The panel kicked off their shoes and tapped their toes to those rhythm n’ blues. They found orange liqueur, cinnamon syrup over macaroons, liquorice and eucalyptus: all reminding them of drinking an American rye. Could music save their mortal souls from sandalwood and gingerbread laced with aniseed? Rock n’ roll, it packed a punch of fiery spice. The lonely teenage broncin’ buck was tempered a little with water, with hints of far off dampened downbushfire smouldering in the distance. The final air was sweet perfume and cold creamy coffee and orange zest on the day the music died.