unveil

rocknroll mystic in mixdown mixup
i unplugged with a huge crash
i slashed at the chords like i was trying to get free
waiting only for my boots to be healed and wondering
i appeared on tv shows in the ninety sixties
rocking in black n white behind the scenes at airports
like a red carpet leopard messiah
a flash of solid chrome and there i go
i conjure up the spirit of rocknroll from some stygian pit
it slumps at the controls knocked out by pink radiation
because rock is freedom and freedom is so sweet
and i wanna be free
free at last
free to be me
free like the distant mountains
i turn to my guitar
i strap it on with my phantom limbs
i cruise onstage with my gang o' ghosts
we knock out some heavenly racket under hellish conditions
we filter the thumbnails
we decode the mysterious vedas
we vogue vaguely
we rock to the eastern edge
we sway too close to the sun
we get so drunk and we burn up upon readmission
i sing up a storm and i veto the vacuum
i straddle my cut up drums and i beat outta time
i bash at the kit
the cymbals scream in my ears
the hats sizzle unbearably
the bass drum explodes in my guts
the snare shoots my head with yellow light
i stumble round the toms like an intoxicanto
man i mumble me words like a jumbled crumble
crotchets n quavers come flying past
on the tour bus in some murky reverie
a proto -me rides into dallas
laughing like a lunatic
because ive flattened some 7ths
the golden age of rocknroll will never die
my blisters are working on their solo album
my sore throat sounds good after a good shriek
my silver tonsils lie still beating in the doctor/priest/critics hand
ive gone mad
ive been rediscovered
ive been insulted and unsalted and uninsulated too
i chuck some words into the empty bars
strap on my headphones
which blasts pasts i never lived
your good with words says some mute thing
i pound in my pond with my fond wand fondling the fifths
i'm a frogman underwater with my rubbery bass
my surf guitar is all fractions and free
dont tell me how to rock
i was rocking on the steppes during the ice age
i played electric guitar before the big banger banged his gong
i was born to die and my rock turn to dust
in my brief candle flare
i seize my trusty axe
i turn up my amp to 13
i bestride the stage like a behemoth
the sound starts up and we advance
across poland across russia
we crush audiences underfoot
we swing into santa fe
and i get shot in the side
we blow up the marshall and we hit the horizon
in helsinki i harpoon the moon
in march i walk under the arch
in summertime
i sit by the ocean sifting sand
and the mermaids go ooh ooh in the warm evening air
i sit alone in a fibro shack drinking black tea
unrecognizable even to himself
the radio comes on
judy in disguise with diamonds
oh man its its its....the name eludes me
jehovah plays guitar and jams with krishnas flute
jesus plays his sunburst jazz n he smokes his sundried jazz
his panther growls
and judas picks up the sax
the vikings arrive roaring a slade song
the romans are singing boom boom boom lets go up to my room
the greeks are singing dont cry for me alexander
alexander says great...just great
the vandals n the huns...well you know about them, dont ya
in nineveh theyre singing ...nineveh, natch
in babylon theyre singing some velvet morning when i wake
in judea theyre singing are you ready for the country
in jericho theyre singing but no horns please
music must be powerful says joshua
i'm comfortably numb says rog a'waters
on a trip to cirrus minor
pompeii rocks too
rocks too hard for its own good
some new act called Volcano blew the roof off that town
the new single "i need a lava " is hot
atlantis has sunk down the charts
here we go
the ancient world
man how they rocked
you know they did
cos i was there
and i tell you
verily baby people have always rocked
the moor on his camel
the hussar on his whore
the barbarian on his rampage
the ju ju on his pilgrimage
the hoodoo voodoo mu mu deep in the jingling jungle
what the fuck!
god gave rock n roll to adam n eve in the garden of gilgamesh
he said rock shall be thy flesh
he trembled for a moment n unleashed a distorted am 7 chord
the band started up
the credits begin to roll
the producers sigh with relief
the japanese investors are unsure still
the limo departs and joe rockstar snorts some coke
n fondles his porn star chica
the cops load their guns
the crims swarm outta the underworld
the ladies of the night swoon
the earth erupts in rhythmic blues
we chop down the last quarter acre of rainforest
we look up at the calendar its dec 21 2012
well well
five minutes more to go
might as well rock then
might as well rock

what is a song?

