The question I asked after reading a report about Taylor Swift’s biggest-ever concert in Melbourne, which reportedly had over 90,000 people attend, was, ‘Is she a troubadour?’ Something unusual must be happening, I thought to myself, for such an event to occur. ‘Perhaps it is her quality of songs and her presence that engages people even when they don’t intend to be that wrapped up in her music?’

Talking with young adults about these musings from my grandfatherly head, the initial affirmation of a modern-day troubadour became less certain. One of my friends claimed, ‘Of course she is popular – she has a formula, and she works hard at it.’ The last part about working hard sounded like a reluctant compliment.

I started to compare what I know of Ms Swift to one of my few experiences with someone who I believe is a real troubadour – that of the classical kind, who writes and sings to people about life in a way that captures them. It is not simply ‘the musicianship’ and the ‘performance presence’ of which I am thinking. No, it is more a matter of capturing the heart while telling a story, and in this example, using simple but soul-capturing, clear music.

I saw a true troubadour in action was when I was sitting on the floor of the ‘Roundhouse’ at the University of NSW (circa 1976). It was one of those lunchtimes when you hung around to see who might join you for a debrief of the morning’s lectures. It was then I noticed someone with a guitar on the edge of the ‘circle’ singing. There was no introduction from him or by anyone else. He just started telling a story in song. By the time he was into his second song, everyone had stopped talking to each other and was watching. By the third song we had all joined hands and were singing and swaying to Puff the Magic Dragon. The performer was Noel Paul Stookey, previously of Peter, Paul, and Mary fame.

We laughed with him, we went silent with him, and we clapped enthusiastically hoping for more. I saw him repeat this kind of enthralment in the old Horden Pavilion. As I listened to people leave, they said, ‘Did you see how he was looking at and singing to me?’ They all believed it.

If Taylor has any ‘troubadour’ in her, I suspect it is of the carefully manufactured pop version.

But then I thought, ‘What of our current leaders running our federal government? If I was casting them onto the stage, what characters might they play, and would any rise to the level of troubadour?’

So, here are my casting suggestions, noting that these ideas are based on their public performances to date, given I know them not personally:

Our Immigration Minister: my mind went straight away to ‘the fool’, but not in the Shakespearean sense. His foolishness has hidden wisdom. He is driving a plot wherein he pursues a more peaceful world by being blind to the battle that is without. His lead line would be something like, ‘Let’s just stay calm, do nothing to stop people, and it will all be better.’ His adversaries will meet their doom by falling off their seats after being lulled into utter boredom through disbelief.

Our Climate Change and Energy Minister: the character descriptor that came to mind was ‘smarmy’. It sounded right. But then I thought I should double-check its meaning. One thesaurus listed its meaning as ‘oily, slimy’. Yes! It is so ironically apt for how this character pretends to portend the end of the world and to be the keeper of all truth on how to fix it. His lead line would be something like, ‘We will make things safer and cheaper, really! And we can do it by using your good money to put into our good plans. Really! It will all be cheaper!’ His adversaries will quietly be starved.

Our Industrial Relations Minister: this character image may seem harsh at first, but on reflection, apt. He would be the sycophantic hyena. The scavenger of the Parliamentary safari. He can be found cuddled up to the unions, or slinking around looking to snatch morsels to chew on. His lead line would be something like, ‘I’s wills get yous mores, my lovelies!’ His adversaries will be taken down by the pack whom he feeds.

Our Foreign Affairs Minister: I eventually settled on the skulking fox. She is canny, lives on her instincts, and she can look straight at people without blinking, even in the headlights. When she dashes around, it can look lovely. But her quiet mischief is focused on letting people know she is there, so beware. Her lead line would be something like, ‘It did not happen, it will not happen, and I will tell you how to keep it that way.’ Her adversaries will become exhausted just trying to chase her down.

Our Education Minister: writers should attempt to put one very good boy in any plot. In this case, we have the Education Minister. He attempts to do good, to make things better, and to be on the front foot with his time. But his naivety leads to two responses – a clapping of hands by those who can see they will catch the presents he is throwing around, and a sickening sadness for those who see the losing battle over which he presides. His lead line would be something like, ‘I have looked, I have thought, I have concluded, and now we will improve, because while we do more of the same, we will do it more richly.’ His adversaries are stunned into silence.

And I could keep going, with one minister being the sloth and another one being a dumb and dumber lost character within the crowd (you can try and guess who is which one). But I wanted to try for the two leading roles, so here they are:

Our Treasurer: a song that goes with his character role is ‘the great pretender’. He keeps a very, very cool demeanour, stays away from all the bad news, and takes credit for dynamics well out of his control all while blaming others for the difficulties his character faces. The starting lines of the song are his lead lines: ‘Oh, yes, I’m the great pretender, Pretending I’m doing well, My need is such I pretend too much, I’m lonely but no one can tell.’ Further song references about being adrift in a world of his own, playing the game, acting like a clown so that he seems to be what he is not, could also be apt. His adversary is the leader of the pack. He needs the pretender but knows he might be lethal to the plot.

Our Prime Minister: some might offer ‘dubious’ as the main character trait, but I suggest ‘the deceiver’. He knows what he wants. He believes he knows what others want. His character role is to simply make the two come together while keeping everyone comfortable enough. Such a character could be dressed as a chameleon. The changes of colour are pretty when they are painted into the right contexts. And the impact is that people don’t notice the changes because they go, ‘Aww, sure.’ He believes he has no adversaries, which means he trusts no one. Neither will they ultimately trust him. His fate will come when he can give them no more presents.

Is there no politician who can be cast into a troubadour role? In my mind, I did find one. She is the Shadow Indigenous Affairs Minister. She actually enjoys the people in front of her, speaks (and can sing by the way) into what is on their hearts, and as they applaud, she does likewise back to them in appreciation of the meeting of minds that has just happened.

In such a plot, how does one troubadour versus a troupe of would-be actors end? The score comes out at 61-39. Yes.

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