Slowly Slowly’s BEN Stewart - Crowbar Sydney
REVIEW BY: JADE GUIDA
I can’t write about Slowly Slowly without telling a version of events that somewhat overshares details of my life.
Why? Why do I need to tell you the whole story from the very beginning, leaving no detail out? I just have to - I need you to understand exactly how happy I was last night, listening to Ben Stewart at the Crowbar in Sydney. I hope that everyone experiences such profound joy in an activity, and that in reading this, you can begin to understand how happy I am in this moment, even though the journey here was imperfect. I have spent the last 6 months reflecting on life and trying to find happiness in imperfect situations and appreciate what I have right in front of me, the tangible and intangible.
Last night, was the greatest imperfect experience I can imagine having.
So I guess I’ll start by taking you back to the year Slowly Slowly played at Good Things Festival. I can’t even tell you what year. I hadn’t heard of them and I didn’t really intend on watching them play but the friend I went with assured me that it was the best thing I would watch all day. I stood at the back of the mosh as they played what I now know to be ‘Creature of Habit Pt2’ and I remember thinking, ‘Fuck. That is cool, so quick and punchy.’ At some point, the band got ready to play ‘JellyFish’ and the guy in front of me (You know this guy if you have ever been to a festival; he had an obnoxious shirt that smelled like 3 years of cigarettes and beer, a moustache - probably from the inner west but let’s not get into that) said ‘I fucking hate this song’. I think I remember it so well because its an incredible song. It’s fun and edgy on its surface but pick the song apart and it is actually a brilliant observation on life.
I think it was a few months before I got to see them again but let me tell you – there is not a person who spent any time with me in those months that did not listen to ‘Jellyfish’ on repeat. I played it for my tinder dates. I played it for my mum so many times she started to buy me Jellyfish everything. I still have glass figures, some art she picked up from a local artist. I fell in love with the world the song created. I saw them again at the Cambridge in Newy, with the friend I was with at the Festival. This man is one of my dearest friends and I felt nothing less than pure happiness that night.
Then I kept listening, journeyed through some of the other tracks. I found ‘Aliens’ which reminded me of one of my other dearest friends Hells and so I sent it to her. She became kind of obsessed with Aliens and fell in love with the song. Then we listened to more together and fell in love with track after track. She and I went to see ‘Trophy Eyes’ together and ‘Congrats’ was the opening act. She ran late - really late - and missed the whole set. Hells and I even made each other Slowly Slowly themed art during lockdown.
I listened to the St Leonards CD (Yes a CD) in my car for 6 months straight. I would rewind ‘The Butcher’s Window’ over and over to hear my favorite line until I felt like I had experienced the track in all its glory. Honestly, I kept that old car longer than I should have, just so I could keep playing the CD. My Favorite Melb Photographer (and one of the biggest legends I know) started to make Aus Album Receipts in lockdown – best believe I made him re crop them exactly to my phone screen so I could have them as my background. It is just a lot of little things – small memories with big feelings. This band is embedded in to some of my best memories and my favorite people.
My Alien obsessed friend and I bought tickets to the RCB Tour prior to its reschedule and honestly, the whole year of Covid, I mourned the loss of that show. When I saw Ben was going to tour Solo, I knew that we had to go. I bought tickets. Then come the continual streams of reschedules. Mostly it was frustrating. I had a string of weddings in Feb and was worried I was going to have to awkwardly explain to my cousin that a stranger from Melbourne singing for an hour was more important to me than her lifelong commitment to her now husband.
I have to say, I desperately wanted to take photos at this show – I think I sent my publication 100 emails. Every time the event was rescheduled. This is where the imperfection started. Even as last night finally rolled around, I still had no concrete confirmation I could shoot. I get a text from Hells (my Alien obsessed Slowly Slowly partner in crime) that she was unwell and couldn’t attend. It was a devastating blow – we had been waiting so long and my heart broke that we wouldn’t share this night with each other. She had already missed the Congrats set at the last gig. It felt like some weird message from the universe.
I was scrambling. I asked my friend who introduced me to Slowly Slowly if he was free but he had to pick up a couch! Of all the days to be a functional adult. I asked three other people but everyone was busy. I put my mum on standby that she may have to go with me. I only had one other person I would ask. It was important to share this experience with someone I really liked. It couldn’t just be anyone. I figured this person was a hard no. We work together, we are good friends but have almost nothing in common. Very cautiously, I throw the idea to her. I didn’t want to spook her. We have never been to a gig before and our outside-of-work activities together have been limited. To my surprise, she said yes. Before we went, I set some ground rules. I told her this was my happy space and she was about to witness the happiest and most enthusiastic version of me that she would ever see (possibly complete with singing, dancing, screaming and tears), but on one condition – we would never mention to the people at work that I was even capable of being so joyous. I have a terrifying reputation to hold.