someone asked once and your humble modest genius was stumped
we take this idea of a song so for granted
we are immersed in song from the moment we open our ears to hear
lullabyes and hymns and torch songs and school songs
and jazzy songs and songs of love and hate
and singsongs and campfire songs
and elegies and happy birthday to you
and baby babu baby , i'm a'gonna ramble
and dance songs n pop songs
and album songs and demo songs
and covers of songs and rough mixes of songs
and jingles and singles and hits and flops n
top of the fucking pops
look a song is the most free concept going
almost anything can be a song
just some words and a melody
you got a song
the early gods of rocknroll who lived in the mythical sixties
discovered that
electric guitar n bass n drums could turn yer song into...?
uh huh
you could hammer home your song now
it could howl n grunt n squeal n whisper
and the amazing beatleboys lifted the lid
on the whole can of worms and suddenly
songs were eternally liberated
now ANYTHING could be a song
and songs were ready to go to new places
and some of these places
you could only get into with the right song
but still what is a song
what IS a song?
what is a SONG?
a song doesnt have to tell the truth
a song has no fixed length
a song can be complicated or simple
a song does not have to make sense
a song has no past or future
a song .....
still the fact remains
a song does something...if you like it...
a song is like a little bit of magic
and its an art n a craft to learn to do it
i jump on garage band
i use the stuff on there
anything can be a song
so i start with anything
anything at all
(trust in the process!)
whatever you start with
will be as good as anything else
so start with anything (good)
you keep fiddling round with it
see what they got
guess n jiggle it a bit
use yer instinct
words come down the pipeline from the inchoate void
boy my songs are easy to write
i want them to be
i dont wanna slave over something
thats not in my nature
mosta my songs are written quicker than you could believe
in little chunks at a time
i assemble them
everything i do sounds pretty good
so i do everything
but what is a song
i dunno
at some stage
some ingredient is added
my idea turns into a song
a song capable of summoning memories from strangers minds
my songs let you know that theres more to life
even tho theyre so simple
and you feel.....AFFINITY
yes
affinty
you feel connected
the song says something
you dont know what it is
i dont know what it is (beyond some obvious meanings)
but a songs obvious meanings are often not its important meanings
i load my songs with significance
sometimes with even less words
with even simpler words than before
a certain turn of phrase
a certain piano note
a random sound or combination or inter reaction
or an over or undertone
significance
a simultaneous feeling of happiness n sadness
observe yourself listening to your favourite songs
whats going on in your mind
as you extract your pleasure from it
and so i sit here in 2009
a confused n slightly strange old maestro
a veteran in the songwriting stakes
written a million songs
most of em pretty damn fine too
yeah yeah a few turkeys
who hasnt?
anyhow
i sit here
i got garage band
its like a toy
its sounds like a toy a little
i kinda like it
the songs sound good too
pumping outta a big stereo
i whip these songs up in a few hours
i follow my instincts
and they always bark up the right tree
woof woof
and i get addicted to creating
and im on quite a roll at the mo
n im painting n creating n fiddling about
i try to master these 2 new things imovie n garage band
i still dont know how everythings done yet
but you can see how the creative process can be applied to
any artistic endeavour
if only you can find your in
the in seems so bleeding obvious to me
but i remember a maths tutor i had
it all seemed so bleeding obvious to him
but i was kilbey-wildered
my friend jwh from fab group hu-dost
has sent me an alex grey book
and several of his paintings and rants in the book
refer to the deep master buried within us
my deep master is orchestrating things for me
he auditions the sounds
he checks the colours
i lift up a pastel
the old master shakes his head
i pick up another
he suddenly smiles n nods
i listen to the type of reverb on the piano
the old master frowns n grins nods n shakes his head
he knows intuitively what will work
how to awaken the old deep master
yes you
i believe
even you
whoever you are
you just never gave yourself a chance
other people or yourself
they told ya
couldnt paint
couldnt sing
couldnt play
couldnt write
couldnt act
couldnt whatever
but you see
your old deep master needs to be awakened by practice
thats it
he'll see you struggling
to write a song
and he'll whisper in your heart
do this or do that
and you gotta tune in to that
and trust it
you need not be a musician to use garage band
its done a lotta work for you
same with imovie
look no technique necessary
do you have imagination?
its ok if you dont
thats what you can pay me for then
because the only thing i can do
is to imagine
everything i deal in is imaginary
so i write these things
i combine the same elements over n over n over
somehow turning into songs
i manipulate the emotions with combinations
the songs become a 3 D construct
some become almost solid
under the milky way is now a solid song
it exists in peoples head like postcard they once saw
with a recombination of words n notes n sounds
that song became solid gold
it walked out of the imagination
into peoples lives
it was a medium song
a slightly subtle song
about everything n nothing
like they all are
just like our very lives themselves
everything in nothing
and nothing in the midst of everything
my songs are still about the time n the distance
and i still dont know what a song is
strange, eh?

mansuit

joy dust

the ancient world

produced and directed by the time being
for time being productions/ in spades
please subscribe!

