Over the course of his career, he collected more gold and platinum albums than any other Australian artist.
Dusty not only recorded songs written by himself and other fellow Australian performers, but also recorded classic Australian poems by Henry Lawson and Banjo Paterson with new tunes, to call attention to the old 'Bush Ballads.' An example is The Man from Snowy River by Paterson.
In 1970, he was made a Member of the Order of the British Empire for services to music. In 1971 he won Best Single at the Australian Country Music Awards at the Tamworth Country Music Festival (Slim's wife Joy McKean won Song of the Year as writer of the song for which he won best single). In all, he won a record 35 "Golden Guitars" over the years.
He died at home in St Ives, New South Wales on 19 September 2003 after a protracted battle with cancer, at age 76.
The Slim Dusty Story started back in the 1940s on a remote dairy farm in the hills behind Kempsey, NSW, when a 10-year-old boy dreamed of being a country music singer. His name was David Gordon Kirkpatrick... he called himself "Slim Dusty" and began to live that dream.
But even the most optimistic farm boy would never have imagined the life that was to unfold... a life that would establish Slim as the voice of the nation, the chronicler of Australian history in song.
Slim managed to hold on to those early visions of writing and singing about the bush because during his lengthy career, he always stayed in touch with his audience. And he did this in a very real and meaningful way, so much so that his fans would feel that Slim was one of their mates and his songs "just a good yarn you might hear from a mate at the pub, around a campfire in the bush or at a back yard barbie".
He described his music as "songs about real Australians... "I have to be fair dinkum with my audience. I can't see any other way of doing it," he said. "You have to believe in what you are singing about."
Slim Dusty was the first Australian to have a number one hit record and the only Australian to ever receive a 78rpm Gold Record (for A Pub With No Beer in 1958)...
He was the first Australian to have an international record hit and the first singer in the world to have his voice beamed to earth from space (astronauts Bob Crippen and John Young played Slim's recording of Waltzing Matilda from the space shuttle "Columbia" as it passed over Australia back in 1983).
During an amazingly successful career spanning over six decades, Slims' continued popularity saw him rewarded with more Gold and Platinum Awards for sales of his singles, eight-tracks, cassettes, CD's, videos and DVDs... more than any other Australian artist!
He received an unequaled 37 Golden Guitar Awards, two ARIA's (Australian Recording Industry Association awards), inductions into the ARIA Hall of Fame and the Australian Country Music Roll of Renown.
Slim was recognized for his long time services to Australian entertainment with an MBE and an Order of Australia. In 1999, Prime Minister John Howard named Slim Dusty Australia's Father of the Year and Senior Australian of the Year. There were many other awards and honors... too many to name here!
Dusty died at his home in St Ives, New South Wales on 19 September 2003 at the age of 76, after a protracted battle with cancer.
Mount Bukaroo
Slim Dusty Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
Where the milking and the branding and the slaughtering were done.
Later years have brought dejection, care, and sorrow; but we knew
Happy days on that selection underneath old Bukaroo.
Then the light of day commencing, found us at the gully's head,
Splitting timber for the fencing, stripping bark to roof the shed.
Hands and hearts the labour strengthened; weariness we never knew,
There for days below the paddock how the wilderness would yield,
To the spade, the pick and mattock, while we toiled to win the field.
Half our hands are hard to sully, ours the deeper blended screw,
Burning off down in the gully at the back of Bukaroo.
When the cows were safely yarded, and the calves were in the pen,
All the cares of day discarded, 'round the fire we mustered then.
Rang the roof with boyish laughter while the flames e'er-topped the flue;
Happy nights remembered after, far away from Bukaroo.
But the years were full of changes, and a sorrow found us there;
For our home amid the ranges was not safe from searching Care.
On he came, a silent creeper; and another mountain threw
O'er our lives a shadow deeper than the shade of Bukaroo.
All the farm is disappearing; for the home has vanished now,
Mountain scrub has choked the clearing, hid the furrows of the plough.
Nearer still the scrub is creeping where the little garden grew;
And the old folks now are sleeping, at the face of Bukaroo.
But the years were full of changes, and a sorrow found us there;
For our home amid the ranges was not safe from searching Care.
On he came, a silent creeper; and another mountain threw
O'er our lives a shadow deeper than the shade of Bukaroo.
The lyrics to Slim Dusty's song Mount Bukaroo tell a poignant story of a family's nostalgia for their home, which was once situated on a selection beneath old Bukaroo. The only old post that remains is a testament to the milking, branding, and slaughtering that once took place on this land. Despite the long, hard days of work spent splitting timber for fences, stripping bark, toiling with spades, picks, and mattocks to win the field and burning off down in the gully at the back of Bukaroo, those who lived and worked there were happy, knowing that the fruits of their labor would sustain them. Life was hard, but it was also simple.
