Slim Dusty . . . A Man With No Peer
When the world has moved on and the sadness at the passing of Australian country-music singer Slim Dusty has faded, the memory of him—his tunes and ballads—will long remain in the minds and hearts of his true-blue countrymen.
He is being honoured with a tribute concert simply titled Concert for Slim at this year’s Tamworth Country Music Festival. The concert will include a galaxy of country stars, including Troy Cassar-Daley, Kasey Chambers and Lee Kernaghan, along with family members Anne and David Kirkpatrick and other artists. The proceeds of the bash will benefit the Slim Dusty Foundation, not the artists.
“It’s our way of saying ‘thank you’ to all the people of Australia who have loved and admired Slim and his music,” says Joy McKean, a major contributor to the effort.
There would be few Australians who haven’t heard Slim Dusty, or at least heard of him. When he died in October last year, aged 76, after a long battle with cancer, he was accorded a state funeral, which was attended by scores of dignitaries, show-business luminaries and politicians representing all shades of society. His passing was mourned by people from all walks of life, from fans in the street, to Aboriginal community members, from truckies to tribal leaders, and from country music stars to the Prime Minister.
Many travelled from distant parts of Australia to attend the funeral, including Dick Smith and singers Peter Garrett and John Williamson. “He’s been an institution in this country,” said Prime Minister Howard, adding what the listeners already knew, “and won much affection and renown.”
Born David Gordon Kirkpatrick, Slim was raised on a remote dairy farm in the hills west of Kempsey, NSW. As a 10-year-old he dreamed of becoming a country music singer and wrote his first song, “The way the cowboy dies,” in 1937. Shortly after he changed his name to Slim Dusty and set his sights on his chosen career, never looking back!
As Australia’s most prolific and successful country-music recording artist, with 106 albums to his credit and sales of more then six million records/CDs, he was also the county’s most-awarded. He racked up inummerable Golden Guitars and ARIAs, was honoured in the Hall of Fame, and awarded Father of the Year in 1999. He was also awarded an AO Medal and MBE for services to entertainment.
as his famous “Pub with no beer” that skyrocketed him to fame. But despite its title, the song is less about beer drinking than mateship, a strong current in the bush and Outback. Much later he had another beer-drinking song, which reiterated the theme. And one doesn’t have to be a drinker to appreciate that sentiment.
Speaking at his funeral, Anglican Dean of Sydney, Phillip Jensen, called Slim the “quintessential mate,” adding, “mateship is such a distinctively Australian virtue.” Explaining that while he was “no drinking man” himself, Slim’s two biggest hits were symbolic of Australian mateship.
Slim epitomised the spirit of mateship. He believed strongly in loyalty and became the voice of our nation, an inspiration for three generations, writing and singing songs of the bush. He was a proud Australian who loved his country and its people, living humbly with a complete lack of pretentiousness, always with time for his friends.
Any who’ve met this remarkable man, with his trademark broad-brimmed hat, felt it was a privilege. I’d heard Slim singing his country tunes and watched him perform on stage, but not until I met him personally did I appreciate the true nature of the man.
Slim visited the special school where I worked with intellectually disabled children. He sat in their midst and they sat enthralled at his feet while he chatted to them, played his guitar, sang several songs and attempted to teach them to play the spoons. As he happily answered questions and told the children stories, it was obvious that he was—in a different sense—quite a special person himself.
It was easy to see he genuinely cared for people. Although the centre of attraction, he was unfussed by the attention. He was a true gentleman who loved to be in touch with his audience, no matter their age, intellect or origins, a philosophy that remained with him to the end.
There was much more to this man than songs about beer (or the lack of it). He also recorded a version of “The old rugged cross,” which was sung by contemporary country musician Lee Kernaghan at the funeral.
But it was the words from one of his compositions that were read that were the most poignant: “As I dream there is one consolation/ I have a King for a friend/ He’s just the King of kings in Heaven/ He’s just the one who made the world/ . . . I wouldn’t want to go on living/ If I didn’t have a King for a friend.”
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This is an extract from January February 2004
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