Yeah two blacks and a white busy with the blues
We know how to rock you, send you to the moon
Oh those sad blues, oh those jive too slow blues
They really got to go, go down with old Hannah
Oh don’t you worry me now more, no more yeah
Two blacks and a white, busy with the blues
Strumming and shouting busy with the blues
Singing the blues, the black and white blues, oh yeah.
In the old days Balga had to dress and look the street hooligan to get attention. How things had changed! Here he was dressed in a checked shirt and jeans, rough working men’s clothing, in front of a crowd that all but filled John Clement’s folk club. They all were there to hear him and his two mates sing and play. They wanted this. Life certainly had changed. He plucked out a chord with his fingers and Andy laid down a bass line, Alan came in and they were away.
Balga flashed his eyes over the crowd some of whom were from his work place. He had resigned from the Motor Registration Branch and this was his going away party. He was amazed at how many had actually come; but Balga had been a cheerful sort of lad who didn’t shirk his work and now he realized that he had made quite a few friends there.
There was Nancy with a tipsy Tom Jones; Malcolm Bogaars looking very much like the cartoon character, Fred Flintstone in the new T.V. series and a serious Ray Drew with his face bent over a book. He did look like Tommy Cooper who was either still in Sydney or already in Queensland. Thinking of him made the lad sad and thinking of him made him remember his other mate, Revel Cooper. This caused him to begin his slow blues, Blues for Revel which they had been practicing for the show.
After this the trio broke for a rest and Balga glanced at some people just entering the club. He gave a start and wanted to hide. Two men and a woman from his old St. Kilda days had entered. Fast Eddy winked at him. He was neatly dressed in a dark Italian suit and with his hair brushed back in a sort of flat 20s style that made him, well look like the walking razor he was. Beside him in a rumpled suit scowling was no one but the tough dick, Phil Kingston and, the woman, oh no. Oh yes, it was Jeanne holding onto the detective’s arm. She was tarted up in an Upper Collins Street expensive suit and her hair was brown and waved and tinted away from the harsh red she once had favoured.
Balga was scared of these people. They could reclaim him and take him back into the petty crime of St. Kilda. He wanted nothing to do with them and scurried off to talk to his old work mates. He began a nervous conversation with his eyes every now and again jerking towards the deadly trio. Unable to keep still he went to where the guest of honour Leo Cash sat together with his daughter Deidre in a wheel chair. She had taken leave from the hospital and with a laugh she commented: ‘I taught you to swing the blues’ then her eyes clung to someone standing behind him and her face went blank.
Balga became too conscious of a man standing closely at his side. He tried to smile at Deidre then flinched as a heavy hand descended on his shoulder. Had he had been nicked for a past offence? The gruff voice of Kingston stated low and menacing, through long use it was his only tone and meant to scare any perp. ‘Boy, we just had to come to see you and hear you sing. I’m like your God Father ain’t I? Yes, and I’ve been following your, shall we say new career and catching sight of you every now and again.. Been keeping out of trouble, haven’t we; been keeping to the straight and narrow it seems and he has become a singer. Good job too,’ and he gave a harsh laugh which caused Balga to feel a quivering up his spine.
‘Yes, his voice sometimes flows as sweet and sticky as port wine,’ added Jeanie kissing him directly on the mouth and then saying. ‘We caught the end of your last number. I hope it pays enough to keep you going. Perhaps you should have stuck with us. We have a dozen houses now and guess, you’d never believe who our manager is.’
‘Fast Eddy has steadied. He has seen the problems inherent in being an independent operator and has come in with us to oversee the whole shebang,’ grated the Kingston demon.
‘So no more Jane or Betty or Audrey and who ever film star his molls might look like,’ Balga couldn’t help saying about his once mate.
‘Them old days are gone and with them private enterprise,’ replied Eddy clasping his hand, but there was no old Bodgie handshake just a quick exchange of sticky palms. The singer felt sorry for him being in that mob; but that was how the cards fell and it might even be for the better, though he was sure that it was not a winning hand.
‘Yep, fashions come and go,’ Eddy added sadly, then grimaced and said: ‘But a singer, good job, but not much future in this stuff, go pop and electric.’
‘What replacing Elvis still going strong and into making movies now.’
‘You ain’t Elvis, but you could be, well, wasn’t Fats Domino your friend?’
‘No my, I don’t know, I sing the blues but don’t rock them.’
‘Yeah, well try it and keep to the old story about how your dad knew Fats Domino and sang the blues with him.’
‘He did know Fats Domino,’ began Balga hotly.
‘There you are, you have the real blues tradition. It’s in your blood,’ a female voice cut in and Ross rushed up with Alan and Andy in tow. The deadly trio smiled and winked in a travesty of good will and excused themselves after Phil Kingston had examined each of the new arrivals with his hard cop eyes.
‘This is Marcus Herman of Crest Records. He wants to record you,’ Ross began hotly introducing a quiet rather nondescript man in a causal sports jacket and slacks.
‘He does,’ Balga exclaimed, ‘but we’re just started.’
‘Yeah, he’ll press some 45s which we can sell at our gigs,’ the girl stated.
‘We can sign the contact tomorrow; do the records in our studio the day after, and press the 45s after that,’ the record producer said.
‘Things move fast eh,’ Balga observed.
‘In this business they do,’ Marcus stated, ‘in today or gone tomorrow.’
‘But we musicians,’ began Alan.
‘Have to eat and to eat they have to sell records,’ Marcus Herman stated with a shrug that underlined his assertion.’
‘Well, yeah,’ Andy said, ‘but I get to eat already.’
‘He does too,’ his mother said coming up and staring at the record producer. ‘And I want to read that contract before he signs it. I know your sort from my theatre days.’
‘Oh mum,’ began Andy.
‘For your benefit! You think your mom doesn’t know about contracts well she does.’
‘Well,’ Herman said with a grimace, ‘It seems that it is settled and we’ll see you all in my office tomorrow at 2 o’clock or thereabouts — and without your mother,’ he added to Andy.
Adrian had joined the group and had been listening. Of course he knew the record producer and complimented him on his choice. ‘This trio is not only fabulous but groovy,’ he declared, ‘and I’ve just opened a new club, The Stray Cat, in Prahran and I am putting them on from next Friday. It’s a paying gig too.’
‘It better be,’ flung back Mrs Campbell as she went off towards Leo Cash.
Suddenly another lot of people came through the door. It was a crowd from the Aboriginal Advancement League. There was Pastor Doug somewhat quiet with his wife; Stand the Man with Kooris from Northcote including Harry and his band members. ‘Hey, bud,’ he called, ‘you near finished. We got an event going at the league and I promised to bring you there for a couple of songs. They still remember you from that time you sang there.’
‘Just about finished, a couple of more songs, and we can be with you,’ Balga quickly agreed.
Things had happened quickly and were continuing to rush along. Balga was slightly dazed as he went back to the raised platform that served as a stage to continue the gig singing some songs that he had written. The trio finished off with a remodeled folk standard.
The Noongars are behind us
We shall not be moved
The Koories are behind us
We shall not be moved
The Murris are behind us
We shall not be moved
Even the Gubbas are with us
Yeah, we shall not be moved.
Just like rocks standing in the flood
We shall not be moved, citizenship now!
The trio bowed and Balga clasped his hands over his hand then dropped them as he said: ‘Thank you for coming to hear us. I’m Balga Boy Jackson; that lad there is Alan Wardell and Andy Campbell on bass guitar. We’ll be playing at the Stray Cat next Friday so come along and hear us. Thank you, thank you and good night!’
And so the evening ended and the career of Two Blacks and a White began to rise towards the full moon high in the night sky.