On my first visit to this Cowley-based venue, used mainly for Comedy gigs, I was greeted by neatly laid out yellow chairs fronting an unassuming stage, betraying the presence of musicians with two acoustic guitars and one cream-coloured bass. A microphone stands tall and unadorned, no posters, some vinyl on sale at the back [cash only] and close to 150 eager audience members ready to experience the return of one of the world’s finest living songwriters. Yet, it’s all so unassuming.

A few minutes after the scheduled start time, Mr Forster and Lewis, his son, emerge nonchalantly onto the stage. Immediately, his gently sardonic, self-effacing persona is evident : ‘...at the edge of financial ruin, always’ delivered in feather-light tones, kicking the show off with ‘The Death of the Modern Novel’ AKA ‘Always’. In appearance, he remains entirely undemonstrative, clad in navy blue shirt, sandy trousers, black shoes and guitar pick. Yet, the magic of his easy genius is clearly evident from the off. He is a slightly reluctant elder statesman and could easily slip between the pages of a Richard Russo novel.

I marvel at the beauty and simplicity of his songs, his poetics, the joy in repetition - exercises in concision, injected with cool humour and topographical detail : place names, roads, hills, a sense of journeying. Unafraid to crack a joke or three - ‘When I was a Young Man’ …I wrote this about 3 years ago’- and pierce the heart with longing amidst lyrics like these -

‘I wrote songs, I was unseen, unheralded and undone…’

He is an extraordinary raconteur who gives more and more, his rhythms easy and silky, campfire strong. ‘She’s A Fighter’ from his new LP The Candle and The Flame is wrapped up in minimalist, eagerly struck chords, a straight up protest song.

Of course, the classics emerge. First, ‘Spring Rain’, released in 1986, is halcyon, fresh as the proverbial : ‘driving my first car / my elbows in the breeze’ coupled with the refrain ‘falling down like love’ conjures up a cinematic viewpoint, like being on an endless road, top down, cruising down a never ending highway - the purpose behind life’s long and winding journey. The trick is to try and stay non-linear, to look out for the special moments and celebrate them.

New classics appear. ‘The Roads’ from the new album [see above] is drenched in melancholy and nostalgia, already evergreen, already one of the songs of the year. Said roads are personified exquisitely with bon mots like ‘...they show us things that we could never know.’ With the recorded strings withdrawn, its poignancy is even more startling. He conjures these audience reactions with consummate ease - it’s almost scary.

At this point, I’m reminded of the Dan Le Sac and Scroobius Pip song and I know now that the GB’s were always more than ‘just a band’ and that Forster is much, much more than ‘just a songwriter’.

He returns to another early classic - ‘Danger in the Past’ : this creates its own mood, with economy of delivery, yet, as ever, deceptively emotional on many levels. Followed beautifully by ‘Dive for Your Memory’ [these brilliant song titles just keep coming, like glittering jewels emerging from the encouraging sands of time] and the monumental ‘Darlinghurst Years’, composed of prime storytelling, a universal narrative wrapped around descending chord sequences.

‘Time is important ; timing is more important - see how far we’ve come.’

His music is faultless, even with the faults ; flawless, even with the flaws - there are very few of either. It’s like he’s created his own, unique brand of Americana, set in Australia, infused with folksy overtones and that clarion clear voice. His humour is highly developed - ‘You don’t need to rock out to be a rock roller.’ There’s a story about London but then he self-deprecates ‘there’s nothing there…’ This cultivated, easy-going charisma is what keeps us coming back for more.

Tracks flow like the river, sting like the breeze. ‘Here Comes the City’ pushes at your ears, ever onward - ‘rolling…parking…moving…willing…screeching.’ Geez, he is endlessly quotable.

It gets better, if that were possible. ‘Boundary Rider’ is symphonic, gorgeous, time stops and stoops as the audience is becalmed by the moody tones of ‘keeps me walking through these tears…’ If these were songs you’re hearing for the first time, they’d feel familiar - how is that possible? Forster’s knack is his enigma, since everything is still delivered with such boundless generosity of spirit.

By the end, he admits to ‘making a couple of small mistakes tonight’. By this point, awash in euphoria, nobody remotely cares. And, all too soon, after a massed singalong to ‘Surfing Magazines’, the night is over. A night that will not be forgotten, not bloody likely.

He leaves us but will return again. It’s criminal, really, that one of our greatest living songwriters has under 40,000 Spotify followers and plays venues of smaller than 200 capacity. Don't miss out. Explore.

‘There’s a reason to live.’

ALWAYS.

Hugh Ogilvie