaze, who, since the tender age of 16 has punched out leads for such bands as Tamam Shud, the Bushwackers, Jimmy Barnes, Russell Morris, Khavas Jute, Ariel, Rose Tattoo, John Paul Young, Gyan, Corinne Gibbons… an almost endless list. For many years their acoustic duo enchanted audiences at the Noosa Festival of Surfing, where our old friendships were rekindled, and new ones made with people like the Adelaide-based entrepreneur David Minear, whose Bombora Productions would later record Pete and Tim, as well as a revitalised Tamam Shud, The Atlantics and others.
Driving down the east coast in the pouring rain, longboard on the roof, wetties in the boot, I had Pete and Tim’s Pictures Of The Coast and Aido Spelt’s Never Too Late on constant rotation, getting me in the mood for the beach jam of the century, not to mention a not-so-beer-soaked reunion of old salts. But our warm-up night was enhanced by Minear’s arrival with a case of his excellent Two Mates Shiraz.
Unlike the shopping plaza nightmares that Bateman’s Bay and Merimbula have become, Tathra and nearby Bermagui and Narooma have retained the old school charms I remember from down south surf trips as a boy. With the sun finally out, my wife and I stopped for an oyster lunch at the Narooma marina, just around the corner from where my mum and dad honeymooned in 1943. Nostalgia well and truly in the air now, we took the coast route through Bermagui and popped out at Tathra, where the 1888 pub on the hill above the pier is pretty much as it ever was, although surrounded by add-on contemporary accommodations which tend to knock you out of your 1950s reverie, as does the pub tariff of $400 a night in the main building or $250 in the adjoining motel. But we’re here now, and I can hear the boys tuning up from our little deck overlooking the chilly ocean.
The room is full of familiar faces, most, like ours, a little worse for wear, but Pete, who’s fronting the mic, is trim, fit and still flashing those sparkling eyes. Everyone here knows who he is, Wollongong-born and a Tathra resident for decades, but he starts: “How am I qualified to tell you my stories? You want my CV? I played in cafes, I played in bars, I played on mountains, I played in cars. I played round campfires, I played in pubs, I played on verandas at bowling clubs. I played on the radio. I played on ships, in music shops and video clips. I played in festivals, punk, folk and pop, played until sunrise, just couldn’t stop. I’ve played in churches, I’ve played on the beach, I’ve played in classrooms where I used to teach. I’ve played on the footpath, I’ve played in tents, old railway tunnels, even posh events. I’ve played for pigeons, I’ve played for whales, I’ve played for dogs, some wagged their tails. I’ve played at deathbeds, and funerals too, I’ve played at weddings, probably for you.” He casts his sparklers over several mature ladies in the audience who glow in response. And we’re away on a three-hour journey through the time tunnel of delightful rain, finishing off being towed out into the ocean and dropped into a monster at a break called Tupelo.
The next night, more of the same. Well, same but different. I can’t get enough of it. It’s like riding a wave without the pain, I tell Pete and Tim as I grab a portrait shot for the hell of it. They’re chuffed and head back inside to play some more.
