How we balance original songs and covers in a live set
Four-piece twang rock bands from Denver don't always have an easy time explaining their setlist philosophy to audiences in places like Tamworth or the back blocks of the Kimberley. The expectation when you roll into a country pub in regional Queensland is that you know the songs people grew up with, and that you can deliver them without leaning too heavily on novelty. At the same time, if we only play other people's material, we lose the reason we got in the van in the first place.
Australians tend to be straight talkers about whether a set is working, which is actually a gift for a touring act. A wag in the front bar at an RSL club will let you know within three songs if you have read the room right. We have found that the balance between originals and covers is less a fixed ratio and more a set of instincts developed over hundreds of gigs, from Brisbane to Perth. Some nights that balance looks like a sixty-forty split, other nights closer to fifty-fifty, and occasionally a room asks for nothing but honky tonk classics until the lights come up.
The conversation gets more interesting when you factor in distance. A run from Melbourne to Cairns and back is roughly five and a half thousand kilometres of bitumen, and you cannot rehearse your way out of a poorly chosen cover in Dubbo on a Tuesday. So we plan our mix well before we cross a border, but we also leave room to pivot on the night. That balance between preparation and response is the heart of how we approach any given set.
Our approach has evolved through trial, error, and a few hundred conversations with bookers, punters, and fellow musicians. The short version is that there is no perfect formula. The longer version, the one we live by on stage, is what follows.
The case for a healthy split
A set built entirely from your own catalogue can feel self-indulgent, and a set built entirely from covers can feel like karaoke with pedal steel. We sit somewhere in the middle because both extremes ask too much of an audience that has paid for a drink, a meal, and a couple of hours away from the rest of the week. Covers open a door; they remind people that we share a musical language with the artists they already love. Originals justify the trip, the ticket price, and the long drive home.
Covers also serve a teaching function. When we play a Buck Owens tune before one of our own songs, the audience gets a small lesson in where our sound comes from, without us having to say a word. That context makes the original land harder, because the listener has just been reminded that we are part of a tradition. The cover becomes a kind of handshake before the conversation continues in our own voice.
Reading the room before note one
Most of the cues we pick up are not about song choice at all. They are about posture. Are people leaning on the bar in groups of six, or are they at tables with their phones down? Are they watching the stage or the screen above the bar? In an Australian pub, a quiet front row can be a sign of polite attention, not disapproval, so we have learned to read the difference between a tired crowd and a curious one. The first song of the night is almost always a cover for exactly this reason.
When something isn't working and the room is drifting, we have a process for dropping a song mid-set, and that skill has cost us a few rehearsals to develop. There is no shame in admitting that a tune is fighting the room that night. The band that learns to cut without flinching is the band that gets invited back.
How we open a set
The first three songs of any set are a contract with the audience. They tell people what kind of night they are about to have, what kind of dancing is welcome, and how much talking between songs is acceptable. We almost always open with a cover that the crowd is likely to know, then follow with an original that shares a tempo or a lyrical theme. This way, the audience gets to settle in before we ask them to invest in something new.
For the third song we usually go back to a cover, but with a twist. It might be in a different key, at a different tempo, or with a reworked arrangement. That small surprise keeps the band sharp and reminds the audience that we are not a jukebox. By song four, the contract is set and we can drift toward more original material with confidence.
Sequencing for momentum
A few rough rules guide how we order songs once the opening is done. Energy levels matter more than genre, so we try to avoid stacking two slow numbers back to back unless we are deliberately winding the room down. We also try to avoid playing two covers in a row late in the set, because that is when we most need to be ourselves.
A practical checklist we keep in mind:
- One cover every two or three originals
- A high-energy original before any extended talking
- A ballad near the end, but never as the closer
- A recognisable cover as the encore, unless the room is begging for something else
These are not laws. They are habits, and habits can be broken when the night demands it.
Playing the Australian circuit
Country music in Australia lives in a particular ecosystem, and we have learned to respect it. The Tamworth Country Music Festival in January is a must for any touring act with twang in their sound, and the crowds there are unusually open to original material, because they have come specifically to hear new songs. A gig at an RSL in suburban Melbourne, by contrast, might draw a broader crowd that wants to dance, so the mix shifts toward well-known covers.
A few practical realities shape every Australian run:
- The Tamworth festival in January is the centre of the country calendar
- RSL clubs are the backbone of the regional touring circuit
- Triple J's country programming can make or break a single in a new market
- A five-thousand-kilometre drive between gigs is normal, so we over-prepare
Distance shapes our planning in ways that never come up at home. We have learned to keep backup arrangements for every cover, so that if a chorus is not landing, we can shorten the song and move on without the audience noticing the swap.
When a cover earns its place
Not every cover deserves a spot, even if the crowd would sing along. We look for songs that either share a melodic or lyrical idea with one of our originals, or that fill a specific role the set needs, like a mid-tempo dance number or a late-night weeper. A cover that does neither usually gets cut from the rotation, no matter how much we love it.
Sometimes a cover sticks around purely because of a memory attached to it. A Waylon Jennings tune we learned on the drive from Sydney to Byron Bay might never have a logical place in the set, but it has earned its spot through sheer mileage. Those are the songs the band argues about, and usually the band wins.
Keeping the balance honest
The biggest risk in any band's setlist is comfort. Once you have a set that works, it is tempting to run it for years, especially on a touring circuit where travel days are long and the bed in the next town is never quite as good as the last one. We fight that drift by rotating at least one or two songs in or out of every show, even on a short regional run.
Australian crowds have a way of keeping us honest. A shout from the back bar, a polite request, or a surprised cheer when a deep cut lands, all of it feeds back into the next night's setlist. The balance between originals and covers is never settled, and that is exactly how we want it.
Our next confirmed show is the third Friday of October at a small bar in Brisbane's west end, followed by two nights in Sydney and a return to the Tamworth Country Music Festival in January.