the floyd

in 1972
at a somewhat late stage of the game
i bought my first pink floyd record
it was their latest "obscured by clouds"
i bought it cos i liked the title so much
i had somehow avoided the floyd up until then
it wasnt hard pre dark side of the moon
the floyd werent on any charts
they werent very visible at all
anyway in some void between marc bolan and david bowie
i bought all the moody blues records
and i was always looking for a new band to get "into"
i had been "into"
chicago
joe cockers mad dogs n englishmen
king crimson
rod stewart n (small) faces
the stones
simon n garfucknuckle
hawkwind
and i guess i finally got around to the floyd
one sunny afternoon i took a bus into civic
and i bloody well bought obscured by clouds
i had read some reviews of it which intrigued me
no one quite knew what to make of the floyd in those days
before dark side of the moon
but anyway my dad had a stereo in the garage
up the back of the 2 car garage was a bar and a stereo
other kids were amazed at all the booze there
no one in my family drank...not my dad or mum or me
so it all just sat there
like a medium well stocked nightclub
there was all these weird liquors n oh god
almost any weird drink you could think of...
why did my dad have all that...?
he just decided he wanted a bar in the garage so he went for it
anyway i sat there in the sunshining in
through the back window
and i chucked the floyd on
and pretty much fell in love
with this easy to like record
it was quite....ordinary...in a way
it was soundtrack to a film "la vallee"
an ok film
(i saw it at the cinema in canberra)
i liked the lush instrumentation n whispery singers
at this stage rog waters hadnt overpowered the others
and the record was kinda breezy
some of it was downright rocknroll
some of it was lush n exquisite
i remember lying there listening to it
and thinking great!
i'm gonna buy all their records now
i started next with umma gumma
a half live half solo studio record
the live stuff was amazing
i imagined whole space journeys in my head
the lyrics intrigued me
set the controls for the heart of the sun...yeah!
i loved it!
the studio stuff i rarely played
i only liked waters grantchester meadows really
the others were too oblique or something
next i got the soundtrack to the film "more"
containing one of my fave floyd pieces ever "cirrus minor"
which starts out pastoral and then reaches out into glittering space
i loved "more' and i loved all the weird quirky instrumentals n stuff
after that i got meddle
wow
dont the fucking floyd look totally cool in the middle spread
rog in his black t shirt eternally
rick wright looks tanned n handsome
gilmour looks cool n even nick mason too
fuck i loved meddle
i loved the songs on side one
i loved the piece that took up side 2 "echoes"
i loved the way the 3 singers melded their voices together
in that whispery way
what a great mysterious record it was to me
ditto atom heart mother
the same kind of thing
very lush very english
i was definitely "into" the floyd
then came saucerful of secrets which was a bit superfluous
except for the truly groovy "let there be more light"
i got piper at the gates of dawn eventually
but having got into the floyd backwards
i was never that enamoured with it
i didnt really like syd barret all that much (heresy!)
tho i liked him better on the madcap laughs
which i listened to a lot
when marty was in all about eve
dave gilmour did a guitar solo on a song
gilmour said he had seen the churches first show in london
and was immediately struck by the resemblance
between syd and your humble scribe
(wow!)
anyway i got all the odds n ends
including relics which had some great stuff not on anything else
and rogs music from the body
(which had another song called "breathe" on it)
and a floyd bootleg called omayyad
which had "the embryo" on it
as well as a rick wright organ piece called "oenone"
(which i wrongly thought was the name of a gas!?)
(and which i later nicked for myself!)
i had zabriskie point where the floyd changed an old song
into another new one {careful with that axe eugene}...
then it happened
dark side of the moon i mean
i drove 500 miles to melbourne n i bought it on import
the other records i bought on import in melbourne
at archie n jugheads import record shop were
in deep by argent
lord of the rings by bo hansson
badger by badger
flash and the second flash album by flash (pete banks ex yes)
colosseums daughter of time
and a few others i can no longer remember (thats sad)
i got home
and well i liked it
i loved it
this was before all the hype had hit
it was just another floyd record to me
but then that thing happened
it became this n that
and everyone was talking about the floyd
after that i dunno why
i started to lose interest
rog took over too much n i missed the others balance
wish you were here was good tho
but i was no longer "into" em
animals i bought but i never enjoyed
it was kinda bitter or something
i liked the old floyd
the whispery stuff
now there was too much rog completely
then the wall
i like one track comfortably numb
i hate all that we dont need no education tripe
i hated the movie
final cut was bleak
too much
i switched off
gilmours first solo album superb
rogs were hopeless rubbish
i liked bits of ricks wet dream ...(mr humphries indeed)
all the rest no longer interested me
all the rog-less floyd had no raison d'etre
rog without the floyd was awful
so when people say to me
do you like pink floyd
i never know what to answer...
uh yes
uh kinda
not really
it depends
i like the middle period
post syd pre dark side
yeah

