Kate kicked things off in spectacular fashion. The ropes had been taken down at six, the audience in-place, and standing tightly together thirty minutes later. Outside, with no view of the stage, but able to hear, another five thousand non-paying listeners crammed the Circular Quay, backing all the way up to the edges of Sydney’s central business district where traffic became a nightmare. The neighboring Royal Botanical Gardens remained open to visitors. Blankets littered the pristine lawns with families and lovers waiting, ears cocked, for a chance to catch a faint note now and then. Consummate lovers of the outdoors, the Australians used the occasion to feed that love and to fete their native son who had won respect not only for himself, but also for his country.
Jimmy took the stage in a mild state of depression. He missed his guitar, which now represented a form of security for his anguished emotions. If Les was present, he knew he would never see her in the crowd. The lights, shining into his face, were too bright to let him see beyond the lip of the new stage, but he held a glimmer of hope. She might come to him after the concert.
Whitehurst entered to a resounding reception that drowned out the opening notes of his first song. The band was surprised when he opted to keep his fiddle on its stand, choosing to open with his signature song, Paradise. No one could know that his purpose was to keep his eyes free to scan the faces in the crowd for someone he hoped to see. But he could penetrate McCabe’s lighting no better than Jimmy, two singers frustrated in a quest known only to them.
With a format made rote by scores of past performances, all three acts gave the city of Sydney what it expected. Only one action interfered and it came at the very end. Thunderous applause met Nigel’s final song, Number Twelve, from Yarra. At its conclusion, shouts, whistles and cries for an encore lasted for minutes as Ellis gathered the band off stage for a return, but Whitehurst was already gone. The star slipped away without a word. The newspaper critics, while heaping high praise upon their fellow Aussie, could not resist penning strong criticism for his failure to return for one or two more songs. He did not reappear until hours before the last concert in Melbourne.
Jimmy missed the final act altogether. He despaired of Les’ presence in the Forecourt audience. He was gone before Nigel finished his set, hailing a cab to catch a mid-night flight to Melbourne. He spent an uneasy night in his hotel, waiting for morning so he could resume his search.
Sister Marie had no news. He walked the city streets once more, retracing his steps, but with less hope. Miles came to fetch him early Saturday afternoon. No one had seen nor heard from Jimmy since Sydney. No one was sure of Nigel’s whereabouts, either. When he knocked on Jimmy’s door he had his ultimatum ready, but the words faded to silence when the door opened and he saw the distressed condition of his singer. At first, he thought it was a hangover, but he quickly concluded otherwise as Jimmy returned his stare with a helpless, dark eyed expression. McCabe didn’t know what was wrong and didn’t care to get involved. His only thought was to corral his moneymaker and guarantee his presence at Melbourne’s Meyer Music Bowl. They rode in silence in the limo to the staging area beyond the tented ‘Bowl’.
When they exited the car, Miles managed to ask, “I don’t suppose you know where Nigel is, do you?” Jimmy shook his head and walked away.
Cindy knew Jimmy was worried about Les. She had called the orphanage as soon as she arrived in Melbourne, speaking to Sister Marie for the first time. The sad story was retold once more. When Jimmy entered the staging area she hurried to his side, taking him by the hand and spiriting him away from the others. Ellis made a move to intercept, but she signaled ‘no’ with a stern look. He backed off.
“No luck?” she asked, hoping Jimmy wouldn’t say what his face clearly reflected.
“Gone.”
“Maybe she’ll be here tonight.”
“I doubt it. She would have surfaced by now.”
When Whitehurst arrived the signs were obvious. He was high. McCabe hit the roof. Cindy calmed her husband while Ellis took the big man aside and gauged his ability to do the performance. Cocaine and heroin had long been staples of the music world. As far back as the twenties well-known performers boasted of its creative influence. Ellis came away satisfied, if only for this night. He left Whitehurst alone in a chair with a cup of water. Like Jimmy, he was away from the rest of the group.
