posted on July 22, 2015 at 11:33 pm
mince trill

mince trill

the mechanistic universe eludes me

i see magic in all good things

i superstitiously give names to objects

i look at the ants and see different personalities within them

i look at rubble and i understand its inherent beauty

a crack in a pavement with a tiny green weed fascinates me

the names that i catch of children you were in love with at school

i believe my god has fixed the planets in their courses

look at that all going exactly to plan

i follow whims

i indulge hunches

i remember tomorrow

then i try to forget tomorrow

i pledge my whole life to music

music that strange flimsy powerful spell

by manipulation of vibrating frequencies

by the arc of a well placed string of words

by the insinuation of an indefinable attitude

by romance by anger by insistence

i stride on a stage somewhere in europe or america

oh look at me in my shiny black shirt with the little black velvet flowers

oh how do i remember all those words all tumbling out in constant streams

some people out there seem to really love the music you making

where am i though?

who am i and why am i doing this and what does all this ritual mean?

i march on stage i pick up my bass and i aim the sound at the audience hoping to slay them

i stupidly think that my electric bass guitar is in cahoots with me

and that it stores and discharges energy

and that it helps me to play itself when its in a good mood

and i think about the sound of my voice floating round the room

and i think about the first day i went to high school

and i thinking about my father and hoping one day to run into him again

and i thinking bout scarlet kilbey and hoping she is happy there at home

and i thinking about hawkwind and big star and sigur ros

and i thinking about mickey finn and greg lake

and i thinking about tony banks and nico at her harmonium

and im thinking bout peter cook as drimble wedge

and i thinking of how fucking cool elektra and miranda come across

and im thinking about the tiny weed in the crack again

and im thinking about that girl i knew in lyonesse

and im thinking of south america and all its magic realism

and im thinking of north america and its great industrial cities

and i’m thinking about how my fingers just know what to do

so my fingers and the bass are taking care of things i guess

some energy flows in from somewhere

where does it come from nobody knows

the performer perhaps feeds off the people

and they willingly give and all are consumed in the white hot passion of the rock spectacle

the performer and the crowd sated and satiated and satisfied

the sheer ear splitting volume

the incredible technological sound effects available

the interweaving sounds of a five man ensemble

creating and implying sounds no one can even understand

poignance is invited

significance is summoned

unsayable things are somehow being said

expressing inexplicable emotion

overcoming all resistance some people the devoted ones hearts will melt

all that equipment

all those years

all that practice and trial and error

all the other shows there ever was and everything you learned

while the songs go flying past

new songs old songs bought song sold songs

any old song will do

we transmute them as lovely arrows and we shoot through you

and i am thinking of a hazy italian summer sky here

and i am thinking of my mother one day at a picnic

and i thinking about a gang of boys riding their bikes through the bush

and i thing about some real fucking rock stars i met

and how some were so cool and some were real fool

and i thinking about a million bills i have to pay

and i thinking about the aztecs and the inca and the mayans and the tupi

and i thinking about sweet hot lemuria were i was once wizard

and i thinking about all the mistakes i made

all those fuckin’ bitter regrets

but then i’m the guy who feels everything everywhere in some muted dimness

my bass is sad too having been chopped down and cut up

nevertheless some vague spirit now permeates the instrument

something with a desire of its own

sometimes it switches off

it is nothing just a lump round my neck and shoulders

othertimes with a crowd being oh so zealous

the instrument responds and sucking in all that mana

it literally sings and it croons its own subtextual tunes

the bass and i recharge each other in a perpetual cycle

the pounding drums the screaming guitars the throbbing bass

the keys accentuate and give new perspectives

the ritual has its forms and its own rituals within rituals

its a game its a performance but its also something different

something you could never explain to someone who did not love rock n roll music

its a refinement an acquired taste

but i’m thinking of the pacific ocean and its delicious water in the southern winter morning

 

 

 

 

 

 

20 Responses to “anterior lope”

  1. etta
    etta | 23 July 2015 at 12:56 am #

    Just overslept through nothing inside not knowing what to think

  2. avatar
    MarlaRobbinson | 23 July 2015 at 3:05 am #

    “and i thinking about hawkwind and big star and sigur ros”

    That is some eclectic therapy right there.

