It is my painful duty (this is so hard; I have been in denial all day) to announce the demise, the disintegration, the end of The Lonesome Buckwhips. The announcement of their disbanding was the sting in the tail of their last ever (yes, I’m assured it’s no joke) crack-up show, at their one-off Downstage Soundstage engagement last night.

Perhaps the last straw was having to perform on the set of Te Radar’s Eating the Dog, with Te Radar himself happily hosting the show without a hint of the shock to come. Now they become yet another set of names – Gary, Meri, Arty and Benny Buckwhip – to add to his list of no-hoper losers in NZ history. Except it is we, their committed fans, who are the losers, left without hope.

Yes I know they are (were) dysfunctional, which is unsurprising given the ‘Buckapapa’ they shared in their show; the rotten produce fallen from the family tree, as their opening song declared. Uncle Fiddler has a lot to answer for. Yet there but for the grace of God – or do I mean Santa; they’ve got me confused on that point – go we.

Maybe the heavily pregnant Miri called this shot, just as she called the MiriBingo numbers in her idiosyncratic way. Or maybe her training as a psychometrist (sic) made her prescribe this move, so she could spread her … wings … and specialise in her new found therapeutic vocation.

I heard a whisper that one of the boys was heading back inside. Gary, perhaps, whose dark soul proved equal and opposite to the bright white sparkly-shouldered shirt he wore (a Gary Glitter wannabe?), although his new-found predilection for older women, who make him feel like a boy again – expressed in the song ‘Never Too Old (Mutton Woman)’ – could have made him a better person.

Or could it be that greased-and-oiled Arty is taking the rap for fathering his sister’s child? I hope not; they are such a caring and loving couple. And he gives 100% whether he’s leading or backup, vocals or instrumentals.

Could it be that some other species of plant was found amid petrol-swigging Benny’s beans … Talk about a combustible combination, especially given Arty’s wilful promulgation of cigarette smoking: their ‘Marlboro Ad’ could have set them up for life (albeit shortened and disease-ridden). 

Anyway, so there we were blithely enjoying their superb songs, harmonies and instrumental musicality, blissfully ignorant that their live presence could only now be replaced with a mere CD. Oh, except all those fabulous-looking CD covers they showed us were but mock-ups for concept albums that never got made. Shame.

Is it too late for Creative NZ to reconsider and fund their musical about the Maori Bichon Frise bitch and the Pakeha Pit Bull dog? The song – ‘Wa Purerehua’, was it? – with the haka embedded is truly inspiring (well it was until they translated the haka but hey, it’s the spirit of the thing, not the literal meaning that matters).

If only Capital E National Theatre for Children would agree that ‘Slippery Slidey the Railway Fish’ could grow into something great, and commission the show …

Okay there were duds, like Gary’s self-pitying ‘Pink Eyes Crying in the Night’. But Ben’s ‘Nick Cave Song’ wasn’t that bad.
And honestly, doesn’t ‘The Wahine was a Once Off’ deal directly with our fear and allow the InterIslander to move on at last? Or if the IOC picked up their ‘Olympic Anthem’ they’d be solvent for ages (although solvents should be kept away from Benny).

Who is to say ‘Santa King of the Jews’couldn’t prove the key to peace in the Middle East? And their ‘Song for Africa’ makes Bob Geldof seem so last century. Come on, the world needs these guys!

Strangely their finale song – before the loudly demanded encores – was an exhortation to us to pay our Tax … Could it be that after surviving all their other less-than-legal activities, the IRD has proved their undoing? Someone organise a petition!

Sorry as I am to be the bearer of such bad tidings, I feel privileged to have witnessed The Lonesome Buckwhips’ swansong(s). And all I can do now is wish the hugely and multi talented Gareth Williams, Miriama Ketu, Arthur Meek and Ben Hutchison, as individuals, very best wishes for their future endeavours and ventures. (Sob!)

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Hailing from Otago’s world-obscure province Corstorphine*, these Buckwhips are a somewhat twisted travelling family musical act. Inevitable comparisons: the lackadaisical air the band carries echo the Conchords; their siblinghood brings to mind the Osmonds, with a touch of A Mighty Wind for good measure. 

The Buckwhips are no dim tobacco chewin’ ornery hicks; on the contrary, they are quite articulate and philosophical on a diverse range of issues, not to mention wryly amusing and musically adept. But don’t be fooled into thinking they’re not more than just a bit kind of …wrong.

The atmosphere is remarkably light and friendly given the sinister nature of the troupe’s background: Miri (Miriama Ketu) the earthy flower and Artie (Arthur Meek) the clean-cut frontman in bright white walk shorts are siblings in love, parents of three with another on the way… ewwww.   Flanking the perverse couple are Benny (Ben Hutchison) the bean farmer on electric guitar and Gary the albino (Gareth Williams) on synth.

The audience is supplied with pencils and printed feedback forms to be utilised in a variety of events, notably MiriBingo, where Miri selects Bingo numbers with interesting analogous titles such as ‘herpes 69’, ‘frightened nuns run over by a taxi – 55’, etc. 

Another interesting segment is ‘Miri Answers’, where patrons dealing with any kind of problem in their lives have the opportunity to write it down and hand it up, whereupon Miri selects her favourite and offers her allegedly salient advice with the authority of her many years experience watching daytime television. A nice idea that didn’t quite ultimately deliver on the anticipation the night I was there.

A fair chunk of the Buckwhips’ humour derives from this kind of nonchalance; often witty but never laboured, throwing away lines like they don’t even want us to hear them sometimes, occasionally almost – but not quite – bottoming out completely, only to bring it round to some kind of segue into the next number in the nick of time.

The title feature Buckapapa involves a slide show of the Buckwhips’ ancestry, from Mutt Buckwhip who founded their Corstophine settlement right thru to the uncle who married a chimp to experiment with inter-species breeding; sadly unsuccessful.

There are internal dramas along the way which would easily make great readable review copy but for only ten dollars anyone can witness it for themselves, so I shan’t ruin the best bits here. At times the taste level plummets considerably as they hang their sordid personal lives out to air for all to witness whether we want to or not.

Naturally, interlacing all the various sections is the family’s eclectic array of songs, a good dozen or so tightly-arranged numbers replete with dynamic vocals and soaring harmonies. Each Buckwhip takes the lead in at least one song, such as Benny’s educational paean to his first love (beans), Gary’s paean to middling-to-elderly ladies. Whether spreading Santa’s messianic Christian message, serenading each other or advertising cigarettes, them crazy ’whips sure know how to build a song. I’m looking forward to hearing the album.
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*A wee tour of Corstorphine on google maps might help us all better understand these eccentric inbred country folk. 
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