SECOND BITE AT A FIRST TASTE OF GARY CLARK JR IN WIND BACK WEDNESDAY

He’s here again, as obviously we like him ‘round these parts – maybe you’ll be in the room with me tomorrow night at the Enmore, his last for this tour – or he just really, really likes rugby league and couldn’t make it to Vegas six weeks ago.

Either way, Gary Clark Jr is no blow-in, or blues-in if you prefer. But even when he first showed up, he looked anything but an overnight sensation about to have his five minutes, as Wind Back Wednesday recollects.

This 2012 show, his first in Sydney, was to be repeated six months later with a very quick return to Australia. It’s easy to see why.

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GARY CLARK JR

Annandale Hotel, September 28, 2012

THIS TEXAN SEEMS BARELY to have scratched the surface of what he can do (his major label debut is still a week or so away; he’s never been to Australia before but he pulled this crowd with little more than an EP and some reviews) but already Gary Clark Jr looks like he’s conquering musical territory like some young Macedonian king with commitment issues.

He began with a kind of Electric Mud-style exploration of the roots of rock, followed it with some faster Texas boogie, then a beefier Chicago urban blues, a very Chuck Berry-like jumping number and, without skimping, a slow soul burner, complete with falsetto, whose liquid and spare solo owed much to Albert King.

Then, as if casually itemising a shopping list, he carried a smooth rock ballad and merged an underground drone and a funky groove.

Each song built on its predecessor, the understated but undoubtedly adept band making room for Clark's playing without ever feeling like they were merely holding up an end. And each song featured Clark bending, surging, carving or cajoling sounds out of his guitar that elicited smiles, vigorous nods of the head and finally loud cheers.

A friend watching this said to me “I know why boys like him: he noodles”. Well, yes, maybe, but as someone with a genetic aversion to guitar wankery, I would argue he doesn't noodle without purpose.

I’ve had the good fortune to see Clark play three times this year, in vastly different circumstances: a character-less ante room of a superdome to a tiny audience; a hot mid afternoon slot of an outdoor festival to an audience drawn in inexorably; and now a small Sydney pub heaving with fans already committed at the start but devoted by the end.

Each time Clark shifted gears without seeming to make any difference to how, or what, he played but the result was that he clearly occupied the space - but only the space – around him. What I mean is, Clark doesn’t impose himself or demand anything but ends up giving you exactly what you need right at that moment. And he’s really only just begun.

The return trip in January is looking tastier by the minute.

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