gethsemene

apparition

my creative hubris

i have to laugh again
at the things bandied around on these pages
the things i write n do
and some of my dear precious commenters stuff
i love to make music
i love to write songs
why songs fly into my mind almost unbidden
music is like in my blood in my genes in my jeans in my fingers
life has shaped me thus
no carpenter
no doctor
no candlestick maker
was i
or can i ever be
i must create
even if no one listens
i did before
i will again
so be it!
i have stood before you all
in all honesty
my blog has turned into a circus
where i try to tame myself
and i let the clowns n villains run free
being partially both of these things myself
yes i am a clown
a clown ...did he make you scared
these songs i throw down on here.....
small gifts for you
simple things a master tosses off
(mr humphries!)
easy happy songs
short and sweet
no great shakes
except
oooh i know theyre good
theyre catchy and jesus
now marc bolans gone
who else is gonna write these songs
take em or fuckin' leave em
theyre there for free
if you like em a real lot you can show your 'preciation
...thats getting paid for what i do...thats not begging by the way
when you donate money
you subscribe to this journal n my life
and you all subsidize the long hours i put into it
the songs n vids took hours n hours n hours
i'm just exploring i-movie n garage band
and i offer you a chance to view my modest experiments
ive done big budget
ive done small budget
ive done the opening of the games
to being ignored in some empty dive in wollongong
ive given you mystery
ive given you glamour
ive given you all that noir stuff in spades
now at the ripe old age of 55 years
i sit at home n tinker with stuff
the church are beginning up soon
i have some respite now
i spend time with my little familiar s k
shes in on stuff i do
asking questions
she becomes part of the scene
imagine this
i am an old geezer
relaxing at home ...a well earned rest
but i burn up with ideas
and i paint n compose n i write stuff n i make up jokes
and i love the new technology that allows me instant gratification
i hate explaining my creative plans to people
this way i just knock it out direct from the source
i am 55
beyond your map of cool n uncool
i wear my shorts cos i live at the beach
i am an eccentric 55 year old beachcomber
who happens to also be a good songwriter
n pretty good at a few other things
ive done my time in the frontline wherever that was
now if you dig what i do
i have many outlets
ranging from the church which aims at being professional i guess
down to my blog
which is my sketchbook if you will
if you want mystery here it is
aint it a mystery to you how i can continue to do it all..?
well
i got this fuckin' fire burning on n urging me to keep going
you might see me in a tux singing dark cabaret
you might see me wielding my bass with my band
you might see me poncing about on my little vids...is he having a laugh?
is he having a laugh?
and now i'm so old
i'm five years off sixty
i'm old
I'M OLD!
dont you see....
the compensation of being old is
i reckon
i can do what i like
i just got five barrel loads of kudos for u#23
i had an exhibition in pittsburgh n i sold six paintings
i collaborated with him n him n them
and i did this n that
wineries
festivals
guest singing
blah blah blah
it is hilarious to me
to see people pontificating
if i should get a real job
a real job
worrying themselves on my behalf
and my financial stability (none!)
but i'm still here
and i aint retiring cos some small bunch of unnamed punters
rudely and stupidly start discussing this idea
no...i aint gonna stop
no...i aint gonna listen
no.....i am complete n completely mad
and i lay my songs on my fans out of love
as always
these songs can only be written by someone in love with music like me
understanding my terrain
i successfully negotiate minefields of resistance to bring you my offerings
naysayers n tiredness n deafness n blindness n oldness get me down
i create because i create because i create
a true journeyman
a man for all seasons ive shown you ice
now heres warmth
i showed you black....now heres white...
...whatever....

i cant be bound to any old bodys idea of who i am
otherwise i never wooda got started in the 1st place
it is not in my nature to "grow up"
i will twirl if i want to
(hope you can twirl at 55 too ha ha)
(i bet you cant!)
i cant get a job
and i cant go to school
the carping ninnies say
the killers a fool...
i have eight hundred readers a day
you can check the stats yerselves
count to eight hundred in yer head slowly
each time imagining a person somewhere in the world
reading or watching my blog
coming back day after day
because
i dunno
maybe i dunno what i'm doing
it doesnt matter
run off to your frosty idol
the years went past left me stranded here
old n having squandered many opportunities
still i have an unbridled passion for creating things
that only i can create
oh i wood love mainstream success
oh i would love money
oh i would love to live forever as well
however
i do what i like n unparadoxically
i like what i do
no one else can do it
youre seeing the intersection of age n experience
crossed with the raw brutal energy
with which i have attacked all art
against the zeigeist
against the times
against the odds
against the "straights"
against the man in the street
dig it you must
you must dig what i do or switch off
i get it wrong
but my wrong is most peoples right
your right to switch off
i dont ask any to stay if they had enough
enough is enough is enuff, right?
who needs more than enough?
if this is where our ways part
good luck
thanks for everything
so long amigo see you soon huh
to hang about now is churlish
surely
the snipers in the very act of sniping
have deemed themselves cowards
jealous envious bored cowards
sniping in the void
trying to wound me
i say it again
i suffer you in all humility
like i suffer thorns or i suffer from my deafness
things cant be all dancing on clouds
and i understand life needs its obstacles and hurdles
its pests n inconveniences
hence n thus
you have been delivered unto me
pretending to be friends
pretending to be strangers
pretending to be pretending
you are but shadows of mockery
no one will remember you
you arent moving any mountains
you are not seeing any visions
just an aphorism for every occasion
meanwhile
i master the english language and shape it to myself
i write a sentence n you can tell its me
i strum a chord
i pluck a bass
you hear my voice
i chuck on some paint
i write down the words
i edit up the film
i inject myself into it all
i push n push n push
can you even understand
how my idiot/savant-hood wracks me
on its ever burning churning fountain of raw ideas
it cannot be turned off until i die
and oh i will regret losing all this experience
the way only i can handle sound n colour n words
the last fucking renaissance man standing: go on have a laugh
will the real steve kilbey please contact me?
no
i will continue
i will improve
i will confuse myself with my genius and my idiot
i cant get em apart......can you?

