Like a smiling bushranger, bearded troubador Steve Smyth rode the iron horse into one of the Hunter’s classic country pubs under cover of dark. No public invites, no babbling social media, Smyth wanted to debut the growling poetry from his upcoming release to his schooner-wielding disciples at Maitland’s Grand Junction Hotel.
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With just a guitar and a single red light, Smyth growled through more than an hour of raw material from his upcoming double-album. The first half of the album is already done, recorded live in just one week under the vaulted ceilings of a Spanish church. A fitting studio for a man raised by travelling ministers.
But his show at the Grand Junction was no less revered. Online, fans praised the songs – “the man could sing a phone book” one said.