  3. avatar
    matthew | 23 July 2015 at 6:49 am #

    Enjoying immersion in this recent poetry, thanks SK.

  4. avatar
    Chris | 23 July 2015 at 10:52 am #

    I believe that good music is the universal language and the language of heaven…in my experience, it is not mere noise but the highest art form, for it is a new creation each performance inspired by the divine, sung by the spiritual, unites the seekers, and allows for a transcending of the immediate and mundane, and for a movement into the eternal realm where the One dwells. In short, it is worship and divine communion. I had an all encompassing transcendent experience at the Rosemount concert last week that advanced my spiritual life significantly. But then, maybe it’s just ‘something you could never explain to someone who did not love rock n roll music’…

  5. avatar
    Chris | 23 July 2015 at 10:59 am #

    Do you hear harmonics, deeper and higher sounds, complexities in music that others don’t..can’t…sk? Maybe you think we all can hear them…but…

  6. avatar
    Wayno | 23 July 2015 at 2:34 pm #

    I’m a scientist by trade but reductionism only ever gets you so far. You have to concede that there’s some magic out there that makes nature/art/music transcendent and you have to be receptive to, and appreciative of, that magic when you get a little glimpse of it…

    I really enjoyed the recent Bris show. The new tunes sounded really confident, the time on the road since last year has obviously polished the performances. As soon as Vanishing Man started I could hear a swing and a swagger that wasn’t quite there at previous shows I’d seen.

    Your lines about the energy and spirit in the bass remind me of some lyrics about a guitar by Guy Kyser (from one of my other favourite bands, the criminally neglected Thin White Rope) from the start of the song “Wand”:

    “The whites of this wand are culled from a visit to the valley of the bones
    The black staff is carved from tropic wood cut down in summer storms
    As hot and cold air rub together, make lightning in the sky
    So do these distillates of two dark lands conjoin to endow…”

  7. avatar
    Cath | 23 July 2015 at 4:30 pm #

    Mr mince trill
    left his bill
    with the crowd he slayed
    beheld his axen sage
    bass conspired to fill them spires
    a friendly sprite did say
    maybe the quetzal bird
    will whistle rock
    n roll
    and float him over space

    am down my dominant hand 🙁 it hurts like hell so can’t do much but read… no music…typing has me feeling very young, two fingers , a forced rest.:(

    I don’t think you area slayer
    more the soothsayer ?
    slayer no becomes you unless it was the aztec high priest who stole the heart
    and held it beating
    to the gods
    some other time?

  8. avatar
    jeremy_earl | 23 July 2015 at 4:32 pm #

    “I see magic in all good things” is a great way to sum up seeing The Church in Bunbury and Perth. It was such a special treat to see you play close up. What you do is unique, creating what you do from the same basic ingredients that every other rock musician has access to, yet it’s this whole other thing – The Church. Thank you.

  9. avatar
    andy | 23 July 2015 at 5:29 pm #

    STILL got f/d on constant rotation!
    however, I have managed to slip the odd only ones song in here and there just of late…..but it’s tough to do so.
    stevo ‘n I are writing some new stuff!….hope to bore you with it soon.

  10. avatar
    knot | 24 July 2015 at 1:30 am #

    phantom circle in the glass
    “iseult” written on a coca cola bottle
    windows open facing west
    washing up all red dishes
    what falls then sinks with golden fishes

    statue with a lion’s head
    her milk is stone and sand and grit
    ocean fed us morsels from her plate
    cozened by the 1 p.m.

    sun

  11. avatar
    bjjcomerford | 24 July 2015 at 8:52 am #

    Steve’s visionary writing skills and mystifying spirituality combine to make him equally endearing and enigmatic.

  12. avatar
    cheryl | 27 July 2015 at 12:44 am #

    I too am thinking about the cool blue Pacific, the beach @ Bondi, the coastal walk, Tamarama’s cliffs & inviting water. Ando & I planning a return trip in 2016.


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