16th september

it all happened so fast

i was standing in a guitar shop in queanbeyan with my dad
he said do you see anything you like here, slim
i looked around and the guy brought over this huge red guitar
its a rhythm guitar he said rather foolishly
no dad i said
i want a bass i said
we walked outside n dad was gone
i get on board a bus that drives through the pleasant evenings
down some stairs i go
a whole bunch of guys standing round smoking cigarettes
long hair and impatience
blasting loud guitars
cymbals crashing like white lightning
i light up a peter stuyvo
i drink my chocolate milk
i scream into a mike
i blister my fingers on the bass thats never loud enough
i drive up to sydney n stay at the squire inn in bondi junction
i do a residency at some now defunct joint that now does massages
we carry the gear in
we plug in all the leads
we argue
we smoke
we meet some stupid bigshot whos checking us out
i reckon he wont like us so i'm super-rude
we play awfully
things feedback
someones angry at me
i walk out into a cold morning back in canberra
stripped of band n everything
i fiddle with a tape recorder in a bedroom in rivett
i sit crosslegged on the floor
i got my bass n my e guitar n my a guitar
i got my drum machine n my synthesizer
i got my flange pedal n my distortion pedal
i got my little mixing desk
i got my stack of coloured leads
i got my mike n my stand
i got my exercise books full of words n poems n notes
and i begin
4 years later
i wake up in sydney rozelle
i got this terrace house with black walls n red carpets
i got a load of people hanging around
russell sits at a table eating cornflakes
the music is pounding
people smoking hash bongs n spilling stuff on my carpet
i go off on a tour
everything goes hazy at the edges
we tour the gold coast in summer listening to pet sounds
we get on a plane n fly to england
we stay in a crazy place with a spiral staircase to the roof
we play a gig in london n 2000 people show up
we play pretty awfully but they love it
ploog n i cruise the streets buying clothes n records n dope
we eat hash n go for goofy walks in hyde park
trying to relive a scene out of some beatles movie
we play before duran durank
and i quit
i mean
it was a serious joke
we come home
eventually
achieving little
and we go round n round aust for 4 years
round the mull-berry bush
we check in we check out
we sound check
we have fights with each other
we write songs n we forget chords
we bicker n squabble n wobble n snicker
we bitch n we moan n we goof off
we play great shows n we balls up others
we think we're pretty good
n we dont like the provinces
we go in recording studios
n we argue n work n whisper n get out
i fight with everyone ALL the time
no one sees it my way ever
and i have to convince em somehow
sometimes i lose heart n go with the path of least resistance
the years fall off the calendar
i wake up in some american town n jump on a bus
we play every night we drive everyday
i feel the world closing in on me
i cant remember who i was
i lose the plot
suddenly i dont care
i let go of the rains
i buy a you-beaut sampler n make "remindlessness"
its clunky n awkward but its where i'm at
i do it my way n i dont have to argue
next thin i know
i gotta studio n a habit n a house in surry hills
n i'm falling asleep on the couch again
or arguing with someone on the phone
or slipping upstairs for a production meeting
or i'm playing my piano behind the glass
boy hanging out for the gear is not conducive for music
grant comes over
we walk around strumming guitars for days
i eat n smoke dope
grant drinks red wine n smokes cigs
we write songs that are so great we immediately forget em
next thing i know
grants moved to qld
and im on tour with marty strumming a guild 12
n then petes back n tim walks in
and i move away
i live in some apartment where its so cosy
but i'm cold inside and i'm frightened to thaw out
i do some ragged gigs on my own
marty n i play sometimes
then i'm in delaware making dabble
n the monkeys jumped off my back
and then i'm in bondi
and we do a song called sealine
and we do a song called block
and we do a tour somewhere
i and i get a blog
and i do a painting
and i sit here
on a warm spring night
listening to the birds n the children
lucky i guess
a song in spades
yes
thats for sure

changeling

k/k melb

k/k came n played at the toff in melb
it was very good gig indeed
we were helped out by graham lee on pedal steel
n
michael evans-barker on percussion
it was dreamy singing the songs
i sang em a bit like a stranger
a drifter
a singer who sings in smoky clubs from the fifties
a riverboat gambler
a german engineer from the future
some cabaret star from the czech republic
an eccentric genius
a broken down fool
champagne and novocaine
waiting in some bar on some rainy morning
a holiday in a hotel you'll never have the time back again
singer tries to impose will on time
that sweet sad distant music
the pedal steel coming up the line
like flesh the songs take on thicker ghosts
the pedal steel renders all slightly melancholy
down to earth sadness
like going broke or getting sick
or getting your poor babys heart broken
for almost the very very first time
k/k miss the train
and sit and the empty cafe
whiling the lazy silent days away
the piano drifts in and out of consciousness
phantom trumpets blow me down in a club in another zip
them old shuffling drums brushes the paint on the sound
the whirrs of tiny machineries
the click of the high hat tick tick tick tock tick
i sink into the couch in a foreign motel
i sip a martini n watch the tv in some strange tongue
eyes appear on the curtains
k/k cruise along a midnight moonlight higher inway
down in cannes or cairns or in the cans
you can hear that lonesome whistle
blowing cross the trestle oooeee
wow under the tuxedo moon
i was steve bennett at last
(and well i could have been)
steve bennett is an aging lounge lizard singer
who used to be a spy or a pop star
(once upon a time)
now he lives in a parallel universe or 2 or 3
where the cellos are slightly drunk
and the woodwinds are all breezy and cheeky
and french girl singers with berets n everything
and there is no other time but the wee small hours
they go on n on forever
in this middle aged hell
of the aching lothario
his catalogue of weariness and disappointments
still the martinis come
still the jazz cigarettes
still all commissions he pays to terence silk
k/k push the buttons and the a/c comes on
in a metallic droney chord
the female vox coo somewhere
the circling flurries of bird noises
i pick up my mike
oh god so sad
so weary
but i manage to smile
past my cigarette
past my going on time
past my las vegas bris vegas new melbourne carry on
i still look alright in a suit (from a distance)
my voice is a bit gruff and outta tune
hey philistines thats called life i remind meself
and i sing my songs
cabaret apocalyptique says the sign
my friend k doesnt say much
hes the sensible one driving down the autobahn
wired on heat tablets and extracts of angelfruit
he zooms past rustic villages
he echoes down halls of telegraph lyres
he accelerates in the sonic patterns of his screen
his dash is illuminated
we watch his eyes as he adjusts the mixtures
he calculates a trajectory
he has never met the singer
until now
as the singer starts his song
and the radio plays on
and oh my melancholy baby
lying by the fireside weeping into the night
the snow on the ground
the sand at the beach
the neon in town
the rain across the windscreen
the sad old bass
the simple shapes
the blurs the slurs the slides the stops
k/k in melb
oh yes that
that
was most enjoyable

