“A Scotsman, a South African, and an American walk into a bar in Australia” sounds like the setup for an awful joke, but in my case it’s just another family gathering. As I’m writing this, the Sydney Opera House is shimmering against a cloudless, sapphire sky, and whatever clichéd, Bob-Seger-road-warrior stuff’s out the window - I’m in one of the world’s great cities, variously accented Larkins laid waste to a local drinking hole last night, and music paid for the ticket. It’s a good day, and another sold out show tonight will make it even better.
Having an international family means traditional gatherings are challenging. “Let’s have Christmas at Grandma’s” involves tens of thousands of dollars in airfare, and the Herculean task of coordinating a multi-continent slumber party tends to be met with a resounding “meh.” Luckily, this line of work allows me to see everyone about once a year, whether it’s Australia, South Africa, London, Singapore, or wherever the hell my weirdo tribe lands. It’s my favorite part of the job.
And, as a musician, travel’s a reminder that if a certain scene’s hipness feels like a suffocating miasma of hopelessness, well, we live in a big ol’ beautiful world - if your tunes don’t resonate in Music City, maybe they will in Melbourne, or Munich, or Madrid. Book a ticket and find out.