Gillian Welch and David Rawlings. Thebarton Theatre. 22 Feb 2026
Once again, the gods arrived by car. Last time they played in Adelaide, in 2016, Gillian Welch and David Rawlings drove across the Nullabor from Perth. This time, it was a non-stop journey from Canberra via a visit to a Murray Cod fishing competition in Barham -Koondrook in New South Wales. “They made us very welcome” drawls Rawlings.
They are also very welcome on a Sunday night at Thebarton Theatre. Rarely have I been among a more expectant crowd. Ten years has been a long wait, and the duo had only played Adelaide once before in their now nearly thirty year career.
They step on stage like there hasn’t been a yesterday and—in their modest, attentive, focused way—like there may not be a tomorrow. They stand shoulder to shoulder at twin microphones; each rigged for vocals and their signature guitars.
Welch, in her ankle-length charcoal cotton dress, has her slim arms draped around her 1956 Gibson J-50 flat-top, while Rawlings in his corn-coloured Stetson, brown suede jacket and battered denims has his 1935 Epiphone Olympic arch-top ready to roll.
There’s some ‘howdy y’all Adelaide’ plus a short motoring report with a Q &A, and then Welch opens with Wayside/Back in Time from the Soul Journey album. “Standing on the corner with a nickel or a dime/ there used to be a railcar to take you down the line/ too much beer and whisky to ever be employed …Wasted on the wayside…Back baby, back in time/ I wanna go back when you were you mine.”
Welch, now with silver threads in her hair, her voice perhaps more mellow than keening, instantly engages with her particular version of alt. country, Americana, or whatever best describes that music which refers to previous times and places, but has the vividness of the present.
Immersed in (and brilliantly revitalising) the ballad tradition, Welch and Rawlings can inhabit archetypal personas—railroad drifters or broken lovers, grieving mothers, or struggling sharecroppers—as convincingly as Dylan or Neil Young, June Carter Cash, or Emmylou Harris.
Showcasing their Grammy-winning album Woodland, named for their Nashville recording studio (restored after near obliteration by tornadoes in 2020) they move to the opening track and one of their best compositions – Empty Trainload of Sky. “Just a boxcar of blue/ showing daylight clear through/ just an empty trainload of sky.”
Their vocal harmonies thread together with a kind of effortless intimacy, Welch’s guitar sets the rhythm and tempo and then Rawlings adds his hypnotic, filigree fingerpicking - nimble, supple and with real swing. Unlike the album, there is no bass and drum (or strings) yet somehow in performance the two guitars are more than an excellent sufficiency.
On the pensive What We Had Rawlings leads with his sweet tenor, then joined by Welch, it becomes Country pop – even shades of The Carpenters.
From his Poor David’s Almanac album, Rawlings takes an excursion into Midnight Train. Virtuoso train songs are a staple of folk blues – from Robert Johnson to Bukka White and Tom Rush.
Rawlings hitches his guitar close, holding it almost vertically and begins to thread into his musical locomotion. No bottleneck slide, but instead an extended raga of accelerating intricacy and rail rattling speed. More Woodland songs follow – all joint compositions by the duo. The Bells and the Birds is a delight with Rawlings’ chiming guitar and Gillian Welch’s winsome vocal.
When she reaches for her clawhammer banjo Welch observes (at song number seven) that it is the longest they have waited to bring on the banjo for the whole tour. Instantly, I hope it will be for My First Lover from the Revelator album. Instead it’s for Howdy Howdy. A lovely opening trickle of plunking notes, echoed on guitar – “Tell me what did the blackbird say to the crow…” First it is Rawlings, then Welch takes a turn – their voices almost indistinguishable.
After Tennessee from the classic The Harrow & The Harvest CD, Rawlings digs out Sweet Tooth from the Rawlings Machine Friend of the Family sessions. It is a hopped-up ragtime cocaine candy song, bristling with guitar brilliance and marks an up-beat ending to the first set.
This is a rich event and full of surprises and highlights. After Annabelle from the early Revival and, interspersed with harmonica, the intriguing Hashtag from Woodland, Gillian Welch reaches for the banjo again. Not My First Lover but Hard Times. Slow march tune, melancholy but defiant vocal, threadbare ambling music – “Hard times ain’t gonna rule my mind… no more!”
Repeated like a mantra, and then David Rawlings brings in guitar and vocal reinforcement. It is spellbinding and thrilling to be in the same room in which this is happening. Just like hearing this exceptional duo at Her Majesty’s back in 2016.
There are other excellent notables – Rawlings singing Ruby, a memorable reading of Everything is Free from Time (the Revelator) beautifully phrased by Welch while Rawlings decorates the vocal with sweet serenades. All coaxed from the one guitar, there are no busy guitar techs swapping and tuning. At one point in the first set, Rawlings tunes a string while he is playing something inexplicably labyrinthine. With his mysterious tunings and sublime plucking he keeps surpassing himself as the concert unfolds – and the performance is filled with feeling, never just technique.
The set finishes with an expansive version of the sweet and sour The Way that it Goes. With its folky rhythm and crooning world weariness it is like a punkish swipe at the unmentionable world outside.
The encores are generous. Make Me a Pallet on the Floor, a tribute to Doc Watson, with whom they toured early in their careers, and a rousing and rocking Look at Miss Ohio.
But wait there is more. Guy Clark’s Desperadoes Waiting for a Train is another highlight, with its sepulchral repetitions and descending chord lines it more than honours a classic song. As is I’ll Fly Away—Gillian Welch’s duet with Alison Krauss on the soundtrack for O Brother Where Art Thou?—sung like a benediction to end the proceedings.
The lights go up and everyone is packing up—replete and grateful for 22 extraordinary songs—when Gillian Welch comes back onstage to get us seated again. It’s as if they hadn’t driven all this way to be stopping quite yet.
The closer is heralded by those strummed chords, almost dirge-like but filled with a quiet ecstasy – Revelator from the album of the same name. Recorded 25 years ago and never sounding better. Guitars in perfect accord, Rawlings brilliant one last time, Welch’s vocals flawless - the rhythm of their singing and playing like a metronome of the heart.
Gillian Welch didn’t get to play My First Lover on the banjo, but you can’t have everything. On second thoughts, in this exceptional concert, I think we just did.
Murray Bramwell
When: 22 Feb
Where: Thebarton theatre
Bookings: Closed