a jam

adam jam the president of music
summoned a brand new bag
oh those cool be-bop cats playing on
the melodiotron
laying down some deep groove
high in the small hours
in some basement kingdom
all lit up with little LEDs
twang twang twang goes old bass moan
rumble rumble bang bang
the drummed wires half in time
slipping in some strange stuff
takes me back to mixolotyl
and the ancient electric prophesy
and the ripped up strings that were coiled down
and we listened so much we wore silver strips off the sound
and adam jam compressed all the sugary singer
for in truth
the lambless jam was who i am
and we plucked our fluted liars
and god helped the triers
with hoods n friars
we blew up the horn
we called upon the yet unborn
adam jam unto himself
speaks to you now:
the samples of myself
i freely give away for a price
i sing this song
unmastered as it is
the machines are there
the possibility doth exist
drag summer into your head
your guitar gently sleeps
yet you wake upon some treble cliff
strung out between the pearl inlaid necks
looking for a bridge looking for a newline
the moon is singing something
every song that ever was
every dream you ever really dreamed
every sweet n kind dream soft as theme
oh its a wonderful wild music week
and the how the beat has turned on me
and how the key eludes me in spades
yeah adam jam
president of sound
island bound
howl like a hell hound
looping round n round
let all notes be free
let the pianos feed upon the raw audience
let the violins rule the mob
let the bloody trumpet shriek in victory
ah men

method man versus cool hand rant

i gotta method
i always hadda method
right from the first time
i wrote my first poem for
the lyneham high school magazine
between the lynes 1970

everyone said to me oh you should write a poem for the mag
ok
i sat down
and i wrote the first line
it came to me unbidden
in its complete form
(despite impossibility infinity has been reached)
i didnt know what it meant
but i knew it was the beginning
the mag came out
everyone LOVED my poem
they all saw different things in it
they all saw my sinister half meanings n ambiguities
that i had accidentally n randomly thrown in there

