Through the Tears, They Smile: Sunday Lemonade

6 days ago

5 min read

The Duke of George | Fremantle

The Duke of George was another new venue for me, and I’m glad I checked the venue info first and toned my outfit down...

Whilst I wear guys’ clothes, I definitely understand why women complain about pockets. Why does being stylish or looking good mean you don’t get storage?!

Camera, phone, mic, and not a pocket in sight.

That was the biggest problem of my night.

It was not the biggest problem of Sunday Lemonade’s.

The Long Way to Fremantle

Tys and Loz’s day had started with getting up for a 4.30am flight over east, where the clocks were already hours ahead of ours.

Then the flight was cancelled.

By the time they finally reached the Duke of George, they had about forty minutes before their set. Almost no sleep. Just a chaotic journey across the country to kick off the WA leg of their tour.

Meanwhile, I’d arrived early, as usual, stretched my legs and settled in with a lemon margarita.

Our days had gone slightly differently.

I managed a quick hello with Tys and learnt they hadn’t even made it to the hotel. They’d come straight from the airport to the gig. Because the music is what drives them.

After the journey they’d had, I let him settle into the evening. There’d be time for a proper chat another time down the track.

Whiskey Jack were already playing, so I turned my attention back to the stage.

Whiskey Jack

Opening the evening were Whiskey Jack, who has known Tys and Loz for a while.

There’s something lovely about seeing musicians who already have that connection share a stage and a night of music.

It’s also one of my favourite things about going to gigs.

You arrive for one artist and discover somebody else.

Sometimes a new favourite.

Jack Dacheff had a guitar and a loop pedal, with Amy Skellern alongside him on cello. A simple setup on paper, but there was plenty happening between those strings.

Whenever Jack stopped to retune, Amy would keep plucking away, creating an atmosphere that became its own little piece of music. Even the spaces between songs gave you something to listen to.

They spoke about how playing together had reignited her passion for the cello after leaving school. Watching them, that pleasure in making music together came through.

Jack shared new songs, including Clover, about becoming a parent, and another about self-sabotage.

Which I’m fairly sure most of us have some experience with....

It's important to remember there’s a whole musical world beyond whatever your streaming service has decided you already like.

Touch some grass.

Go see a gig.

Discover something new.

Between sets, I tried another of the venue’s cocktails, a Pineapple Mountain, and chatted with people around the room. There’s always someone who stops to talk about my outfit.

Apparently toning it down is relative.

Forty Minutes and a Mic Check

Once Whiskey Jack had finished, Sunday Lemonade’s quick soundcheck became part of the evening, thanks to how close to showtime they’d arrived.

There’s something interesting about hearing musicians check their microphones in front of a full room. A few notes, a voice through the speakers, instruments finding their levels. You get a little glimpse of the work before the performance properly begins.

Then, within moments, they were into it.

After the day they’d had, you might have expected them to need a while to settle.

They had music to share.

Loz stayed on guitar while Tys moved between guitar and drums, giving the two-person setup room to change throughout the set. Their voices worked beautifully together, but what stood out just as much was their understanding of when to step back.

They knew when to give each other a moment to shine and when to come in underneath and support.

They got the Duke of George singing along a few times too, and the room was well and truly up for it.

For a seated venue with meals and drinks on the tables, there was plenty of energy. Give those infectious tunes a dancefloor and I reckon a fair few of us would have happily been on it.

And then there were the looks between them.

If you’ve shared your life with someone, you know those little telepathic signals. A glance that asks a question. Another that answers it. A whole conversation nobody else gets to hear.

You could see that between Tys and Loz throughout the night. Checking in, making each other smile, knowing when to give the other a little space and when to come closer.

They’re a couple as well as bandmates, and that shared life comes onto the stage with them. Watch closely and you catch those little moments of love and understanding between the songs, and sometimes right in the middle of them.

Is Love Enough?

They played tracks from the new EP, including Nobody Else and Pancakes, alongside older favourites and unreleased material, sharing some of the stories behind what we were hearing.

They told us about an encounter while busking around twelve months earlier that had led to an opportunity to make an album. Now they were well into creating it, and we were getting to hear some of that work before its release.

But one story brought the evening into particularly personal territory.

Tys spoke about addiction and an honest conversation he’d had with Loz about what was happening. She described taking some time on her own to process what he’d shared.

She came back with a song.

I didn’t catch its name.

But it asked difficult questions.

Can love be enough to make a relationship work? Can you love someone enough to get through what’s happening?

Am I enough?

It was raw, emotive and powerful. Hearing the story before the song gave those questions weight, especially with the two people at the centre of it standing there performing together. What on the surface is a fun song, but at its heart is a deeper meaning and total honesty.

More than once during the evening, Loz was brought to tears, moved by what they were sharing and by the audience singing along.

They were exhausted. They’d barely made it across the country. And now a room full of people was giving something back.

Through the tears, they smiled.

Like their name suggests, Sunday Lemonade bring sweetness with a bitter bite of reality. There’s warmth in the music, but they’re willing to share the difficult things too.

I’m On Fire

Their honesty had already hit home, but one cover landed somewhere especially personal.

Since losing Tay, I spend most nights singing with the dogs. They’d never shown much interest in music before, but lately Tay’s dog has decided he has a favourite.

He sings to it.

And only it.

I’m On Fire.

So hearing Sunday Lemonade play it live, sitting in a room full of people, meant something they couldn’t possibly have known.

Songs find their way into the strangest corners of our lives. Into the things we do at home, the memories we carry and the little routines that help us keep going.

Then somebody plays one at a gig, and suddenly all of that is sitting there with you.

It’s funny how music reaches us in ways nobody else can see.

It can break us, heal us and make us again.