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can make the toughest farmer or drover cry into his beer. I ask him if it was a conscious effort to make his songs sound more Australian than others. “As Aussies,” he says, “we were always discouraged to write our own songs. I remember people saying I shouldn’t be doing my own stuff you know. But when I was doing the pub circuit I started doing my own songs and when I sang Cootamundra Wattle and saw people cry I realised it was worth it and stuck to my guns. But there were so many songs on Mallee Boy that basically made my career.”

      True Blue, also from that album has become something of an unofficial anthem, as well as a calling card for JW, who often closes a show with it (as he did here 30 minutes ago). John Singleton had approached JW and asked him to write a song to go with his TV programme of the same name that encapsulated what it meant to be a “fair dinkum” Aussie and John was happy to oblige and admits that he was very lucky.

      “The song,” he explains, “is all about what it means to be a good Australian, about looking after this great country. It’s not about what colour you are or where you come from, it’s about being a good person and looking after one another. I had no idea of the impact it would have when I wrote it for him but thank goodness for Singo. I’m lucky now that I often do a corporate thing where I get paid a fortune for singing two songs, True Blue and maybe Waltzing Matilda.”

      JW was a bit peeved when he discovered that Singo had used the song and John’s image singing it, to promote white-goods for Harvey Norman. “I was in Mt Isa at the time and some mates rang me and asked if I knew that I was on an ad for Harvey Norman.” JW then spent $60,000 to put an ad in the national papers, telling the public it was not his idea. “I was one of the few people who stood up to Singo, but we’re good mates now,” he says.

      When Mallee Boy went multi-platinum, JW realized that he could have a career, writing songs about Australia and singing with an Aussie accent. “I knew,” he says, “that I was on the right track and I could continue to write songs unashamedly about our country. Not many people these days write about rural things. And to me life out in the sticks is what makes us different to the rest of the world. Big cities are just big cities but it’s the bush that makes us uniquely Australian. The big problem then, of course, was to come up with an album as strong as Mallee Boy.”

      Over the years JW has played at some very large and prestigious events such as the Gallipoli commemorations, Don Bradman Memorial, Bali Bombing Memorials, Steve Irwin Memorial, Wallabies matches and cricket events. He says the one that affected him the most was the Steve Irwin Memorial. “Well I knew Steve personally, so it was very emotional for me,” he says, “I hid myself away in a tent before going on, so I didn’t carried away with it all. I considered it wasn’t my luxury to get emotional anyway, because there were plenty of people who were closer to him than me. But seeing his best mates carrying his swag and putting it on a truck, that was pretty hard to watch. I surprised myself that I got through it actually.”

      JW says that Steve Irwin was exactly the same in person in the flesh as he was on TV, “he was just a really enthusiastic person,” he recalls, “and strong. You knew all about it, if he gave you a hug!”

      As well as being a singer, song-writer, TV presenter and painter, JW is also an outspoken Republican and environmentalist, and has upset a few people in the bush over the years with his views – and songs like Rip Rip Woodchip and A Flag of Our Own. “I think I’ve probably gained more fans than them over the years,” says John, “but surely we live in a free country and Australia is about saying what you feel and speaking your mind. I mean you could a get a bullet if you said something wrong about Putin. But I think people realise that what I say is from the heart as I truly love this county and anyone that’s destroying it should be held accountable.”

      John Williamson hasn’t supported many other artists during his long career. But back in the ‘80s he supported Johnny Cash, a true legend of the music industry, for two shows in Tasmania. I ask him about his memories of The Man in Black. “Although I felt a bit insignificant performing before him,” he replies, “I think I went over pretty well though. I remember he wore high heels and he was taller than me anyway, so with his black coat he looked a lot like Darth Vader. And when he hit those lower notes you could almost hear the windows start to rattle.”

      “Did you have much contact with him?” I inquire. “I didn’t talk to him much, but I spoke with the people around him and I almost got a song on his next album, but it didn’t quite get there.”

      I then ask him what sort of music he listens to if he wants to relax. “I don’t really listen to much music anymore,” he replies. “It’s a bit like people who live on the beach and don’t do much swimming. But I’ve been influenced by the likes of Bob Dylan, Kris Kristofferson and Harry Belafonte. I was into Calypso music years ago and that kinda turned into Reggae and I love Bob Marley, especially if I’m drunk enough to dance,” he laughs. “But I also like Frank Sinatra. Just good vocalists I suppose.”

      We talk for a bit about my favourite songs and how my son and I could both tear-up in the ute, listening to the likes of Cootamundra Wattle or Galleries of Pink Galahs. “Well, when I first write a song, I can well-up,” he says. “that’s when I know if I’ve got something or not. If I tear-up, then I think it’s going to work.”

      “With all the lyrics you’ve written over the years, do you ever forget any of them?” I ask him. “Well, I can drift off on any song,” he says. “You’ve just got to concentrate. Which is why I always have an afternoon nap before a show because it’s your concentration that goes first, not so much your energy.”

      “Were you always an environmentalist?” I venture, changing tack.

      “Well I suppose when I realised the harm we were doing, was when we moved up to north-west NSW. It was great soil so there was still a lot of clearing going on and it was inevitable that it was going to be cleared. But I started to object to everything being cleared. So, I started to say, ‘hang on Dad, lets slow down a bit.’ So that’s where it began.”

      “Did he listen to you?”

      “Yeah, he did. We could have ploughed the lot up, because it was all good country, but we left around 10% of it untouched. So, I’ve seen both sides of the coin. But the bush is so different from place to place and so much of it is being lost. People are wiping out whole, unique areas.”

      Despite this, JW is still hopeful about the future of the bush and thinks we have turned the tide, with initiatives from Bush Heritage Australia. Founded in 1990 by Dr Bob Brown the organisation strives for the long-term protection of the nation’s biodiversity through the acquisition and management of land.

      “There are a lot more people concerned now,” he continues, “and a lot of forest has been saved from being felled for woodchip, and areas are being re-planted.”

      Unfortunately, my time with JW is drawing to an end and his manager pokes his head in the door, pointing to his watch and making signs. Finally, I ask him if he has a bucket-list. He ponders it for a while, “well I don’t think I’ve got a bucket-list musically anymore, as I’ve gone much further than I expected to. I don’t expect to write any more great songs. It may happen, but I don’t worry about it. That’s why the making of this new album Butcherbird was so relaxed because there was no pressure. I suppose I’d like to spend more time with my art.

      I feel like a white Aboriginal I guess,” he says. “If I can walk into a piece of virgin forest George, where perhaps no human’s been before, then I feel privileged. The most important thing to me is nature. If we destroy it then we destroy ourselves really.”

      Chapter Two.

      Up the Coast

      “Lord, I was born a ramblin’ man.”

      The

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