Kate shifted her eyes between the two men, one looking drawn and thoroughly depressed, the other serene, both far away. The wind quickly went out of her sails. She wanted this last performance to be special. For that, she had a thought in mind, but it required collaboration and neither man seem to be in a receptive mood. It was hard for her to see them this way, especially Jimmy who had been her strength when she needed it. A Grammy, she thought, it never would have been possible without his encouragement. She walked over. Jimmy didn’t acknowledge her when she sat down at his side. His head remained bowed, his arms resting on his knees, hands, one bandaged, dangling in between. She wanted to talk to him. She didn’t know what was wrong. In the end, she settled for silence, resting her arm around his hunched shoulders.
The concert went on without a hitch, much the same as Sydney, except for the crowd, which numbered twenty thousand tightly packed on the grass that rose upon a slope above the seats directly in front of the Bowl. The scene reminded Jimmy of Surfers Paradise. He searched the faces for Les, but it was a half-hearted search. He sensed she wasn’t there.
Whitehurst was the main draw again, receiving a roar of appreciation the moment he appeared. The heroin high was muted by the passage of several hours and by the homecoming to the very city where the meaning of the word Yarra was understood. He opened on his fiddle, wowing once again with the gathering momentum of bow on strings. He ran the set in sequence, just as the songs were ordered on the album. His fellow Aussies were euphoric from beginning to end.
McCabe watched from behind the camera crew he’d hired to tape the show. It never would have occurred to him had he not been urged to do it by the people at MTV, that and Winfield’s subterfuge. Even so, he had his doubts, almost canceling the effort when he saw Nigel’s condition, but Cindy convinced him. Six cameras captured the scene, three focused on the stage and three trained on the audience. Sophisticated audio equipment recorded the sound.
Backstage, as Whitehurst began his last song, Kate pulled Ellis and Jimmy aside. There would be an encore. McCabe made that clear after taking the heat in Sydney. She described the idea that she originally wanted to share with Jimmy and Nigel that afternoon. Both men listened, nodding agreement. Ellis alerted the bands then went to the side of the stage and waited for Whitehurst to finish. The long applause provided enough time to make sure the big man was clued in.
Kate, Jimmy and Nigel waited offstage for what seemed like a long time. Ellis ordered the lights to be turned down, suggesting that the concert was truly over even as shouts, whistles and cries for more rose up. To the rear of the stage Nigel’s backing orchestra began to break down their instruments. Ellis gestured at the nearest stagehand to close the rear curtains in front of them and quickly signaled for the musicians to stay in their seats, unseen by the audience. Another roady carried three stools and positioned them center stage close to the front. When all was ready Ellis pointed at Blossom’s stars. The lights slowly rose. Led by Kate, they returned to the stage with all three bands following close behind.
Kate kicked things off, taking the stool to the left. Jimmy was positioned in the center, Nigel climbed upon the last stool. One spotlight focused on the three as Kate hushed the crowd with a wave of her hand and sang the first verse of her signature song. The high-spirited ballad normally called for an up-tempo beat that urged her vocals to increasing volume from verse to verse. This was her strength, a powerful voice matched with equally powerful instrumentation, but this time she kept it low. Only a soft bass accompanied her at the start, gradually joined by a barely audible thumping of the drums. Of necessity, she’d sung the song earlier in the evening in its orig
inal form. It was entirely different now, not the ribald rocking classic the people of Melbourne heard before, but a soft plaintive poem that stirred some to rise to their feet and cock their ears. As the guitars joined in Kate raised her voice, kicking the octave up ever so slightly. At mid-song she stood and took a step closer to the edge of the stage. Jimmy and Nigel rose as well, taking positions just behind on either side. At the second to last chorus, they lent their voices to her’s, delivering a pleasing blend as the last instruments, keyboard and harmonica, made their entrance. When she opened the final verse, this time drawing a deep breath and blasting forth with all the energy she had, the thirty instruments of all three bands and the orchestra joined in. The powerful sound went out and through the densely packed slope, forcing those who had not risen to hurry to their feet. Nigel lent the full power of his voice to her’s, while Jimmy expertly pressed his vocals for balance. The brass and strings of the orchestra exploded to full crescendo from their unseen positions behind the back curtains just as Nigel went silent, followed a lyric later by Jimmy. Then the guitars drifted off and each of the other instruments until only Kate and two orchestra violins could be heard. They, too, fell away, one at a time until once more it was only Kate, her voice drifting down to the final word which she drew out softly to the final note, signaling the end.
