You can always learn sumpthin' from somebody, was my Uncle Duncan’s maxim. It was trotted out to justify endless hours tolerating the company of gnarly characters in bars. “And you can never know too much,” he lectured, which was somewhat ironic because, as a result of him learning everything there is to know the CIA executed him by alcohol poisoning – forced him to drink a bucket of single malt whiskey, he claimed during his dying belches - when he was identified as “the man who knew too much.” So, while being constantly on the alert for CIA operatives, I often - somewhat reluctantly - talk to gnarly strangers. And I learn things.
“’Ow yer goin’?” asked the bloke I didn't really want to talk to after he banged into my elbow at the bar.
“Good enough. How are you?” Politeness costs nothing. Well, almost nothing.
“Mr Universe,“ declared the ragged scarrecrow.
I squinted at his bony, scraggy frame, his jutting, poorly-shaved chops, scabby skull and ...
“1958,” he said, reading me like the Sunday Mail comics section. “I was Mr Universe in 1958. I was a bit fitter then...”
I raised an eyebrow.
“And stronger, too. Covered in muscles, I was. I was so strong I had muscles in me shit!”
At the enunciation of the last word his choppers flew out of his gob, struck me on the forehead and landed in my pint glass.
“I could get into any nightclub that hadn't been petrol-bombed,” he went on. “Bouncers couldn’t stop me. Line ‘em all up, I could knock ‘em down with one blow.”
I stared at his festering, toothless maw. “I'm not surprised; couldn’t afford mouthwash in those days?” I suggested.
“I could, but I spent all me money on me muscles. Every penny of it. Had marvellous muscles, though. The muscles on me chest were so clever they could do up me tie – no hands. Oxford Knot, too.”
I further elevated an eyebrow.
“And I had muscles all over me back. I could make them wiggle me wallet out of me back pocket, all up me back and flip it over me shoulder into me claw.”
“If you didn’t have any money why did you need a wallet?” I asked.
“To keep me franger in,” came the sly reply.
A moment passed. “What’s a ‘franger’?” I asked.
“A French letter, a rubber Johnnie!  Always carried a franger in me wallet. I was a bit of a hit with the ladies, you know. Still am. See that one down there...?”
I followed his head nod and espied, further down the bar, an ageing dragon resembling a barrel on cricket stumps with a face that looked like it had been painted on by a nearsighted cake-decorator with the hiccoughs.
“... I reckon I’m 'in' there.”  He said, winking grotesquely. “I might have a drink to perk me up. One of them cocktail things to celebrate me upcoming conquest.”
“Name it, it’s yours,” I said generously.
“I reckon I’ll have a handle of rum with two bananas stickling out the top.”
“Do you want a paper umbrella in one of the bananas?”
“Steady on. That’d be silly,” he said getting out his wallet, by hand.
“Put your money away,” I said. “My shout.”
“I wasn’t going for me money; I was checking the franger. Yep!” he said. “Still going strong...”
I raised another eyebrow. “Since 1958?”
“Yep. It’s a beauty. Not perished more than a little bit. They made ‘em to last in them days. Made ‘em out of real rubber. Used to be called gutta percha, if I recall rightly.”
And there you have it, Uncle Duncan’s maxim vindicated! I have learned that real rubber used to be called gutta percha. Any more knowledge like that and I‘ll have to double up my guard for CIA assassins.
So.... if you go out to any of the gigs listed for this week, take a few moments to talk some some gnarly old nut case; you might learn something.

First you can get along to the Whitmore Hotel on Wednesday July 7 for the Blues and Roots evening. You’ll hear a mighty fine singer sort of emerging from retirement – Mike Barnes – with his band the Blue Loos or something like that.

Friday night, July 9 is the time to catch Lost Romaldo Groove at the Semaphore Workers Club. The Semaphore Workers Club is the home to Blues and Roots music in South Australia. Accept no imitations. Only buy genuine The Semaphore Workers' Club fun. (May contain nuts).

 Also on Friday July 9, the John Earl Walker band will be rocking the BRAHMA LODGE HOTEL. In his long career, veteran New York  blues / rock guitarist John Earl Walker has penned forty two original tunes on his four studio CD releases. Citing the three Kings (BB, Albert, and Freddie) along with Chuck Berry as his biggest influences, at age 19 his band Plum Nelly, were signed to Capitol Records and played at Carnegie Hall in New York supporting artists like Muddy Waters, BB King, Bo Diddley, Buddy Guy, John Mayall, Jimi Hendrix and  Fleetwood Mac..
Since then John Earl had played with many other bands in New York and LA. In the  last decade John Earl has led his own band, his material receiving airplay on FM stations around the world and on the internet. His sound has been describes as a good combination of blues/rock and rock 'n roll; but he can belt out a good low-down dirty blues numbers too. 

Sunday, July 11 get along to the Wine Underground, Pirie Street City, to catch Chook House. I swear that’s their name – the Chook house – But they ain’t chicken shit. They rock! Gig starts at 5 and is the place to be for rocking blues and roots music in the city on a Sunday.

Looking Back: New Rock 'n'Roll band The Cat's Pyjamas pulled off a sensational 'soft launch' at the Wine Underground Sunday July 4. The venue was pleased to welcome members of Legends Rock n Roll Club as well as some new faces who helped pack the floor for a rockin' gig. Keep an eye open for more Cats' Pyjamas gigs coming soon.

Thursday July 15, the Gilbert Street Hotel once more hosts Sweet Baby James and Rob Eyers for an evening of new Blues and Roots music. When I say "new" I take into consideration that some of their tunes are Blues classics but they play them in their own unique style. Leading the charge, however, is the posse of new tunes from the band's recent albums. Check out Double Voodoo for a hint of where progressive Blues and Roots music is going. See you at the GIlbert; 7 pm kick off and the food is excellent. Try the buffalo wings but you make have to book in advance for them - they are a prized filler in the Gilbert Street's nosebags.