I get to the venue and almost as soon as I buy a drink, I get a message from my publication that I was approved to shoot. I live an hour away. I have no gear. I can’t go back. I felt a small tinge of sadness and tried to put it aside. I go to enter the band room and as the Security guy check our IDs, he recognises me from previous gigs and shoots. He asks why I am not wearing black tonight (pit rules for gig photography) and there is that pang of sadness again.
I go to scan my ticket and I know the beautiful woman working at the door. She says I am on the list and again, more sadness. I explain that I didn’t get approved in time so have no gear. At this point, I feel overwhelmingly guilty. I felt like I let our publication down, Ben down, myself down. Maybe I should have just brought the gear. I try to just shelve it… I think most photographers experience this internal struggle at some point – do I want to shoot or do I want to watch? Sometimes I feel guilty if I miss the opportunity to shoot my favorite bands.
My friend and I stand up the front for the first opener, Songs By Florida Man. I am sure you can guess the concept. If you haven’t already, definitely google ‘Florida Man’ followed by your birthday and start reading up some of the headlines. I really loved this. It was comical and yet bizarrely touching. He brought candy for the audience as well and I am susceptible to snacks. Some If the sadness starts to fade as I listen to a song about Florida Man kidnapping a scientist to make his dog immortal.
Next was Lili Crane and I am already a huge fan of this Newcastle based song writer. I loved her music, I loved her whole presence. I think one song was called ‘Gemini’ and I can relate. These are both people worth checking out. Phenomenal musicians and just clever song writing.
So then, Ben Stewart. He walks out from behind the side door in his brown two-piece suit and cowboy tie, both ears pierced and his hair silky and smoothed back in to a bun. It is a weird thing, to idolize someone so greatly and then have them walk out like that and completely meet your almost unrealistic expectation of them being some sort of higher being. I was recently talking with a friend about how strange it is to idolize musicians when that person is essentially a fellow human being and a stranger. I find it weird that people think when they connect with music, they somehow connect with the musician. This is something I have never felt. My favourite musicians are perfectly placed on pedestals. I have John Floreani, Ben Stewart and Hozier perched in this impossibly high place. Untouchable. Their music speaks to me in such a profound way, I won’t even consider the humanity of them. I even go so far as to actively avoid meeting them. I know it seems strange but for me, their music speaks so profoundly to me that I want to keep it safe. I don’t want to unravel the complexity of these musicians or know them as people – I want to connect with the sheer genius of their creation and have it exist in its own little space.
I can’t tell you the order the songs were played in, or the intricate details of the night. I can tell you that Ben Stewart stood on stage and perfectly upheld the space of his whole band. He honors them and their sound. He seems to understand that even alone on stage, he is presenting something that is a part of something larger than himself. Between songs, Ben is funny and light and yet somehow manages to remain an enigmatic figure. He gives dedications of songs, has a bit of banter with the crowd, politely asks an enthusiastic heckler to stop calling him ‘dad’ and muses of a cockroach invasion on stage. Ben gives so much but you can also see he holds so much close. Watching him performing Slowly Slowly music solo is truly an experience.
The set is beautifully curated. It dips and lifts in all the right places. This for many was their first standing gig since Covid and the atmosphere was electric. I wish I could tell you which songs were crowd favourites but most fans are loyal to the core and everyone seemed to know every song. It was great to see some of the older songs ‘PMTWGR’, ‘Chamomile’ and ‘New York, Paris’ because I wasn’t sure I would every see them live. ‘JellyFish’ and ‘Smile Lines’ seemed to go down very well with the crowd as well.
When I left, I wanted to buy my friend Hells a shirt to commiserate her being unable to attend. We try buy merch where we can to support bands. This probably seems like a trivial fact to most people but if knew my friend Hells, you would understand what this kind of gesture means to her and I could never really express what she means to me as a friend and I was sorry to go without her.
As we leave, I chat with the friend that came with me and she tells me it was her FIRST EVER LIVE GIG. I am so happy! I love sharing first time experiences with people. I did a photography project on it last year. There is something magical about doing something for the first time.
So this is where I am at with the intricate web that Slowly Slowly has weaved in to my life, entwined with all of my favorite things. This show in particular was fraught with so many obstacles but still managed to bring me an immeasurable amount of happiness. The devil is in the details and it felt like every little thing lined up exactly as it was meant to, drawing the pieces of my life together like bookends, in a single night. Slowly Slowly and this gig really cemented all of the good in my life and remind me that even things that aren’t perfect still have the potential to radiate bliss.
