The dark, intimate, low-ceilinged warmth of Lyrics Underground always feels like a secret—one of those tucked-away rooms where the acoustics are so clean and true that every breath of a note lands like it was meant only for you. On this late-November night, it proved the perfect final stop for Rick Price, closing the WA leg of his Tamborine Mountain 30th Anniversary Tour before heading back to Queensland to finish things where they began—on the mountain he grew up on, in the town that shaped him.
From the moment he bounded onto the stage and hollered, “What do you say, Maylands!” before diving headlong into ‘River of Love’, you felt the connection snap instantly into place. The voice—still golden, still warm, still capable of that effortless connection that made him a household name—rang out with a clarity that filled the room, wrapping the crowd in something equal parts nostalgia and soul. There’s a real sense of love and wonder that threads through everything Rick sings, but maybe even more so tonight; as he tells us later, “after loss comes gratitude.” He may live in Nashville now, but every note tonight felt rooted in the red dirt and soft rolling hills of rural Queensland.
‘Let It Go’, an offering from his latest album, followed with an understated glow, Price’s deft acoustic playing creating a soft pulse beneath those open-hearted lyrics. His stories begin to flow early—little windows into a life that, in retrospect, seems shaped by a series of small moments, small towns, and the big heart of family. Before ‘Bridge Building Man’, he takes us back to Beaudesert, a farming community of 4,000 where every district seemed to have its weatherboard hall with a tin roof, every hall home to a community dance. He started performing at those dances at eight years old, nudged forward by a mother who seemed to see his path long before he did. “Mum used to drive us around in a powder-blue Holden station wagon,” he recalls with a soft grin. “That was my first tour van.”
The song itself has a more jazz-shaded sway live, a gentle looseness, and the crowd sinks into it. Then comes ‘Love Never Dies’, introduced quietly and dedicated to his mother, delivered with exquisite restraint and a tremble of vulnerability that ripples across the room. ‘When We Used to Dance’ expands the theme—Rick musing about whether his mum and dad, both now gone, might be somewhere together again, maybe even dancing like they used to. The tenderness of that thought hangs in the air long after the last chord fades. ‘You Can’t Keep a Good Man Down’ closes the first set with a swampy creeping groove, wrapped in fond stories of his grandfather and his homespun remedies—a song full of affection, humour, and memory that feels like opening a window into his childhood.
After a short pause and the shedding of the jacket—“This place is purpose-built for nights like this,” he laughs—we go, in his own words, “right back to the beginning.” He tells the story of hearing his first single come on the radio in Kings Cross back in 1991, and thinking to himself, “I’ve made it—I can retire now.” Then he strums into ‘Not a Day Goes By’, and the room erupts in one of the loudest, most heartfelt singalongs Maylands has probably ever produced. It’s a moment of pure communal joy—timeless, warm, and wonderfully unguarded.
The second set shifts fluidly between reflection and release. ‘Fragile’ blooms with meaning tonight, Price lingering on certain lines as though rediscovering them in real time. His cover of ‘Tenterfield Saddler’—already one of the most lyrically profound songs in the Australian consciousness—lands with a quiet power, his voice adding an earthy ache to a song about lineage, memory, and the stories we inherit. ‘You’re Never Alone’, one of the precious few from Tamborine Mountain, radiates the gentlest reassurance; its message, still shining thirty years on, seems to resonate even deeper as he talks about belonging, healing, and the strange beautiful gravity of home.
‘Food, Water, Shelter, Love’ arrives with a knowing grin—introduced as a song he actually wrote three decades ago but never committed to tape, a gentle reminder of how vital the simplest things in life really are. After a particularly heart-tugging number he deadpans, “And now… some even sadder songs!” and the room dissolves into laughter, fully locked into the rhythm of his storytelling. The traditional ‘Wayfaring Stranger’ becomes something otherworldly in his hands—haunting and searching, delivered with a kind of quiet, spiritual clarity. By the time he eases into ‘Heaven Knows’, his acoustic playing is airborne, fingers dancing across the fretboard as the song lifts with a fresh, luminous depth.
The one-two closing strike: ‘Heaven Knows’ sliding into a soul-shaking, room-lifting, utterly beautiful ‘Amazing Grace’ is a masterstroke. He sings it with the conviction of someone who’s lived every word and found truth inside it. Lyrics Underground falls completely silent in those final moments, held gently in his voice, before erupting into applause that feels like gratitude made sound.
Afterwards, as the crowd spills into the warm Perth night, it’s impossible not to feel the threads that ran through the show—family, country, the people who shape us, the places that stay inside us no matter how far we travel. Rick Price may live an ocean away now, but nights like this prove how deeply he remains tied to Queensland’s small towns, to the community halls, to the dances, to the hills of Tamborine Mountain. His songs, rich with timeless themes, feel just as resonant as they did decades ago. And that voice—ageless, soulful, and still carrying that unmistakable Australian sunlight—remains one of our great treasures.
Come back soon, Rick. There’s always a place for you here.
