The
presence of A. Savage, independent of Parquet Courts was brought to my
attention as we sat in conversation on a zoom call structured as an interview
for Forte Magazine in October. I recall the dialogue being held together by the
consistent of his songwriting practice, and yet glimpses of his totality flickered
in the half hour that elapsed as we spoke. Several Songs About Fire – his latest
LP release, recently having celebrated its first year of liberation, it seemed
a fitting analogy for the embers that became aflame.

And so,
time, not linear in this sense, if ever it was, despite the calendar suggesting
3 weeks had passed, I found myself stood atop the sunken oval in
Djaara/Castlemaine. Here, enveloped by the sweltering haze of a 35-degree Celsius
November heat, I swayed in unison to his three-piece arrangement at Town Folk
Festival. Complimented by drummer and bassist, his music assumed a rounded and
full form, not necessarily as a distraction from his lyricism, yet acting as a
layering and a potential to obfuscate the poetry of this multi-pronged artist.

As festival
sets typically unfurl, it was about the music, yet the intense heat loomed and
so reprieve, at least assumedly, seemed like perhaps the most desirable outcome
for all. It was an eclectic arrangement of original, cover and Parquet Courts
rework. I left central Victoria satiated and yet so unaware of what was to
come.

#

I write,
and I feel compelled to do so, and yet therein fulfillment resides so many
other passions. I work at a café that shares the space and ethos with a charity
centred around bringing together community through intentionally grown, nutritious produce
(from the farm on the same property). Common Ground Project is more than this
though, and it seems futile to attempt to articulate all that which it is, yet it
has become a location that fuses past, present and future into a non-compartmentalisable
whole. A concept in literature explored by T.S Eliot, yet a truth so inherent
to the human condition, we seem to be the very embodiment of it.

#

And then
anywho, it was here in Freshwater Creek, a place significant to the traditional
custodians of the land - the Wadawurrung - that upon some afternoon hour,
November 23, through the front doors entered A Savage. A conversation fed into
an offering of attendance to his show in Anglesea that eve, a knowing of far
distance departure from my memory. Farewells exchanged, and I ventured into the
remaining hours of daylight perplexed by the series of collisions that had led
to this moment. As brief interlude though I must thank the jovial companion of
this evening’s affairs for whom affirmed the necessity in pursuing this
opportunity with intent. And so, night fell, as caffeinated steam rose from the
yellow of handmade ceramics, we undulated, at most horizontally, whilst conversation
flickered, towards the Sound Doctor.

Here
arrived and greeted by door attendant confirming A Savage had indeed invited our
presence, we entered into the Anglesea community hall, floorboards and decorum
reminiscent of regional gathering place in quintessence. Nat Vazer in a
stripped back version stood perched atop the stage facilitating dream-pop and
ethereal folk-indie tales, rendering the audience a collective ooze. And from incorporeal
puddle the crowd flowed through intermission towards rhythmic strum of A Savage’s
opening song. Wearing on into the set it became apparent of the artist’s innate
poetic tendencies, as if folk music had never quite lost its relevance, its art
or its intention. Like Bob Dylan, Joan Baez and Joni Mitchell rang true in a
form of storytelling that A Savage seemed to be exploring, that is how to meld
poetry with music, vice versa and all in between.

The tales
rambled, lurched and well, much like our winding along the Great Ocean Road,
undulated, akin to the show at Town Folk, yet the words seemed to hold more
prevalence merely positioned atop the single instrument – acoustic guitar.
Admittedly, I was easily swallowed up by the experience of it all and blurred
in and out of recognition for the artistry, although I think this acted as ode
to the dynamism it boasted.

The nature,
context and setting of this show did allow for acknowledgement of the devastation
and horror that the people of Palestine have been subjected to, a genocide that
A Savage remains compelled to speak of at all opportunities. He mentioned this
briefly in out encounter for Forte, and yet it reverberated in how he drew
attention to this situation, connecting parallels to the experience of the
Indigenous peoples of North America. An overlap illuminated within his song
Buffalo Calf Road, that which tells the tale of how Buffalo Calf Road Woman
knocked Lieutenant Colonel Custer off his horse, leading to his ultimate death.

Hatred,
war-mongering and attempted obliteration remain driving forces of colonialism,
an application relevant to Australia’s history. A truth that is still ubiquitous
here today in this country. A truth that should be spoken of in public forums.
A truth that A Savage recognises, and a truth that requires a departure from
linearity.