Jordie Lane is playing a rousing set, deep down the back of the Tote during one of Melbourne’s bitterly cold winter nights. He warms it up emotionally, but the crowd keep their jackets on. His songs of love struck misadventure rattle along with the heartbeat banjo of Liz Stringer . I don’t know his songs but the inbetween-Townes-van-Zandt-and-Bob-Dylan tuned melodies are clear enough. The two on stage swap strumming for plucking and vice-versa for a song and, as the exchange takes place, Jordie entertains the crowd with some self-effacing banter; the many girls in the audience laugh along with him.

Liz takes up with a soulful voice and Jordie accompanies on banjo with a flood of 60s inspired folk. As Jordie and Liz wind up they announce the Vandas are up next. I’m sidetracked by the pool table so, ahem, sorry Vandas . I am assured by my opponent that there was a lot of bickering on stage which was ‘quite distracting’. I win at pool.

Downhills Home fill the stage with the closest thing I’ve seen to the Flying Burrito Brothers , well, ever. I may be showing my age with that comment, old enough to know but not old enough to know well. Anyway, Downhills has done its research and that means I reap the rewards. The band has a slide guitar to brand it with a country logo, as well as frontman, Sean Mcmahon (vocals and guitar), Michael Hubbard (bass), Tim McCormack (keys), Brendan McMahon and drums Josh Duiker. It has a country tang like lemon and sugar pancakes. The sound is like golden syrup. The crowd is bopping along to Take a Little While, Make Light of Ourselves and get down for a slow dance to The body You Left Behind. It’s a teary moment.

Sean announces a few special guests – Laura Jean and two other girls sing on a few songs; one even plays a tambourine and before I know, it the night is over. No more honey, treacle or golden syrup. Just the daunting thought of a cold walk home. I decide to huddle around the heater instead, leaving the chilly bluster for another time.