Jon Bradshaw - Doc: The life and times of Aussie rock legend Doc Neeson

First published in 2021

Copyright Anne Souter and Jon Bradshaw 2021

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin

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ISBN 978 1 76087 536 7

eISBN 978 1 76106 288 9

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Anne Souter

It was a wild New Years Eve in 1978 when I first set eyes on Doc Neeson. I had been out for dinner with a few friends in Coolangatta, and wed then headed down to Greenmount Beach, where Jeff St John and the Copperwine were playing. A fierce electrical storm was rolling down the coast, and a spiderweb of lightning streaked across the smoky night sky. With deafening cracks of thunder directly overhead, the threat of an imminent downpour made us worry that Jeff and his band might be electrocuted.

I cant stand it! shouted Spin over the top of the thunder. Her real name was Lyndal, but she didnt like to use it at night. By day Lyndal was the perfect embodiment of Cool and Style, with a very impressive job, but she also liked to rock. Although normally very laid-back, tonight she was seriously alarmed. I dont want to see them get fried, she yelled. There was a strange yellow haze above the stage and then the sky burst open and heavy rain sent everyone scrambling for cover.

Lets go somewhere else, said her boyfriend Phil, turning to my then fianc, Peter, who everyone called Rab after Rabbit. In two seconds flat, Rab suggested The Patch.

When we arrived, The Patch was packed with hyped-up drunks, but Spins face immediately lit up. Angels! Now were talking! she said as she looked approvingly at a sign that announced the headline band that night.

The streaming river of nightclubbers at the entrance carried me towards the bar and away from Spin and the others. One girl was so gone that she stubbed her cigarette out on my arm as if it were an ashtray. I was furious, because the guy she was with had tried to grab one of my breasts as I stood trying to get served; she shrieked Stay away from my guy! into my ear, like it was MY fault her guy was so revolting.

I scanned the crowd for Rab, but he was nowhere to be seen. Everyone in the room seemed to be roaring drunk, so I fled to the Ladies to escape the madness. There I found myself walking on broken glass; a barefooted girl was washing her gashed foot in a basin spattered with bloody water. Another girl had her friend bailed up in a corner, where she was slamming her head against the wall. Wild eyed, screeching and makeup-smeared, they were fighting like animals. The place was bedlam.

I had to get out! I fought my way back through the seething mass looking for Security, but I couldnt find anyone. Finally, I found my friends and told them we had to go, because this place was insane.

When Rab turned towards me and asked why I wanted to leave, Spin looked horrified. She told me that we couldnt go, because The Angels hadnt even come on yet. When I asked innocently who The Angels were, Spin shouted Doc Neeson! and punched the air. I told Spin I didnt care who was on, I just wanted to get out of there, but she told me NO! we werent going anywhere because it was Doc Neeson. Shed been looking at me like a snake before, but now her eyes were huge.

Whos Doc Neeson? I asked.

Hes like God, she snapped, giving me that withering look again.

Suddenly the lights went down, and everything seemed to come to a standstill, and people started yelling Angels! Angels! Angels! Shadows were moving on the darkened stage. The music started softly slowly then increased in volume and the shadows were obliterated by blinding light. In that light the band members appeared like monoliths in the fog.

Then I saw the frontman. Fast as a flash, this very tall character in a suit hurled himself sideways, out of the dark, across the stage, with his legs slicing through the air, bringing the spotlight with him.

Spin shouted Doc! as the bands cool intro immediately exploded into a deafening attack. Simultaneously the stage lights came up spotlights framing the three motionless guitarists. The combined assault and impact on the senses hit us like a shockwave.

I glanced across at Spin and saw that she had flung her head back as if to absorb every sound wave into every pore of her body. She was smiling and had her eyes closed tight. I tried to say something, but Spin put a finger to her mouth saying Shhhhh! and then turned back to face the band. All she wanted to do was soak this up. As far as she was concerned, I wasnt there anymore, and Rab, who was a guitarist, was similarly absorbed by the guitar work.

Wed been pushed against the front of the stage by a very drunk and stoned crowd, and I now found myself looking straight up into the wild piercing eyes of this obviously delirious maniac. Was he looking at me? Yes he was, and he wasnt looking happy.

It was as if this leering, shadowy stranger knew what Id been saying, as if he could read my mind. I felt like he was looking right into my soul. I had never seen a look like that. It was a probing look of terrifying intensity.

It wasnt the song he was singing, it was a psychodrama he had dragged us all into. He was terrorising the crowd, sometimes seen, sometimes not, but constantly prowling, always with his eyes fixed on someone as if that person were his prey.

The songs and the lights were in perfect sync, like nothing I had seen in any live performance of any band ever before. It was a constantly moving, hard-driving musical kaleidoscope.

Doc had the entire audience in the palm of his hand. He had sung them into a tranceholding the gaze of people in the audience one by one, as if he were trying to get inside their heads.

Strutting across the stage towards band members, he started to examine them in the way an alien might look at a human. He grabbed the mic stand, whirled it around like a yo-yo, landed it carefully, and glided forward to transfix his next subject with his eyes before climbing over a speaker box and leaping into the jam-packed solid mass of fans. They let him move through, leaving the last subject stunned in his wake, to ask a friend Did you see THAT?

Eventually returning to the stage, riding on a sea of writhing humanity as the pounding music gradually dissolved into a brilliant harmonica solo, Doc carefully extracted every last bit of emotion from the last song and fed it to his audience.

I had never seen a performer like Docnot even at the Albert Hall in London, where I had seen Robert Plant in Led Zeppelin live and many other super-bands. And this, as I was to learn, was not Doc at his best.

Doc was a chameleon who hid behind masks and wove a story through songs, always interpreting them in his own special way whether it was the maniacal madman in Devils Gate, champion of the under-dog, paranoid lunatic, grieving or angry lover, distraught sufferer, relentless interrogator, or circus ringmaster of later days.