Luke Fraser
drums/ percussion

 

Well, well, well. When I was asked to write a summary of Luke Fraser’s percussive life I thought to myself “Am I strong enough? Can I cope with re-living something that can only be described as an ongoing incident?” After five days of deep meditation in the front bar at the Espy I decided I was, so I will take you back… back… back… back… back…



It was a typical Friday night in the small country town of Avagoyoumug, just south from Waddaulookinat. At midnight when the local pub closed, all of the glowing patrons made their pilgrimage to the comfort of the Frasers’ kitchen where the amber ale flowed and the jokes and music never ended. Without fail when the stereo got loud enough, the chant would start and the fists would pound the table top until Luke’s father took up his sticks to impress them on the drums, generally done with the help of a Shakin’ Stevens record. And it was there from his hidey-hole near the kitchen dresser, that Luke got his first taste for wandering timings and unsteady rhythms, later to become his trademark.

Throughout his childhood, Luke liked to roam the bushland with a pair of old crabsticks from the local fish and chip shop, honing his rhythms as he imitated the calls and sounds of the native animals. A friend to the fauna, Luke would often pause to beat out a rhythm on any wildlife that would stand still long enough.

Luke enjoyed this lifestyle for quite some time, but when he was old enough to drive he landed a gig in the Waddaulookinat Municipal Marching Band as chief crash cymbal. This proved to be one of the most significant steps in his percussive journey. One morning whilst on a mock show-march with the band, Luke’s poor sense of direction and acute lack of attention caused him to wander from the group. Wander he did, 2,583 kilometres to be exact, across Australia until he found himself in the City of Melbourne, with sore arms and a well rehearsed crash. There he traded his cymbals for a pair of crabsticks and some cow hide and began playing with anyone he could, refining his sound and developing a stamina for playing that is still unparalleled.

But Fate had not yet had her way with Luke completely. It was only by the strangest twist of coincidence that Luke met the Snapdragon team. They were on a blackberry safari when the girls heard the unmistakeable drum line to Wipeout being played on a pair of hairy nosed wombats. “If I’m not mistaken, Michelle, that sounds exactly like Wipeout being played on two hairy nosed wombats!” said one.
“I believe you’re right, Libby” said the other, “and with old crab sticks too!”

Impressed by his wombat rhythms and clever use of old crab sticks, they asked Luke to join the band with a promise of a tour back to his home town of Avagoyoumug to see his family.

The rest is history in the making. (No animals were harmed in the writing of this story.)