For Wayne Duncan: 'You're from Daddy Cool, you're a fuckin legend', by Craig Horne - 2016

December 2016, Melbourne Australia

I met Wayne Duncan for the first time on a Sunday afternoon at the Flowerdale Hotel in the mid-90’s.

Jeff Burstin and myself I had been playing as duo at the Flowerdale for sometime when the owner, Ian Keddie asked us to put a band together for a Christmas in July celebration. Jeff called his old mates Gary Young and Wayne Duncan and The Hornets were born.

I was suddenly singing in a band with Jeff Burstin, Gary Young and Wayne Duncan…are you kidding? These were blokes I’d seen and admired in a host of Melbourne bands for most of my adult life.

I was literally in heaven;

Pause

For the next few years The Hornets played bars, festivals and venues all around Victoria and in that time I got to know Wayne very well, a couple of observations…

Firstly women of a certain age loved him.

Maybe it was that pixy face of his, or his cheeky smile, but where ever The Hornets played, women lined-up in front of the band with their copies of “Daddy Who Daddy Cool” or whatever clutched to their eager breasts, their hands gripping permanent marker pens hoping for a kind word from their hero… Wayne always obliged.

Secondly middle-aged men also loved Wayne and liked to do things for him… like lump out his amp at the end of a gig, or buy him a beer in the break. Even the Premier of Victoria liked to perform acts of kindness for our Wayne.

One memorable sunny Sunday afternoon, The Hornets had played the St Andrews Hotel and I dropped Wayne at his Avenue home in Surrey Hills, just down the road from the then Victorian Premier.

As we drove up the street, I noticed a rather large man wearing an ill-fitting tracksuit pushing a Victor motor-mower up and down Wayne’s front nature strip.

As we pulled up outside the house, Wayne fell out of the front seat still clutching a traveller in his right hand, he looked up at the Easter -Island visage of Jeff Kennett and said something like…”Gidday Jeff, thanks for doing this mate, would you like a drink?” And offered the Premier the half full/half empty bottle of warm chardonnay, to which Mr Kennett politely declined and continued mowing.

I couldn’t resist writing a small article for The Age about a certain Melbourne rock star that employed the Premier of Victoria as his private gardener.

There was also the time Wayne was enjoying a three-month holiday in South Gippsland at the expense of Her Majesty. Wearing his green tracksuit Wayne arrived at his allotted accommodation carrying his bedding in his arms and sat forlornly on his bunk.

A shadow fell across the room and Wayne looked up to see a 6 foot three brick-shithouse filling the entrance to his rather humble accommodation. Wayne noticed tear drops tattooed on the gentleman’s cheek …here stood a murderer and lifer.

The man ordered Wayne to stand – and fearing the worst –Wayne obeyed and resigned himself to his fate. But then something remarkable happened, the brute took the bedding from Wayne’s arms and said in a gentle voice…

“ I’ll makeup your bunk mate… you’re from Daddy Cool, you’re a fuckin legend…’

Then, lowering his voice, the brick-shithouse added …”Ya have any trouble in here mate, just see me….”

But that summed up Wayne, people loved him, family, friends, fans we all loved him. We loved his gentleness, his encyclopedic knowledge of music, his sunglasses worn at night and his Converse runners worn….constantly. We loved his loyalty and his kindness and we loved him because he was unique…in every sense of the word.

I will miss when playing with The Hornets looking to my left and seeing an empty space where Wayne sat, his 1963 Jazzmaster balanced on his right hip and his eyes fixed on Jeff Burstin imploring him to reveal the key, the chords or even the name of the song we were currently playing.

That’s the thing about Wayne it didn’t matter that maybe he played the odd wrong note …. as Sam See recently said …”no-one plays like Wayne ….it doesn’t matter if he is sometimes wrong; he always sounds right. “

And Wayne was always right, he was the right bass player for Daddy Cool, the right father for his daughters and son, the right grandfather for grand kids, the right partner for Anne and the right friend for all of us.

Wayne… you are irreplaceable and you will live at the center of all of our hearts for the rest of our lives…

Vale Wayne Duncan

For Chris Wilson: 'This man of multitudes', by Paul Kelly, Music Victoria Awards - 2020

Paul Kelly speech is at 1:47:11 of video

The past and present wilt,
I have emptied them, filled them, and proceed to fill my next fold of the future.
Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself.
I am large. I contain multitudes.

Do these words sound familiar? They are words from the poet, Walt Whitman stolen by Bob Dylan for a song on his most recent album. And, stolen tonight by me to describe a man who contained multitudes.
I have vivid memories of Chris and our first tour of the United States over 30 years ago. We were like kids in a candy store in that country that contains multitudes, that contained so much that fed us.
Those rivers of music from San Francisco Bay to Harlem and Broadway, from the Great Lakes to the Rio Grande, from the Appalachians to the Delta. And, Chris took all these rivers into himself. This is what he did all his life. He lived and breathed music. When you went to visit him, you were always in danger of getting lost among the canyons of his record collection, and never getting out of the house.
There was music, it seemed, from every country in the world. The Africas, the Americas, the Balkans, Europe, Asia, Ireland, Iceland, Arnhem Land, and on and on. Chris absorbed all this, rolled it round in his gut, his heart, blood, bone and brain. Blended it and spat out his own music. A mongrel music, a multitudinous music, a music of contradiction and tension. My favourite kind of music.
He was curious and generous. He loved to discover and share, a mentor to many, a teacher and a preacher, ferocious and tender and all the shades in-between.
Listen to him kick off me and my band at the start of my song, Dumb Things."What sound is that?", many people have asked me. And, listen to his aching suspenseful play out at the end of our cover of Australian Crawl's, Reckless. It's hard to believe that it's one person squeezing out those sounds.
Yes, he was a man of multitudes. I am privileged to have travelled some of this earth working, and playing with his huge hearted man.
This mountain of a man who commanded attention wherever he went on the stage, and on the street. This shy man who listened deeply and talked quietly. This serious man, this funny man, this angry man, this gentle man.
And, I am proud to induct this man of multitudes into Music Victoria's Hall of Fame. So, please welcome to the stage, his family, Sarah, Fenn and George, to accept this award on his behalf.