The Raven Always Comes Back by Ted Witham
You knew all about it when Bang Crosby burst into song. Even without a mike, her voice gushed forth from her lanky frame like a foghorn in the morning mist. People said that her whole upper half must be lungs. But she had a big heart too, so it must have been crowded in there.
People also contrasted her to her namesake, Bing, the ultimate crooner. Bang was the ultimate belter. Jimmy Barnes, eat your heart out.
Her pitch was pretty good. Her timing? Let’s say the band followed her, rather than the other way around. Her best number was the Isley Brothers’ “Shout”. In her Aussie accent, Bang made “Shout” shout even more than J. O’K did.
Her backup singer was Marine Martin, a French-Australian with an operatic voice nearly as loud as Bang’s. Marine had perfect pitch, so she chose whether to sing in tune with the orchestra behind or neatly pitch close harmonies to Bang’s melody line and to screen out any screeching dissonance.
People were amused at their stage presentation. Bang was a whopping six feet tall. She wore big satin dresses, shiny with sequins and diamonds (pretend) and huge leg of mutton sleeves, while tiny Marine favoured jeans with torn knees and tops like she was driving a truck through the outback.
As an act, it worked. Kind of. Bang and Marine were never going to be inducted into any Hall of Fame, but they were a good pub act with local notoriety. The pubs paid them rather than fans.
Marine was first to notice Tom Raven, always seated at the table nearest the bandstand. From her spot just behind Bang, she watched him nursing a beer each evening, draining the glass just after their last number for the night. Tom had black hair and was gorgeous. Tiny Marine thought Tom was there for Bang. Like a raven, Tom always came back. Week after week.
Then there was the night Bang over-extended her voice during ‘Lucille’. She tried to make it even more frenetic than Little Richard did. Martine heard the scratching in Bang’s voice with concern.
While the band played a sting between numbers. Bang whispered to Martine, ‘Do your “Je t’aime’” thing.’ Martine signalled the keyboard player, who nodded with relief. He could sit this out and leave it to the strings. Martine channelled Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin breathing her way through the piece that scandalised the world in 1967.
But this was 2017. The Millennial Generation was harder to scandalise.
As the piece died away, Tom Raven was on his feet and leaped from his chair onto the bandstand. He bounced towards Martine, at the last moment stopping and asking, ‘Je veux t’embrasser. Je peux ?’ Martine was impressed. A man who asked for consent – and in French to boot.
Their voluptuous kiss on stage drew whistles and shouts of applause. ‘The raven always comes back,’ she whispered.
Ted Witham writes short stories, poems and plays. He has been published in journals in Australia, the US and the UK. His play “Meeting in the Middies” was performed as a finalist in the 2020 SouthWest Shorts Competition in Western Australia.
Thoughts Provocateurs – Ted Witham’s published articles and longer pieces
Image courtesy of James Tiwi Cross
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