Kevin Bloody Wilson and one of his best friends, his guitar. Photo / Supplied
Believe it or not, Kevin Bloody Wilson, who does his umpteenth gig in Napier on September 16, is now 75, a stunning age for a self-proclaimed Aussie larrikin.
But he's never thought to find the meaning and origins of the middle name he gave himself about 40 years ago when the born Dennis Bryant adopted the stage name, precipitating a unique career of probably more than 6000 shows of public irreverence which followed what he considered the unlikely success of a vinyl circle entitled "Your Average Australian Yobbo" in 1984.
It was the first of now 15 "studio" albums, three "live" albums, and six compilation albums, the latest 35 Years Of Kevin Bloody Wilson, released in July 2019, by digital download, CD, and streaming.
In 1993 he became the first Australian performing artist to have a website, and has also run internet radio station kevfm.com, billed as the first 24-hour adult comedy radio station.
In a phone interview from his home in Perth, he ponders a question about whether he's ever researched the word "Bloody", and says: "That sounds a bit heavy for me."
Wikipedia reveals it seems to have had times in and out of being commonly and popularly accepted vernacular for centuries.
Kevin Bloody Wilson, originally from Bathurst, NSW, has done his bit in ending that toing-and-froing over its acceptability, given that back in 1984 and for a few years thereafter "Bloody" battled some resistance. In the UK, for example, media reverted to Kevin B. Wilson.
New Zealand might not have been any better. After a stand-up interview with him in an aisle in the Napier Municipal Theatre in the early 1990s, I used the name/word "Bloody" and in several other contexts only to see every single use of the word edited-out in the published story in the Daily Telegraph, to the point, as I tell him, I felt as if the story looked like it had been written by a nincompoop.
Judgment on that may always be in the eye of the beholder, but one thing is that long before now the anagram DILLIGAF and references to Santa Claus and the whereabouts of a bicycle have become almost as acceptable as "Bloody".
Another thing was that as deficient as the finished story may have been it did record his first visit to Hawke's Bay, on what was the first of 11 tours across the ditch.
Hawke's Bay's will have been on 10 of them, and all but one of the gigs will have been at the Muni in Napier.
"Napier is a beautiful place [he might have said bloody beautiful], and New Zealand is absolutely stunning," he says. "Every time you turn the wheel on the drive around New Zealand it opens up a postcard."
It's part of the picture of why he's not considering retiring, still going at full tit, as he might say, a tour of his home state just completed and a New Zealand tour of 12 shows and a UK tour starting late-October part of about 120 he'll do in the first 12 months post the limitations of the Covid pandemic.
He could get up to around the 200 a year he was once doing, because he has no thoughts of retiring. Three-chord and simple "party songs" he calls them, sometimes written while flying between tours, are his "hobby", made even better by the fact that with him as tour manager and merchandise manager on all the adventures is wife and "best friend" Betty.
That's despite her pursuit of her own life, mad about sports. In her 70s, she captains state masters hockey teams, still plays a bit of softball, and plays tennis twice a week.
She hasn't been coerced into joining the gig on stage. "She'd much prefer being in the back room," he says.
But daughter Tammy Jo "Jenny Talia" Bryant is carrying-on the baton, not only with an even more touchy middle name and singing similarly bawdy songs, some of them KBW numbers reworded from a female perspective, but also as part of the shows on this tour.
A former goldmines electrician, Bryant/Wilson started-out fronting a band named Bryan Dennis and the Country Club in the 1970s, and ran a radio show out of Kalgoorlie, lasting seven years before being given the heave for his on-air parodying of the still popular John Denver 1960s hit Leaving on a Jet Plane, which the then budding-larrikin had repurposed as Heaving on a Jet Plane.
There has been a place for forms of reverence, and respect, one being the gifting of one of his guitars to late Maori Queen Dame Te Atairangikaahu, although it acquired a crack (no mention of it being used for too many party songs) and after repairs was put in the safe hands of his stage manager, who lives in Auckland.
Neither the penchant and love for performing, writing and taking the mick has waned, and it can be imagined there might be some Kiwi victims if the pen is up to it as he flies in for the first show of the tour a few days before hitting Hawke's Bay.
For example, I confess I did let slip detail of the recent performances, or lack of them, by the All Blacks, and that the word "bloody" has been among the milder forms of critique.
KBW has, however, done a lot for his country, including the Covid thing, being trapped with it in Darwin en route home earlier this year and then having to isolate for a fortnight once he belatedly reached Perth.
But while he has been industry-recognised by the Australia Recording Industry Association (ARIA) - 1987's "Kev's Back" hitting "quadruple platinum" and being named Best Comedy Release followed by four other nominations over the years - more formal recognition seems to elude him.
Neither Dennis Bryant nor Kevin Bloody Wilson yet appears on the Australian honours list.
An Order of Australia, or something not too far down the pecking order, seems entirely reasonable. After all, there've been nine Prime Ministers of Australia and eight Governors General since 1984, and a fair number have been lettered and titled.
It begs the question as to just who he has offended, not that would be even near his greatest concern.
"The thing is," he says, "I'm actively pursuing my hobby for a living, so why would I want to retire ?"
His popularity is obviously still there. The first show of the tour is close to sold out, and KBW is looking forward to a similar experience on a Friday night five weeks hence in Napier.
Armed police stood guard as the patched members were led out in handcuffs.