The Journey of Tristan Dafoe
Tristan Manu Dafoe – Banjo, Mandolin, Guitar and Vocals.
“I was born and raised in southeastern Wisconsin, where the winters are long, and the summer is humid. The largest prairie east of the Mississippi was my backyard, with rolling hills and old growth oak savannahs as the backdrop. My upbringing was as diverse as the music that was around in my childhood. The first record I can remember holding in my hands was Harvest by Neil Young (1972). In grade school I was allowed to choose orchestra as an elective class. I studied double bass from grade four, until graduating highschool. This classical study, although highly enjoyable and rewarding, was not the main area of focus. I loved playing bass guitar in local bands. In university, I continued the music, taking on guitar and banjo.
When I was young, about four or five, I met Kymrie Henge. Her family were traveling through the USA with her mother (Drew Porter, Mummager). We were neighbors in America for a time, and had the most enjoyable play dates. Her brothers and mine went on all sorts of adventures. Kymrie came and went like the changing of the seasons, but we grew up together, though only seeing each other for moments each year when she visited. She was always the better of the pen pals, her use of words, penmanship, and consistency was inspiring and also bewildering to try to respond too.
Drew, her mother, was also a marvel to behold. She’d invited me to come and visit their home in Australia when I was old enough. I told my parents from a very young age that when I turned 18, I was going. They supported my travel and felt it was good to explore the horizons. The summer of 2011, between junior and senior year of high-school, I sold my car and was given a ticket to Australia by Drew. The plan was to visit and work in their region of Australia. Here I was, a midwest boy who had never swam in the ocean or boarded an airplane, on his first journey!
Australia, I fell in love. The landscape, the space, the animals, the people, and lifestyle. I felt like I had found my place in the world. The most marvelous summer I had, working away on Drew’s 30 acre property, and traveling around the countryside of Northern NSW.
Returning to the USA to finish highschool was a real damper on what was such an eye opening experience. After a year of university, studying Natural Resources and being taught that “your generation is essentially doomed”. The professors said, all you can do is change your circumstance. It was a bleak winter, with intensive scientific study, no sunshine. I began to feel a shift in my path, knowing that there was another way. After the spring semester I knew something had to change. The invitation was always there to return to Australia. I felt into my heart, I knew that it’s beat was leading me back. I had bought a mandolin for travel, and with $60 to my name, a ticket to Australia, I boarded the flight for my second trip of my lifetime. I arrived back in Australia during the initiatory moments of creation of The Heart Collectors. There is no doubt that moving across the world brought its tests.
I feel loved everywhere we go. It is difficult to describe the gratitude I feel for where I have come, where we are right now, and where we are going. To be able to bring these songs that we perform across the world is a gift. We have had the opportunity to see places that many would only dream of.
In the spring at home in the USA, It was fast and fleeting. The lilacs were the scent that carried through generations. I would pick daffodils and iris for my grandparents. Summer time was picking wild raspberries with my grandfather in the state forest or neighborhood yards. Running through sprinklers. Autumn was always my favorite. Back to school, a new year, fresh start. The changing of the season, the brilliant reds that shone with passion, fading as the sugars in the leaf disappeared. Golden yellows shimmering on the hillside brushing each other as the winds swept through with change. Brown, more than a million shades, as the prairie started to fade, asleep and ready for a dream. Endless days raking the lawn, to jump into the piles. The sound of the axe splitting an oak drum. The first fire crackling under the mantle, warming your back before you run to sleep, safe. Under the covers through the window you watch the moon dance above the naked trees.
Winter, what better time to be outside. We used to flag the plowman down. We would lay in the ditch of snow and he would plow us into a massive pile that we would crawl and dig our way out of. The snow forts we made we could camp in and hold all sorts of escapades. Snow sports, of all varieties, all complimented with a hot chocolate”.
No Comments