Review: Dave Brewer’s Deluxe Combo at The Ellington Jazz Club

Dave Brewer’s Deluxe Combo at The Ellington Jazz Club
Sunday, July 27, 2025

It’s something of a paradox that such a personable chap as Dave Brewer should be a master of the blues. He comes across as not having a dark bone in his body. In conversation, he is self-deprecating, always laughing, while his stage presence is warm, friendly, and generous—both towards his audience and the members of his band. Yet he writes and sings about broken relationships, loneliness, alienation, and the daily grind of poorly paid work.

The irony is not lost on him—he wonders why a happily married man only writes songs about failed relationships? But then he answers his own question by noting that this is the blues tradition. And besides, it’s incredibly hard to write credible songs about happy relationships—the bad ones are always more interesting. Maybe, though, being such an adept blues guitarist is the key to both this quandary and his happiness? Thanks to his dextrous fingers and insight into the human conundrum, he can expiate his own darker feelings before they take hold. He has an emotional processor most of us lack.

Not that Brewer’s music is particularly dark and confronting. Rather, it’s vibrant and infectious, definitely blues but clearly tempered by the sheer joyousness of being able to play so well.

His gig at the Ellington last Sunday was a case in point. An upbeat affair, the feeling in the room was warm and receptive, an electric vibe that made the perfect tonic for such a wild and wintery night. The place was sardine-packed, and, apart from one woman up the back who spoke throughout, everyone was riveted to every note the quartet played. It was a great gig—by the end the room was filled with laughter and energy, everyone ready to embrace the rain.

The band was incredibly tight: Stuart Robertson (kit), Alex Borthwick (bass), and Harry Mitchell (electric keys). All soloed at different times, Mitchell the most, but throughout they worked together as one organic unit, giving each other the space to shine by moving in and out of the limelight.

Robertson and Borthwick make a formidable rhythm section. They laid a rich bed upon which Mitchell and Brewer traded one sensational solo after another. Mitchell is best known as a jazz pianist—one of the many virtuoso sidemen who regularly grace the Ellington stage (this was his third gig there that week). He and Brewer met over the recording of Brewer’s last album and have been performing together ever since.

But Brewer is the star; his command of the electric guitar is awesome. It’s a wonder and delight to watch his hand dance up the neck of his Stratocaster, blending sly chord progressions with a seemingly infinite variety of slinky runs, riffs and trills. He mixes both with soaring or sliding lead breaks that ripple down your spine. It’s all the more impressive when you realise that he is completely self-taught (he doesn’t read music) and most of what he presents is improvised.

The songs as written provide the framework, but the inspiration of the moment sets the shape of any given rendition. Effectively a controlled improvisation, the music can turn on a dime when Brewer or one of his bandmates hits on an inspired idea. The lyrics direct the movement, but there is no agreed structure before they start playing. If someone falls into an engaging groove, the band falls in behind them and sees where they end up. Intros and solos can extend and change from show to show, with the lyrics coming in when it feels right. Brewer directs from the mike, either by starting to sing the next verse, encouraging a bandmate to run with a riff, or shouting out simple directions. “Break.” “Again.” Every time the band were with him, turning on that dime.

Although Brewer admires guitarists who use effects pedals, he prefers to temper his sound within the guitar itself. The Strat has a five-way switch that mixes the pickups from dark to light and a whammy bar that he uses a lot, while his amp can flip between standard reverb and tremolo. Along with an occasional slide that he deftly pops in and out of his top pocket, these simple effects give his playing all the colouration he needs.

In their two-hour show the other night, they played ten songs: six Brewer originals and four lesser-known covers. The four in the first set ran a good ten/twelve minutes each, while the six in the second were slightly shorter. The whole was mixed up between slow, soulful, and funkier numbers. It’s hard to pick a standout, as each was an engaging journey expertly delivered.

For the encore, Cold Cold Feeling, a tribute to T-Bone Walker, Brewer invited his old mate and collaborator Gary Collison to join them on harp. (Luckily he had a G one in his pocket.) This gave the show a closing touch of Chicago, the spiritual home for much of this music.

Brewer came onto the Perth scene as a teenager in the mid-1970s, playing in two legendary bands: I Don’t Love You Harry and The Elks. Specialising in fifties R&B, classic Chicago and English blues—Sonny Terry and Brownie McGee, Savoy Brown, and Peter Green—he quickly earned a reputation as a phenomenal guitarist, even though he was incredibly shy and would sometimes play with his back to the audience. (Everyone thought this was very cool.)

On relocating to Sydney in the early 80s, The Elks, in their rockier manifestation, built a solid reputation supporting bigger acts—Cold Chisel, Midnight Oil, et al. After the band split, Brewer remained in Sydney, performing in turn in The Champions, The Dynamic Hepnotics and The Mighty Reapers. The Reapers often formed the backing band for touring Black American artists. In this way, he was able to work full-time as a musician through until the end of the century—thirty years more or less, a solid run.

Although the Reapers in particular garnered some international attention and a few invitations to play at elite American clubs, their lack of a dedicated manager and the complex logistics of  international touring proved a bridge too far. One wonders where Brewer may have ended up had he moved onto that circuit? Instead he remained in Australia and became a journeyman guitarist/blues master.

He and his wife were drawn back to WA at the millennium, partly by the exigencies of ageing parents and partly so they could buy an affordable house and start a family. Perth is not only a safe place to raise kids but also, with its connected isolation and sophisticated appreciation of music, one that allows musicians to remain hooked into what’s going on in the rest of the world.

Still, as Brewer was advised before coming back, it’s not easy to work full time as a musician here. Hence, as well as his own band, he regularly plays with the blues outfit The Doo Daddies and supplements both with a part-time day job in administration for an engineering firm. This flexible working arrangement allows him to take time off every six months or so to return to Sydney and maintain his ties with the scene there.

On moving back to Perth, Brewer threw himself into songwriting and honing his singing voice.

Under the guidance of bass player Hayden Pickersgill, he began singing backing vocals in The Elks. By the time he got to The Champions, he had branched out into lead vocals, but it was only back in WA that his singing really took off. He has a warm baritone, very mellow, and sings in a style akin to Eric Clapton. There are no vocal pyrotechnics; he doesn’t scream or fly off in falsetto but rather sticks to a steady, reflective range that carries the meaning of each song and subtly shapes them—all of which he delivers while sporting a broad, almost cheeky grin.

Although his lyrics are precise in their imagery, often stoic in their acceptance, he focuses primarily on their rhythmic value. He has a swag of solid originals ranging now over some twenty-five years. He loves the writing process and is content to focus on that and his collaborative performances rather than the more alien and daunting demands of self-promotion.

The audience at the Ellington the other night were an older set, many survivors of the seventies who have mellowed and settled. But Brewer’s music is not exclusive to them. Walking out of the club, a young father was spied holding the hand of his small daughter. As she skipped along the sidewalk, he said how much she loves music. Her excitement captured perfectly the infectious spirit of the show.

Brewer has released three solo albums, Life Of Riley (2008), Night Walkin’ (2013) and Long Road Back Home (2021), available on Bandcamp.

You can next catch him in the Doo Daddies regular gig at the Hilton Park Bowling Club or one of his performances with this quartet in the city, Fremantle or the hills. A humble master of the blues, wherever you see him, you won’t be disappointed.

IAN LILBURNE

Photos by Alan Holbrook