Читать книгу Nine Parts Water, One Part Sand - Douglas Galbraith - Страница 12

It’s May 2017, and only a few months ago Kim Salmon turned 60. The Volkswagen tour van hurtles through France towards tonight’s gig at Les Toques, Perigueux. Nuclear power stations expelling thick columns of smoke loom beside the road, connected by an endless parade of power line towers that bear a surprising resemblance to cartoon cats. Inside the van, guitar cases, drums, suitcases and other flotsam bounce around, moving together like cogs in a machine. Kim Salmon has a sketch pad on his knee, capturing scraps of scenery in watercolour and ink.

A dozen shows in as many days through Switzerland, Germany and France have Kim invigorated. The entourage is congenial; his partner Maxine delights in the company, food and surroundings. Tour Manager Gary is pretty and unflappable, and Laura is archetypically French. Parisian drummer Dimi is tall and good looking and oozes a gentle cool, while musical co-conspirator Michael Stranges provides comic foil.

Banquets of oysters, baguettes, cheese, wine and beer are typical of the touring party. Locals insist on proving their hospitality and the nights of song are accompanied by days of affable indulgence. Only one café offers resistance through an inscrutable girl with an ambiguous haircut, thick rimmed glasses and a chambray onesie — either perfectly hipster cool or hopelessly out of step. Icily rejecting Kim’s overtures to the small garden salad, she intimidates with her cool demeanour and command of the menu.

As darkness falls in each town, Kim Salmon occupies the stage. Le Volume in Nice, Sonic Ballroom in Cologne, the Sedel Club in Lucerne … each show is scorching, and Kim Salmon like a dervish. Bent over his guitar, he performs a wild exorcism of noise and the refrains of Swampland pour out for perhaps the millionth time. The audiences are euphoric and they stand up close, circling the stage and shouting like they’re watching an illegal cock fight. Dimi, Mike and sometimes Delphine form a tight gang behind Kim, and as the set lists get longer the band gets sharper.

Undeterred by lost passports, relentless driving, wrenched guts and long nights, the tour reaches its crescendo at Tek Rock Zen in Evreux before a final scramble to Charles de Gaulle for the flight home. Just twenty-four hours later, Kim is back teaching guitar at JMC Academy in South Melbourne. Age does not weary him.