i knew i was on to some thing
onto something
and then when i got my 4 track machine in 1977
it all become obvious
there is a method to raw creativity
there is an in
as i said
everybody got their own in
my in
was
to perceive the creative process
as
just that
a process
a process to be duly followed
into which
you throw
influences
mistakes
random flux
info n disinformation
memory
dream
hi jacked fact n nicked fiction
religion
collective subconscious
technique
lack of technique
but
nonetheless
the process is a process
it is not a miracle
it may be a series of tiny leaps of faith
but it is not one huge miracle (usually!)
so if youre a poet
let it begin with a blank page or screen
if youre a musician with your record button ready to go
as a painter you have your board or paper prepared
it doesnt matter
as a film maker you have all the disparate bits
and then you START
thats right
how obvious kilbey
you start
you start with something
and you stick at it
you start with something small
and you trust in the process
that the line will grow into a poem
the first click will turn into a song
etc
and then you manipulate it
use all your tricks
explore technology
stretch the system to its limit
do whats comfortable
talk about what you know
or what you dont know
i dont know
its easy
like picking foxes from a tree
its gotta look n sound easy
dont frown over it its fun boy
my method wrote song after song for me
i work with people but they cant really use it themselves
they aint got the tiny leaps of faith
like a true artist i can quickly identify n manipulate
elements within the process
like a cake isnt just the ingredients
its the cooking
you gotta experiment with the process
itll always yield something
you can start anywhere
a vague idea n your away
copy something to start with
then bury it in the background when the time comes
just start
just believe
just be yourself
dont talk yourself out of it
dont hesitate all the bloody time
dont question fate or good luck if they come yer way
tune in to your inner marc bolan
he worked miracles with simple techniques
and juxtaposition of themes
the song i wrote yesterday was very marc bolan
at its root
its ok to allude to him but not too much
go as close as you can
but dont directly imitate
i always felt rocknroll was the right medium
to express my biblical aspirations
to recreate the feeling of some ancient city
rome....very rocknroll
nineveh too
lemuria is more chill out ambient
england is forever in the summer of love in my mind
america is brutal like iggy
and its soft like the beach boys
and its wiry like bob dylan
and its smooth like the byrds
and australia is the triffs n the go bes
and the twilight zone is the church
because our songs are sposed to be mostly spooky
or strangely sad
or strangely sad/strangely triumphant
and i created me own tiny little genre
and now cats sit around n try n write songs like me
and they rarely can or do
hardly anyone can even do a good cover version of old utmw
because i dont know
it seems obvious to me to leave that song alone
voice in another room : take your own advice!
anyway
you start with your tiny thing
n you build n build
like you build a house
like you build a plastic model
like you build a bridge
i can write a song from any chords
the chords dont matter
forget your fancy chords
forget your fancy words
get simple
master simple
master short
master brevity
master getting out n still leaving em wanting more
listen / look for the possibility in the minutest things
examine everything you come across
suffer the slings n arrows of criticism
i print most of the good n bad comments
to show you it aint all rosy
of course my carping critics have become obsessed with me
they cant stop reading/watching
and they have become addicted to their negative gearing
i throw up an ingenious little song
they throw up more tedious bile
it is a phenomenon for sure
and it should be considered
when some
'friend" tells ya what you do is iffy
so have some confidence n take heart
open up your garage band
and know theres a song in there waiting for you
start off unambitious
my song yesterday had a one note bass line
but did you think about that?
leave space or get dense
vary the two
get real dense if you wanna
make up the words
thats right make em up
the way i make em up
you just...make em up
you just say...fuck it...i'm gonna make some words up
5 minutes later you should have yer myrrh or yer block
or yer whatever
it dont take long
singalong
some words'll come out ..you'll see
thats what grant did
he just opened up his mouth n sang
n whatever he sang was usually it
and let it contain enough ambiguity
so someone else can get inside it n grok it
or make it totally impenetrable
make it a wall or a sieve
make it a screen or a salvo
manipulate the tiny elements a bit more
new technology allows for this like never before
dont listen to people who
say you cant do anything good on what you got
if you cant get a decent tune outta garage band
go n give up
or
refamiliarize yourself with the method
the method always delivers
as long s you follow the process
start with something
continue with something
give it some heart
give it some history
give it some mystery
keep it simple
keep it sweet
thats it
instant sk on a styx
i do it the same as i always did
my method with its process
i dunno if i can explain it anymore than that
id have to give demonstrations to show you
and still
the leaps of faith would remain invisible
i work on hints n hunches
songs hang in the air as fragile as smoke
someones ill timed words can dispel them
good god
i been writing songs since i was 15
thats nearly 4o years soon
still the process rules
still i believe
now i'm fast so fast
too fast for you
i instantly hear n see n know
but you gotta stick at it
stick stick stick
guess what?
i still love it
i love writing songs
i love the immediacy of garage band n the net
i love that i write n record n video it in a few hours
its up
n very kind people have subscribed overnight
in the old days that may have been a 2 year process
i never been much into hi fi or lo fi
however it comes out
i'll make it sound good somehow
thank you to all my listeners
thank you even to the pests who haunt these pages
with their tedious tripe
your hatred surely borders on love
and yet
youre still here...why? we ask...why?
because...is it...
i am everything at once
ha ha
its funny
how i can be so much
and
so little
so rich so poor
so old yet...younger than most of you kids in deed n thought
and i knock out more good stuff
i am tireless n moving into the future
breaking the rules about getting soft
my stuff is cool
i know its cool
because i am an arbiter of cool
and yesterdays song
by my own standards was cool
cool as hell
and all because of my method
now
for your secret mantra to unlock all creativity
you'll have to stay tuned
and all will be revealed
or
maybe not.....

nineveh

i did this today on garage band and i movie
if you like this
and you want to see more
please subscribe
if you can

musical shares

black velvet inside a silver guitar case
black label whisky
black clothes
grey eyes
on planes
off planes
signing a big big deal
smile off camera
the rip chord
a stab in the darkness
the boys with their quiffs n sideburns
the girl with the tattoo on her ass
the powder comes toppling out of the envelope
the money changes hands
the call is made
the drums feed back
the monitors are overpowering
i feel sick
the pressure builds up
i caress my fucking instrument blindly
in the wings
in the pit
in the shadows
the intro tape goes on
the hotel keys fall out of someones pocket
smoke and mirrors
little showbiz routines
the crash/ride the 4/4 the thud thud thud
unbelievably loud
like machinery shrieking
like an earthshaker
like a skyskraper
wobbling down the isle at 2 am
falling asleep wide awake in your seat
the internet falters
the memories of magnetic heaven
the bass strings me along a while
i travel down the lines
i sing between the phases
i search my head for the words
i fall hoarsely
i get shocked by the charge
i snort contempt
i sweat buckets of ink
there must be a lotta people out there
but the cymbals have blinded me
the blood congeals in the dead songs
we wade through a lake of backing vox
all retuned and chopped about
edit snap edit snap
i delete information ruthlessly
the tiny crystals burn my stars
fuck i'd love to....
alignment in unspeakable delight
sweet saltiness
strumming down hard on you
on you hollow body
on you shapely neck
run my hands up your white notes
tighten up your octaves
flute your tiny piccolo
sing in tongues baby
the machine will remember your moves
the amp needs more grunt
the distortion is leaking beyond the music
the thunder us down of the big bass drum
the wretched screech of the fiddle
the grind down of the organ
i cant agree with anything
we argue over the set
the lights come up
the curtains have left the building
the rats gnaw on
the wires short out
the power arcs up
kaboom
crash
wallop
bang!
i lie there in the dreamless black
black keys
black shoes
black horizon
is that enough ? someone asks
yeah...i say
thats enough