Miles realized he’d seen something very different from his British songstress. He waited for the expected applause and watched carefully to make sure his camera crew got everything. The crowd’s response went long and loud.
Nigel stepped out next. His was the expected biggest reception. He saluted his countrymen, showing total emersion in the task at hand. Like Kate, he chose his signature song, Paradise. Kate and Jimmy remained on their stools as he took the same approach. Yarra reached triple platinum long before the U.S. tour had finished. The album remained in the top twenty and Paradise had yet to drop out of the top forty. As his backup band prepared to join in, the big man with the grand voice captivated everyone from the stage to the audience and out into the surrounding thoroughfares. He climbed the high notes with ease then dropped back just as his band took over, jamming excitedly in a succession of bars that highlighted the expert play of each member. At this point, the shimmies and shakes throughout the audience could not be stilled and rhythmic clapping urged the band to a faster tempo. Cindy came to her husband’s side and took his hand as they turned to look at the audience, engaged as if it was an integral part of the music. For the first time since Ellis proposed Blossom Presents, McCabe realized why people came to live concerts. It wasn’t simply to look and listen. It wasn’t only to be treated to the delicious sounds of their favorite songs. Now, he understood it was to be invited inside the music, to be part of it, to join in its making.
Jimmy was temporarily pardoned from his heartache as he waited for Whitehurst to conclude. He had already decided what song to sing, but in the wake of Kate and Nigel he suddenly felt unworthy. He was the most experienced of the three, the recipient of four Grammy awards with a double platinum album and triple platinum single. Yet he knew he could not match the stunning performances that preceded him. Nigel concluded to thunderous applause and pleas for more. Ellis shouted that he should continue recognizing, as did McCabe, something unusual was taking place, but Whitehurst took no notice as he backed away and returned to his stool.
Jimmy waited for the crowd noise to drift down to random shouts and whistles. He could see the end at last. No more traveling from place to place. No more tedious hours, waiting for the next show to begin. No more airplanes, buses and limousines. No more frantic sprints to flee pursuing paparazzi and aggressive fans. No more empty hotel rooms and out of the way houses from city to city. No more obligatory interviews, staged parties and radio shows. No more demands from McCabe. No more accusing looks from Ellis. No more obligations. He stirred from his stool ready to end it all with one last song.
Kate beat him to the microphone, pressing his arm as she rose to make him stay seated. He was at a loss as she slipped the mike from its stand and beckoned, not him, but Nigel to join her at center stage. When Whitehurst came to her side she slipped her arm in his, drawing him close so their bodies hid Jimmy from view. McCabe gave Cindy a questioning look, which she returned with a shake of her head. Jimmy glanced at Sonny, who remained standing, staring straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact.
“Thank-you, Melbourne!” Kate began. “Thank-you for receiving us with your enthusiasm and love. Tonight is both beautiful and bittersweet for those of us who have spent the last nine months on the Blossom Presents Tour. Bittersweet, because it must end. These wonderful months making music for so many across America, in Sydney and tonight with you, may never be matched again anywhere or anytime.” A smattering of applause echoed across the grassy slope.
“Beautiful because we have the privilege to close our tour in the one and only country, perhaps the one and only city where our dreams began. I am a Brit, of course, united in heritage and spirit with most of you. “Nigel,” she nudged the big singer, “is a native son, one with all of you, an Australian in all those ways that make you and your nation so great.” The applause grew louder with whistles and cries of “Yes!”