As time passed, changes came, and the family was forced to confront the hard reality that their home was not safe from searching Care. Another mountain threw its shadow over their lives and led to sorrow and heartbreak. The farm slowly disappeared, with the mountain scrub choking the clearing and hiding the furrows of the ploughing. The family's little garden was replaced by creeping scrub, and the old folks now sleep at the face of Bukaroo.
The song Mount Bukaroo is a touching tribute to the hardworking, resilient families who settled and worked the land in rural Australia. It speaks to a deep sense of nostalgia and the loss of simplicity and connection to the land that took place as modern forces of progress and change swept through.
Line by Line Meaning
Only one old post is standing, solid yet, but only one,
The only thing remaining on the farm is a solitary post, everything has been demolished from the past.
Where the milking and the branding and the slaughtering were done.
All the farm activities were performed at this one location.
Later years have brought dejection, care, and sorrow; but we knew
As time passed, life became more difficult and challenging, but we still have fond memories.
Happy days on that selection underneath old Bukaroo.
The farm was a happy and prosperous place, situated underneath the mountain named Bukaroo.
Then the light of day commencing, found us at the gully's head,
We started work early in the morning by the gully.
Splitting timber for the fencing, stripping bark to roof the shed.
We used timber to make fences and build the shed, which we stripped the bark from.
Hands and hearts the labour strengthened; weariness we never knew,
Our hard work and determination never let us feel exhausted.
Even when the shadows lengthened 'round the base of Bukaroo.
Even as it started to get dark around the mountain Bukaroo.
There for days below the paddock how the wilderness would yield,
We had to clear out a lot of wilderness with our tools just to set up in the paddock.
To the spade, the pick and mattock, while we toiled to win the field.
We used various digging tools to clear out space to tend to our crops and livestock.
Half our hands are hard to sully, ours the deeper blended screw,
Our work ethic was so strong that half of our hands were calloused and the screws we used were heavily worn.
Burning off down in the gully at the back of Bukaroo.
We burned excess debris and brush in the gully located at the back of the mountain Bukaroo.
When the cows were safely yarded, and the calves were in the pen,
We made sure our cows and calves were safe inside the yard and pen for the night.
All the cares of day discarded, 'round the fire we mustered then.
We let go of all the worries of the day as we gathered around the fire.
Rang the roof with boyish laughter while the flames e'er-topped the flue;
We laughed and had fun while sitting by the fire, making the roof ring with our voices.
Happy nights remembered after, far away from Bukaroo.
Even when we were far away from Bukaroo, we thought back on the happy memories we made there.
All the farm is disappearing; for the home has vanished now,
The farm is no longer visible as our home has been destroyed.
Mountain scrub has choked the clearing, hid the furrows of the plough.
The growth of the mountain scrub is slowly engulfing the land and hiding any traces of our farming activities.
Nearer still the scrub is creeping where the little garden grew;
The mountain scrub is getting closer and closer to where our little garden used to be.
And the old folks now are sleeping, at the face of Bukaroo.
Our elders have passed away and are now laid to rest at the base of the mountain Bukaroo.
But the years were full of changes, and a sorrow found us there;
Over time, there were a lot of changes and challenges that brought us great sadness.
For our home amid the ranges was not safe from searching care.
Our home in the mountain ranges was not safe from the harsh realities of life and external forces.
On he came, a silent creeper; and another mountain threw
A silent and unknown force came upon us, and another mountain's shadow loomed over us.
O'er our lives a shadow deeper than the shade of Bukaroo.
This force brought us even deeper sorrow and pain than the shadow of the mountain Bukaroo.
Contributed by Jayden O. Suggest a correction in the comments below.
Sandra
on One Truckie's Epitaph
My brother Terry Radke was the man Slim wrote the song for after he received a letter from Terry's youngest son, Lync. Thank you
Charley Boyter
on Axe Mark On a Gidgee
With horsebells to keep me company
Jake
on Your Country's Been Sold
You say you belong to Australia my friend
And rightly you’d die for this land to defend
But let us be honest, it’s sad but it’s true
Australia my friend doesn’t belong to you
Our country’s been sold by the powers that be
To big wealthy nations way over the sea
We couldn’t be taken by bayonets or lead
And so they decided to buy us instead
And talking of wars and the blood that was spilled
The widows, the crippled, the ones that were killed
And I often wonder if their ghosts can see
What’s happening now to their native country
I wonder if ghosts of the fallen can see
The crime and corruption and vast poverty
With a lost generation of youth on the dole
Who drift on life’s ocean without any goal
I once had a dream of our country so grand
The rivers outback irrigated the land
With towns and canals in that wasteland out there
And big inland cities with work everywhere
With profit from farming and factory and mine
Was used to develop a nation so fine
Then I woke from my dream into reality
That the wealth of our nation goes over the sea
Yeah you say you belong to Australia my friend
And rightly you’d die for this land to defend
But let us be honest, it’s sad but it’s true
Australia my friend doesn’t belong to you