quiet paws.

I’ve always loved coffee. Even before I started drinking it on a regular basis, I loved the smell of it – rich, sweet and woody goodness. Coffee was my greatest support throughout the long years of university study, it’s accompanied me to deep and meaningful catchup sessions with family and friends, and it makes the morning just a little easier to face. Let’s face it, without coffee I really wouldn’t know where I’d be.

In pursuing my coffee addiction, I was never much of a discriminating drinker. I’d simply go wherever ‘real’ coffee was available at a pretty good price. But that all changed when Tracey met Di Bella.

It was always destined to be a match made in coffee heaven. So much smoother and sweeter than any coffee bean I’d ever tasted, I suddenly became obsessed with their blends, going out of my way to frequent cafes that used them. I had become a coffee bean brand snob.

So I went a little nuts last week at the Brisbane mid-week Farmer’s Markets and stocked up on not one, not two, not three, but four bags of Premium and Swiss Water Decaf beans.

There is honestly nothing quite like the luxury of being able to freshly grind coffee beans at home for the perfect cup of coffee. But don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me, I know I have a problem…

Bearing witness to something incredible within its natural environment is a truly wondrous thing. Coffee always tastes better first thing in the morning, grasped between two cold hands. Roaring fires provide the perfect accompaniment to cold wintry days. Wildlife is best appreciated in the remotest parts of nature. This is not to say that the experiences outside these natural settings wouldn’t be enjoyable, but they just don’t feel as balanced as they would otherwise be.

So was the fortunate experience of witnessing Pete Molinari at Ric’s Bar in Brisbane. While seeing him three days previously at The Living Room in support of Ash Grunwald was pure magic, his latter performance was more fluid, more ‘in the moment’, and felt more him.

For any support artist, as Molinari was to Grunwald, it must be a unique experience to perform to a crowd that are obviously not there to see you and may or may not give themselves the chance to appreciate your performance. While the crowd gradually grew in numbers during Molinari’s performance, it was obvious that the majority were more interested in enjoying a not so quiet ale until Grunwald arrived.

That need to get the right mix of venue, crowd and artist was obviously a dilemma Molinari had recently faced. Taking to the stage for his solo set at Ric’s he mentioned that it had been strange for him because he had been playing a lot of surf gigs. He spoke of the audience reaction, ‘The more they liked it, the more I didn’t like it, and then the more they seemed to like it. In the end we came to a mutual decision and we both kind of liked it…this venue is much more my style, it’s very New York.’

At Ric’s, Molinari was the starring act. When he started playing his guitar and singing his tunes, people passing by were lured in, unable to resist the call and charm of his songs. Telling us that he hadn’t even had a chance to put together a set list for today, he appeared to be completely relaxed and turned in a sublimely attuned set which included some tracks from his album (Walking Off The Map), some tracks not yet released and some excellent covers.

Starting with a track from his album, ‘Love Lies Bleeding’, this is a song which exudes a subtle delicacy in both lyrics and melody. The feelings and sentiment it conveys hang in the air and leaves listeners in awe of its sad and soulful charm. Then to one of his yet to be released tracks, ‘New York City’, which is a lament to all that is loved and loathed about a city, the days when it can seem like your best friend or your worst enemy, but through it all the city is always there. Another yet to be released track, ‘The Man That I am’ is like experiencing a folksy blue embrace. Filled with yearning, hope and honesty, this is a ‘real’ song delivered with poetic rawness, and accompanied by some emotive harmonica playing.

Covering the classics in charming style, Molinari delivered a richly textured rendition of Hank Williams ‘My Heart Would Know’. Like everything he sings this song in a way which strikes right to the heart, and in captivating fashion so that time feels like it stands still while it too pauses to appreciate Molinari. Getting in touch with his European heritage, Molinari launched into a beautiful and intensely energetic version of ‘Marina’, performing verses in both English and Italian. With his unique and wondrously real vocals, Molinari had the girls dancing and the guys tapping their feet. Then sampling a bit from the country side of the tracks, Molinari closed his set with some Cash. His ability to be very much in a moment, all heart and soul, is what helps to make his version of ‘Folsom Prison Blues’ so spine tingling good.

Molinari is a masterful performer, snappy dresser and all round nice guy…the spirits are contented, the world breathes easy and all is as it should be.

Obliviousness is the worst human quality and yet there is evidence of it all around us. It’s the person on the bus who insists on folding their newspaper in front of your face as they turn the pages, it’s the person who refuses to give an inch of space when you sit next to them on the train, and it’s in the way that we block out other people and concentrate only on our own problems. Perhaps the more ‘successful’ we become in society’s eyes, the more we lose contact with people around us.

Thankfully though all is not lost. It is still possible to find hope in the goodness of the human spirit in the most unlikely of places.

I am reminded of a scene I witnessed a few years back while waiting at an inner city bus stop. While standing there I watched as two men approached a nearby bin. Both men were obviously homeless and well acquainted with life on the streets. The older man had the appearance of an ageing rocker with his weathered face, stonewash jeans, old thongs and dirty shirt which hung loosely from his rakishly thin body. He gave the impression of being the leader in this two-man gang. His friend had a sadder aura, like the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders. Wearing old blue jeans and a shirt that had definitely seen better days, he wore no shoes and his dirty and damaged feet clearly showed the effects.

The first man began to sift through the rubbish in the bin while his friend waited to one side. Digging down through the surface layer of garbage the leader pulled out a not-quite-empty cup of takeaway coffee. Drinking some of it he then offered the rest to his friend who gratefully gulped it down. Watching them share that half finished cup of coffee restored some of my faith in the human race. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a moving gesture of friendship and consideration as that which passed between the two men that day.

After drinking their coffee the men moved further down the street and onto another bin, no doubt to share in any further spoils they found. Does this event stand out in my mind because so many of us have become overly mean and self-obsessed?

Children are taught the importance of sharing and we try to instill in them feelings of compassion and hope, and yet so much in the world preaches the opposite. We are all so inwardly focussed and concerned with our own lives that we can quickly forget that other people struggle too and no doubt have similar problems to our own.

We fail to remember that we are all from the earth regardless of what country we are born in, who are parents are, what we eat, what we believe or what we end up doing with our lives. By turning our attention and energies a little more outwards, we would be in a better position to recognise our similarities rather than focus on our differences. It doesn’t take much effort to make a positive difference in the world – a smile, a touch, a kind thought, or perhaps even sharing a cup of coffee from time to time is all that is required.