something i whipped up for ya today

hit record hit

once upon a time recording something was hard work
when frank sinatra recorded only the lonely
that stuff is all one take
no overdubbing
all down/done in one go
wow
all that stuff
those little trills n fills
all in one go
sometime later
someone invented overdubbing
wow

another day another song

keep on rockin' in the three worlds

i decided sometime in 1969
that i wanted to play the bass guitar
something just gave me a great big hunch
that thats what i was supposed to do
its like a feeling
its like a calling
its like discovering something that makes you very excited
a bunch of kids fantasized about getting a band together
we planned our record covers n everything
in 1970 i nagged my dad into buying me a bass guitar
it cost 80 dollars and it was a violin shaped
my dad made an amp for me out of an old p.a. system he'd come across
playing a bass was nothing like i thought
it was hard yakka
i tried to figure out bass parts in other peoples songs
little green bag by the george baker selection
yeah thats my first riff right there
i played it in A
which meant i only had to use one finger
this lesson of the easy one finger lick was not lost on me
after that i figured out 25 or 6 to 4 by chicago
over and over n over until the "oldies" begged me to stop
some rellies came over and requested a performance
on stevens new electric guitar
i got my bass out n played them my grab bag of licks
by now i'd added yellow river by christie
and some led zepp stuff
my rellies were completely underwhelmed
my uncle bought me a jose feliciano record
and said
thats how a guitar should sound!
i pressed on regardless
i jammed with other novice guitarists n drummers
and we kinda figured it out together
we played rock round the clock for hours
i hated it!
but i wanted to learn
one afternoon
a very cool guy called ben
with red hair came over
and in 1 hour flat
he showed me scales, slides, slurs and bends
and the inside scoop on how paul mccartney played
applying this knowledge
i found myself improved by leaps and bounds
i began to sing and play bass
because no other fool would sing my silly words
playing n singing at the same time is hard at first
how do you do it?
practice
time
detachment
now it seems as easy as rolling off a log
i listened hard to the bass guitarists i liked
chris squire from yes blew my tiny mind
he had a new sound
a trebly tremeloey thing
that elevated bass guitar right outta the accepted ballpark
and implied so many possibilities
of what could indeed be done
strangely enough
soon i discovered i had my own style
it was a lazy easy style
it wasnt all uptight and pushy
it wasnt very technically brilliant
but it was my way of doing it
and i liked it
after about a year or 2
i became very comfortable playing the bass
i could never achieve that degree of comfort with a guitar
the bass and i feel joined
i feel at home
i feel like ive kicked my shoes off and i'm safe
anyway
its a lovely instrument
and my current bass is a real rolls royce
even and true
a real luxury to play
rich and deep and resonant
it says things that other basses cant say
it throws up music other basses could not hear
it has become charged with much mojo over the years
and it sometimes discharges blasts of its reserved power
right up my arm and into my brain
this only happens when the church is rocking hard
of course
but i go into an anaesthetized state
cant feel the weight of it
cant feel gravity at all
my fingers still nimble luckily
they pluck n pluck like fat little hummingbirds
faster than the I can see
and after a long time
you achieve symbiosis with your axe, man
you got a thing going with it
an understanding
it wants to resonate
it wants to deliver
its thirsty for music
it wants to seek the heat n fury of rock
so you strap it on
and you go out there
into the beckoning limelight
you blink under the lights
the crowd check you out
you gotta prove yourself
but you got the rollsroyce bass on your side
like the rifleman had his rifle
you got your fender jazz
and you wait to hear the click of the drumsticks
that counts in the first song
click click click click
youre off and running
you stand back and it all happens
the fingers fly to their positions
they automatically run around the bass
the words come rushing out your mouth
in a solid stream
and me
whoever i am
i just stand back
and i gently guide the
fingers and voice
adding n subtracting bits
trying new innovations
sometimes fucking up n having to correct it
breathing
moving
thinking
relaying
reacting to the others
none of them see it like me
none of them see it like each other
music has a million ins
and all of us got our own in
if you got no in you might as well give up
i cant explain my in to you
i stumbled on it and its non transferrable
i believe if you stumble around long enough
youll find your in
i believe musical ability in the family is a big plus
music seems to run in families
peters dad is a musician
my dad n his mum played the piano
martys brother plays the guitar in cabaret bands
tims son plays guitar in a street light song
craigie our keyboard players mum was a piano teacher
it seems to be in the genes
but its also in the fact
that if you see someone you know doing it
you realize it cant be that damn hard
anyway i was born n destined
to play the bass guitar
the only instrument i am truly proficient on
i try to make my bass parts
interesting
sexy
warm
pulsating
snaky
throbbing
simple
melodic
different

thank you for listening
sk