Capricorn Dancer
If you went by appearance alone Richard Clapton would have to be the least likely Australian artist to make anyone think of the beach and surfing and their first serious love. If for no other reason than Richard looks like he has never seen the daylight. Richard has always looked like he only emerges at night to craft observant, definitively Australian songs while prowling King Cross’s mean streets.
But for all the talk of the bush, this Australia, the one built after WW2 is an urban experience and with Australian cities there comes, almost without exception, the new home of Australian myths and heroes -the beach. So while he wasn’t Australian Crawl or the Riptides, Richard understood the draw of sun and sand as well as anyone. With three songs but one in particular he provided the perfect soundtrack to my special time, the first time that you think the world is actually built just for you and life can’t get better. Every time I hear Capricorn Dancer I am transported back to a summer of long afternoons, spent under a large Pandanus, in a Queensland beach town that back then, was only busy on summer weekends and school holidays.
I would go surfing with my mates early in the morning in that selfish way that surfers, fishermen and all ocean lovers have, always putting aside lie ins and cuddles and breakfasts in bed for glassy waves and competitive male bonding in the company of arguably our one true love, the deep blue sea. As we got changed and waxed our boards there was no room for mellowness or introspection in the musical choices. The Sex Pistols, The Clash, Cold Chisel, The Angels and Midnight Oil were compulsory warmup listening.
Most days in late summer the sea breeze comes in at about nine or ten taking the edge of the surf quality. So those who could, would, after a life affirming breakfast of say a toasted Ham, cheese and Tomato sanga, orange juice and a Winfield Blue, reconnect with their girlfriends, if of course they had one.
In that late summer of early 1981 I had a girlfriend. She shared her name with the character in Blue Bay Blues so perhaps that is how Richard’s album Past Hits and Previews became the soundtrack to our summer afternoons. I was 18, Jane was 16 and I was smitten. Neither of us were what you would call innocent but nor had we been in a relationship of trust. We really liked the same things and each other and we had time. I hadn’t had the experience before when in the company of that right person an afternoon could simultaneously pass wonderfully slowly and yet be gone in an instant.
It was a cassette of course that we played over and over in her portable cassette player. All the songs were good but the big three for us were Deep Water, Blue Bay Blues and most of all Capricorn Dancer. All three were about the beach lifestyle and experiences that we could already relate to, you grew up quick at the beach in late 70s. But Capricorn Dancer was dreamy and optimistic, not as dark as Deep Water or melancholy like Blue Bay Blues.
We would spread our towels on the top of the dunes and read Stephen King novels, alternating chapters with tongue kisses flavoured with chocolate milk, cigarette smoke and the sea’s salt. We would run into the shocking cool of the ocean when the sun’s heat became too much and then wrap around each other, looking into each other’s eyes until we were hot all over again. Even now the memories of the sundrenched sweetness of those days fill me with a gentle ache.
Capricorn Dancer’s loping drum intro, Hawaiian steel guitar sound, cruisy lyrics and Richard’s idiosyncratic scatting in the middle eight just fitted those afternoons like nothing else. Jane and I sang the words, held hands and ate minimum chips as we walked home to the school and working week. And of course it is only later, when a good thing like that comes to an end that you realise why there has to be the other songs too.
This story first appeared on the wonderful website www.stereostories.com in September 2021. Check it out and Thanks! Thanks to you too Mr Clapton. Photo by Lopez Robin on Unsplash