“But there are three of us sharing this stage, the two who stand before you drawing strength from your enthusiasm and the one who waits behind, more deserving of our appreciation than anyone can know. In my weakest moment he saved me from myself. On a cold December night, one year ago in New York City, when nerves nearly prevented me from taking the stage, he took me by the hand and showed me the way. Without him, I would never have performed that evening. I would never have won a Grammy. Without the belief he showed in me, I might never have regained the confidence that brought me here tonight.
“It started here in Australia where Jim emerged from his cocoon. From Perth to Melbourne and the cities in between, he gradually shed the trappings of Jimmy Button and became Jim Buckman. He drew strength from Australia and you fans who embraced his music. Along the way, he wrote and produced brilliant songs. Along the way, he touched the lives of others as the spirit of Australia touched him. One of those who, like me, owes his presence on this stage to Jim is the world’s current big star, your own Whitehurst.” She smiled as she handed the microphone to Nigel.
“That’s right, mates.” His voice boomed through the giant speakers. “A year ago I was surfing along the Great Ocean Road, singing for my supper in a little pub. I thought my life was just fine. Jim came to hear me sing. He carried a recording contract in his hand. I rejected that contract and I rejected him as just another pushy American looking to make money. But he persisted. He heard something in me that I refused to accept. A gift, he called it. Something I ought to share with others. Still, I put him off. No stranger was going to tell me what I should do. Sound familiar, my fellow Aussies?” He laughed. “Isn’t that who we are? A proud people who won’t be led around by the nose?” He looked over his shoulder at Jimmy, winking. Then he turned back to the crowd.
“He said he wanted to work with me. Work with me, I thought - this singer who had just finished taking my country by storm. Sure, I knew who he was. I heard him on the radio and saw him on the telly. Here was this star saying he wanted to work with me. Thought I’d waver like some wide-eyed kid. But then he gave me a gift, not tied to the contract and with no strings attached. No one ever did that for me before. You heard one of those gifts a few minutes ago, his song, Paradise. Maybe you think I wrote it. No mates, he wrote it for me along with three others, the best songs on Yarra. Together, we wrote eight more in a hotel out in Port Fairy, the ones that completed my debut album. Jim Buckman and his music changed my life.
“So he comes last, as it should be. He closes the Blossom Presents tour here in my hometown before all of you. Kate is so very right. He is more deserving of your appreciation, of our appreciation. In his special way he made it possible for all of us to be here.”
With that Nigel and Kate stood aside, turned toward Jimmy
and beckoned him to come forward. The twenty thousand who listened to the tribute poured forth with one of their own, raising their hands high and clapping. Ellis smiled and shook his head, no longer in control of the concert.
Jimmy was non-plussed. Until then, his only wish was to get away. He longed for the night to be over so he could move on. Kate, Nigel, the bands and the music, all were already put away in his mind. Performing had become a chore. He had become numb to the crowds.
Sonny came over and nudged his friend. He smiled in that way that needed no words to convey its meaning. Melinda pressed a key, summoning one loud note, the first one from Peg. Of course, it had to be that song; the one Australia embraced long before the rest of the world heard it on the night of the Grammy telecast. It was a tired melody now, so often played that it no longer made the heart leap. It defined him, though. Peg and Jim Buckman were synonymous. Which came first? Neither. They belonged together. It was what the fans expected. The applause came louder as he rose and took the mike. He kissed Kate on the cheek then turned, lifted the microphone to his lips and spoke.
“This is for you, Melbourne!”
He cast his weary longings aside and launched into his signature song with all the fervor of its debut in Perth more than a year earlier. The band came in, each instrument at its appointed time, but with equal passion. As Jimmy and Nigel had done for Kate when her song opened the encores, they joined in, lending the quality of their superior voices to each chorus as Jimmy made his way through the verses. Peg was reborn. Sonny took over for brief interludes, displaying his skills on lead. Ted drove his harmonica to the highest notes. Melinda, Eugene and Jimmy’s stand-in on rhythm guitar, carried their roles to perfection. As the song continued, a different Peg resonated from the stage. The addition of Kate and Nigel’s vocals gave the song even more depth, more emotion than the original. Miles heard it and he knew he had more sales on the horizon.
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