Some things in life feel as if they’re destined—moments that fall into place with a kind of cosmic inevitability you can feel in your bones. Eric Gales playing Fremantle, in the dimly lit warmth of Freo Social, was one of those moments. When someone in the crowd yelled mid-set, “This is the best Wednesday night ever!” I realised I’d already been thinking that for two songs straight. And by the end of the night, no one in the room would argue.
Because Eric Gales isn’t just a guitarist. He’s a force of nature. A left-hander playing a right-handed guitar flipped upside down, a prodigy who signed to Elektra at sixteen, a man whose roots run through blues, rock, funk, jazz, soul, metal, and even Memphis hip-hop. To witness him live is to watch all of that fuse into something incandescent and utterly his own. He walks onstage radiating that unmistakable aura—equal parts preacher, storyteller, bandleader, and lightning conductor. The connection with the crowd is instant; he speaks and the room leans in, he plays and the room levitates.
Music has been a constant source of wonder for as long as I can remember. I grew up on my Dad’s Motown, his Led Zeppelin, Muddy Waters, ZZ Top, and when I was fourteen I saw my first concert and felt the shock of recognition—this realisation that you’re in a room watching people make music right in front of you, and nothing is ever the same again. That feeling has never left me. Even four decades later, standing there beside promoter Gerrard Allman—the man who made this wonderful Wednesday possible—I felt that same spark, that same joy, the same sense of awe. And tonight, Eric Gales wasn’t just the music maker; he was the embodiment of the spirit of music right there onstage. I pity anyone who doesn’t love music or fails to understand its power, because nights like this show you exactly what they’re missing.
There’s never a written setlist at an Eric Gales show. The band—tight, seasoned, and outrageous in their collective ability—reads the room, reads each other, and moves as one. The chemistry is remarkable. LaDonna Gales stands proudly beside her husband, not just as his onstage partner but as the emotional anchor of the night. Eric talks often and openly about how every good thing he has flows from her support and belief, his love for her lighting up the room as much as any guitar solo. The rest of the band is just as fearless: a rhythm section that can turn on a dime and a keyboardist who paints atmosphere behind every explosion of sound. Gales constantly steps back to spotlight them, treating the stage like a shared playground rather than a hierarchy.
The music pours out in waves. “You Don’t Know the Blues” arrives early, drenched in swagger and attitude, with Gales slipping in cheeky snatches of The Rolling Stones’ “Miss You” so seamlessly that some people only twig a bar later. “Greatest Love” brings a glowing, soulful intensity; “New Beginnings” surges with the optimism that has shaped Gales’ last decade. He talks about his recent Grammy nomination with disbelief and humility, grinning like a man who still can’t quite believe life has brought him here. “Put That Back” is pure groove, a funk-driven firestorm that has the crowd moving instinctively, and “Too Close to the Fire” burns with an honesty so raw you can feel it in your chest.
There’s a heartfelt tribute to his late brother, Eugene Gales, delivered with such tenderness that the room falls into complete silence. And later, he veers into an aside about discovering Perth had recently hosted a WWE event and how much he loves that stuff —something that genuinely delights him, even if the Fremantle crowd doesn’t entirely share his level of enthusiasm. Gales just laughs and keeps rolling.
“Baby Baby” becomes one of the night’s sweetest touches, dedicated to Gerrard Allman, played with a light blues funk that feels tailor-made for the venue. Then comes “Watchman,” the spiritual centrepiece of the evening. Before starting, Gales pauses to speak about the energy that always surrounds this song, how something in the air changes whenever it begins. Just as he’s preparing to play it, someone calls out once again: “Best Wednesday night ever!” and Gales grins, nodding. “Y’all might have had a whole lot of other shit to do tonight,” he says, “but you chose to come to an Eric Gales show.” The performance that follows is hypnotic—slow, simmering, expanding into a soaring solo that crescendos into something transcendent. Time blurs, the room breathes as one.
And then, as if the entire night has been subtly building toward it, we arrive at the finale: “Voodoo Child (Slight Return).” Not performed as a cover, but as an invocation. It begins as a swirl of experimental textures—abstract tones, shifting colours—before folding itself into the riff everyone knows. But this version travels. Along the way it gathers fragments of other worlds: a tease of “Für Elise,” the grinding weight of “Kashmir,” and a thunder-punched nod to “Back in Black.” It starts funky, ends heavy metal, and in between becomes something cosmic—an elemental storm channelled through a man seemingly fused to his instrument. The final notes hit like a wave, leaving the room suspended in silence before erupting in applause.
When Gales finally asks, “Have you all been enjoying yourselves tonight?” the response borders on volcanic. This wasn’t just another tour stop—it was the second-last night of his very first Australian tour, long overdue, deeply appreciated, and absolutely unforgettable. Eric Gales is a genre-defying guitarist, a storyteller, a survivor, a spiritual conduit, and tonight he was the living, breathing soul of music itself.
As the lights lifted on this Wednesday night in Fremantle, the wonder still lingered. Undiminished. Unbroken. Burning just as brightly as it did when I was fourteen. Some nights remind you exactly why you fell in love with music. This was one of them.
