Blood on the Typewriter, Robbie Brechin’s ‘spiky, gossipy, loving and richly insightful’ biography of iconic wine writer and eccentric Philip ‘Whitey’ White, laid bare a life lived large.
Son of an Old Testament manic street preacher, Philip left home and dove headlong into bohemia when he was 17, and was in Paul Kelly’s first band, The Debutantes, among other adventures.
In this guest post, Robbie and Philip reignite their partnership, reminiscing on Philip’s life and health, and closing old wounds.
Five years have passed, almost to the day, since eminent wine writer and polymath Philip White heard his death sentence read aloud.
You will be dead within three weeks if you don’t do something about…
About the cancer that has riddled almost your entire body. Running up your spine to your brain, In your torso. In your groin.
The man himself, and his myth, are intact as we approach the fifth Christmas he might never have seen, 72nd birthday up ahead September next.
Yes, some mornings Philip looks like he’d been beaten up in an alley.
Feels like Hell under sheets drenched with sweats and Tam o’Shanter nightmares.
Some days it’s noon before he feels halfway human, not half past dead. His recovery is aided by the view from his rented cottage at the Yangarra winery, a preview of what heaven may portend.
The man he calls his Ninja Doc and a team from Flinders Medical Centre have kept Philip alive against all odds. We won’t go into names or treatments, as these are for another time.
As his biographer (an honour for unconventional reasons) I keep in touch.
The other day, the man who has been negotiating directly and defiantly with the Grim Reaper sent an unusually upbeat email:
Dear Rab,
It’s a strange but reassuring thing, how some of us try to make peace before we die. Not only did PK acknowledge my input, but in this speech he acknowledges several bits and pieces he’s never spoke of before. I admire this.
I think I love Paul again.
Lots of reassuring love and cobberness old cock!
Paul Kelly, singer-songwriter par brilliance had paid tribute to Philip in his acceptance speech for his long overdue entry to the SA Hall of Fame.
In Blood on the Typewriter, Philip had expressed an old hurt over his treatment by the young Adelaide-born artist.
Philip claimed Paul had never really recognised the existence of his early band The Debutantes, with Philip as guitarist. It was Paul who had approached him, putting him through an informal audition with an understanding Philip could contribute songs.
His version of the break-up had Paul ringing to ask if Philip would tell the other members of the Debutantes that he – Paul – had formed another band.
Philip quickly realised it was all over. But the news was brutally put.
Several complaints were put to Paul, via his manager.
On that oblique phone call: ‘I don’t remember, but it could be true. If so, my apologies to Philip.’
His responses were variations on the theme of, ‘if I’ve offended Philip, I’m sorry’.
They did little to comfort his former guitarist, four years ago.
Imagine the delight when Philip saw the transcript of his former boss’s words in Adelaide last week. This was Paul Kelly in full, grateful flight:
‘I met the rambunctious and tender Philip White through John Kingsmill. Phil made me some beautiful artistic mix tapes with his lovely drawing and handwriting. I remember one featuring a mix of John Cale’s solo albums which I hadn’t heard before. Another new world opened up to me. Thank you, Phil.
‘I got a band together. We were called The Debutantes. Phil White played guitar, Craig Taylor bass, I think. Tom on drums, John Hyland on pedal steel. James Black on keyboards and guitar. My sister Mary Jo on vocals and violin. Thank you, Mary Jo. Jo Moore who’s no longer with us sang lead and harmony vocals. She was the first person besides me to sing my songs. Others came later. When someone else sings your song then you really feel like a songwriter. So, thank you, Jo. We played at The Wellington Hotel in North Adelaide, The British, The Box Factory. I don’t remember big crowds but our friends were very supportive. Thank you, friends! I also played solo at Ginger’s Coffee shop in O’Connell St, long gone now.’*
Nowadays Philip maintains a wonderful serenity and grace: some days up and gloriously, knowledgeably entertaining. Other days he remains strikingly stoic but is coughing and speaking as if writhing in immense pain.
On this particular day, the voice reflecting on the latest Paul Kelly statements was joyful and fresh. Bouncing.
Setting straight a fuzzy record can be powerful medicine for a man who’s been with rampant cancer for so long.
*SA HALL OF FAME SPEECH NOV 8, 2023