Hardys Bay is a relatively isolated community, geographically speaking, but its reach appears to be far beyond its watery border and the windy mountain roads that guard it. Here, the community is close, welcoming and warm, something that can’t be said for all of the elusive Central Coast communities. Is it due to the town being relatively young? No, most of these people are definitely over the age of fifty. So, what is it? Enter: Ami Williamson, folk-comedy singer, mother, songwriter, entertainer, daughter of John Williamson (who admittedly I had never heard of before now), and long time coastie. According to locals, Hardys Bay Club hosts independent artists every weekend for a small fee, a donation, and some adoration of the arts.
On this particular Saturday night in March, the club was filled with warmth, reflective of the muggy salty air that wafted off the lake just outside the curtained doors. There was a bustling restaurant attached and people outside on the decks that didn’t buy tickets to the show. They drank reasonably priced beers and jovially recounted their stories from the week that passed, fairy lights punctuating the dark seclusion of this place. Admittedly, it is an odd location for a ‘club’. One would typically think a venue such as this would be a big towering building with a better established carpark in the heart of a busy city or town. To get to Hardys Bay Club, you have to drive around at least four hairpin bends, through a residential area that’s essentially absent of streetlights, and discover the club in a forest-encircled clearing. My imagination took me back to the Shirley Barber stories my mother read to me as a child about secret lands where pixies and fairies and magical creatures resided in their happy homes.
Here, the pixies and fairies came in the form of middle aged patrons, members of Hardys Bay Club, and a few visitors here and there. All the members seemed to know each other. As I had purchased my tickets online, I thought this was going to be a much more technologically advanced operation than what I was met with; a blonde lady, probably about my mother’s age, greeted me at the door, asked my name and checked it off a list on her clipboard. She then directed me to the table where I met Bob, an elderly fellow who seemed to be a man of much importance here.
My family and I sat around the table, and my grandma instantly started her version of small talk with the stranger next to her, which is basically just a short recount of her entire life story. None of us had ever attended a gig like this before. Usually, when one thinks of a music gig, you’d think of a crammed stage in the back corner of a dimly lit bar that smells too strongly of spilled Smirnoff Ice and Sauvage. This was anything but. The auditorium resembled that of a community hall, there was a modest bar at the back but the artist had requested all food and drinks services be suspended during her set, so as not to disrupt the flow. The ample yet ambient lighting allowed patrons to mingle and actually see the faces they’re talking to; I’m not sure if this was to accommodate the advancing age of the average population here but it did make for a more homely atmosphere. The whole space smelled faintly of beer, old carpet, and strongly of old lady perfume, with countless retro artefacts, collected through time, adorned shelves, and fishing nets across the ceiling. The stage was wide and boasted a simple electric keyboard, two guitars, and a peculiar string instrument that we would later come to know as the dulcimer, an Appalachian sort of horizontal guitar.
People were so relaxed and at home here, and even though this was my first time, I felt like I, too, was part of the family. This was new for me, because even though I grew up on the coast, I never found such a warm welcome at a community event, due in no small part to the colour of my skin. But these people, though my family were still the only people of colour in the room, were so inclusive and kind. The skeptic in me couldn’t help but wonder if I was being lulled into a false sense of security.
Ami Williamson, one woman show, announced herself over the speakers and everyone moved back to their seats, drinks in tow. The songstress entered the stage in what could only be described as a combination gallop-glide, cowboy boots and a skirt made of scarves, a top she proudly declared she made herself from tea towels and an acoustic guitar—a symbol of folk. She fit right in. The audience welcomed her like the proud family-like community they were.
I don’t know where in pop culture this experience can fit into. Yes, gig culture is a popular culture, but this is something on another level. It’s a subculture, folk-comedy music doesn’t seem like something that’s very popularised. Perhaps it’s old people pop culture? One man had a shirt that said, “It’s weird being the same age as old people”.
Ami’s first song was hilarious right off the bat, immediately calling out Al Pacino for marrying a woman young enough to be his granddaughter, questioning “does your daughter babysit your wife?” This song was interactive and the house lights helped when Ami made her way into the audience to sing to a woman she had now deemed a ‘cougar’.
Her next original number was perhaps the most impressive; a woman of many talents, she simultaneously sang, played the keyboard, and the harmonica! A voice behind me echoed my thoughts, “that. Is. AMAZING!” before another man exclaimed, “amazing talent!” When she started singing Joni Mitchell’s Big Yellow Taxi, I almost started screaming, my favourite song when I was five. Throughout the night I marveled at the galvanised sense of community here, at the way folk music can pull at the heartstrings and crack your sides with laughter, and wondered if this was a uniquely regional Australian phenomenon. Or perhaps it was so intriguing to me because most of the other music gigs I had attended before had an age demographic under 30, and my soul is actually 85. Speaking to Bob, who has lived at Hardys Bay for 50 years, he confirmed that most people here were regulars, but he loved to see new people too. He was proud to host independent artists and that the community has access to live music without having to pay a fortune or travel too far.
You can feel the beating heart of the Central Coast at Hardys Bay Club on a Saturday night in the auditorium. It’s in the people; in the way they hold each other as the musicians weave their magic; it’s in the request from a husband of a love song dedicated to his wife; it’s in the thick, salt air that blows through the curtains off the lake. It’s magic, and for a moment, you can forget about the world beyond this little clearing in the woods.
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