A Lifetime of Music with Chris Jobson
Some portrait sessions become much more than photographs.
Earlier this month, I had the pleasure of photographing Chris Jobson, a musician who, now in his seventies, is still performing across regional Victoria with the same passion that first drew him to music decades ago.
A few weeks later, I travelled to Inglewood to deliver Chris's fine art prints. We sat down for a conversation that wandered through memories of family, friendship and a lifetime spent making music.
One story, in particular, stayed with me.
Chris spoke about his father, recalling that he was just sixteen in 1968 when he needed his dad to drive him to Launching Place for an event. Although his parents had what he describes as a "totally dysfunctional" marriage and "should never have married," his father never stopped showing up when it mattered.
Years later, around 1979, Chris was playing at a pub in Richmond with his band, Japanese Comics, when he looked up from the stage and saw his father standing at the bar, chatting with two young punks about existentialism.
His father had driven halfway across Melbourne simply to watch him perform.
It wasn't the kind of music he enjoyed, but that didn't matter.
He came anyway.
"He'd driven halfway across Melbourne just to watch me play. He did that regularly, even though it wasn't his sort of music."
That quiet, unwavering support has remained one of Chris's strongest memories.
Music, however, was never his career.
"I always worked," Chris told me. "I never wanted music to become a job because I enjoyed it too much."
While building a career as a nurse, he deliberately kept music as something he loved rather than something he depended on. Over the decades he's played in countless bands—some lasting years, others only a couple of performances.
"Music is a very spontaneous thing," he explained. "If you want to express yourself in a different style of music, you quite often play with different people."
As a bass player, Chris has comfortably moved between country, rock and roll, jazz, blues and even reggae. Yet when asked what music has given him, his answer wasn't about performances or applause.
"It's the people."
"You play music with people and you become friends for life."
He smiled as he spoke about sharing a stage only days earlier with a drummer he'd first met back in 1978.
"We've not always maintained contact, but when we see each other it's like long-lost family."
Even now, Chris's calendar remains busy. Over the weekend before my visit, he played at the Dunolly Golf Club on Friday night, the Morocco Bar in Castlemaine on Saturday, and finished the weekend with a three-hour performance at the Black Swan Hotel in Bendigo with The Midnight Blues Review.
Listening to Chris speak, it became clear that music has never simply been about performing. It's about connection, loyalty, friendship and the people who quietly stand beside you throughout your life.
As our afternoon drew to a close, we watched a video of The Midnight Blues Review performing live at a Bendigo radio station. Seeing Chris on stage after hearing the stories behind his journey made the performance even more meaningful.
He was genuinely delighted with his fine art prints and was already planning which ones would be gifted to family and lifelong friends.
Throughout the entire visit, his little dog Curtis remained a patient audience, quietly keeping us company as stories, laughter and memories filled the room.
It was a reminder that sometimes the most meaningful photographs aren't simply about capturing a face—they're about preserving a lifetime of stories.
