posted on March 5, 2015 at 1:37 pm
alights on the platform in his usual uniform

alights on the platform
in his usual uniform

this is a tough tour

we sleep on the bus no hotel rooms mostly

its snowing and forlorn in nebraska

(someone cue the boss please)

tim and i walk about and find a starbucks

the cold outside would freeze you quickly

lucky to have our nice warm bus

the shows are going well

i suppose

people disagree about how many new and old songs we should have

everyone has an opinion of course and so they should

i buy some legal products in aspen colorado

seems a civilised way to do things

one did not observe the fall of civilisation because one could buy weed

in fact it seemed like a pretty peaceful town as did denver

the gig in aspen was a bad reaction as far as US audiences go

probably one of the worst we ever had

they were just random skiers going to see whoever was on that night

a few fans but mostly just random punters

next night in denver gig is much bigger and better

outside you step out of theatre into silent swirling snow

someone gave us a mediocre review although she said i was “shamanic”

boy that word gets tossed around a bit

i guess its de rigeur for pop singers to be shamanic so there you go

its better than not being shamanic isn’t it?

who wrote all these rules i wonder?

i sit in back of bus ‘aving a smoke as usual

writing a blog on a lappy

whatever you groovers

i can’t tell anymore if its brilliant or rubbish or meh

any of it

not today anyway anymore

at 2am we shall depart this carpark for the sunny tropicals of Minneapolis

where we have lunchtime radio show

it doesn’t feel very shamanic here in this frosty and foreboding place

a cold dry wind moves across the prairies baby

someone commented oh he always moans about touring

but it affects me…am i allowed to say that?

if anyone thinks this is easy…

its not hard yakka in the trad sense

but for a thin skinned old fool like moi its taxing

i hope you think its all been worth it if you see us play





posted on March 2, 2015 at 2:38 pm
utah sword

utah sword

after san diego we drive all night

drop off a guy in vegas

now we are in st george utah

we are waiting till 4am to drive on to aspen colorado

tim and i found a hipster coffee joint

i had a vegan wrap. small mercies exist.

now its rainy . sitting on bus ready to go

reading a book about alex chilton

myself feeling disconnected



discontented too i guess

we are in the middle of nowhere it feels like

i made a girl blush in a supermarket blush with my accent

people in restaurants are questioning me and haugie where we come from

i do yoga in a day room

its a long long day

in a long long life

gotta keep track of everything

a night off for my sore fingers and throat

gonna read some more now folks

lotsa love


posted on March 1, 2015 at 10:48 am
san diego parked outside gig

san diego parked outside gig

yeah we rock n we roll

whatever the fuck that means

i spend yesterday round at greg d’s house in LA

oh man what a beautiful serene pad

cactuses and trees

how very nice and civilised in that quiet street

oh yeah i could live there very easily

a haven from the madness that is only a few minutes away

the gig at the el rey is perplexing

we have some trouble somehow

the A notes seem to go nowhere from the bass  guitar

they seem snatched away by some acoustic gremlin

a few nights before it had been the opposite

the A notes had been booming like blooming muthas

whatever i don’t know

today i am in san diego

gig looks too small for us to me

i am but a soldier in the rocknroll wars

very good attendance at el rey

and a great crowd

we nearly transcended but not quite

why was that?

its strange but i don’t know

theres still a lot of unknown variables

its hard to get it perfect

still sometimes it happens

love from kilbey here wherever the fuck i am

san diego go go

posted on February 27, 2015 at 9:23 am
backstage san från 15

backstage san från 15

touring is weird weird weird

i am drawn into its whorl into its whirl

and into its world

we travel  on the bus sleep in the noisy darkness of bunks

suddenly a lovely hotel room full of sunlight and white sheets

then the gig which is a lifeless cave by day

backstage its dark and quiet

i slip into reveries induced by sleepiness

as i sit here and type

tonight will unleash our music

for a short time i will be invulnerable to age or tiredness

the zeitgeist will have no hooks in me

bass guitar with stored energy will release as curtain goes up

words and notes will travel  and merge

spirit of rocknroll etc

and then

and then what..?

posted on February 26, 2015 at 4:54 pm

Photo on 25-02-2015 at 9.47 pmbb

well here i am back on hard nose the highway

valve bouncing down the fricking west coast

we play pretty good

it all goes by so fast

we play a record store and meet and greet

hello how are you

the ground still moves beneath my feet

the customs lounges

the bunks on the bus

the blisters on my fingers

the things i left behind

we walk on stage

i am off my face on music

yeah we are pretty good

we jump on the bus and then

we are gone

posted on February 20, 2015 at 10:45 pm
hype o conned react

hype o conned react

such a warm night

today has escaped

tomorrow awaits

travel for almost a day

to play somewhere far away

pulled in every direction i am

to want to stay

to want to go

or let this night wander on forever

i never expected to be so lost in it

guess i’ll just sit here and think it all through

thatll do

posted on February 18, 2015 at 10:45 pm
hemming away

hemming away

the oblong sky behind me

the purple sea before me

the undulating fields of elysium with waving grain

laying down silently beside someone long now gone

whispering those words in languages already forgotten

telling them about the glorious sunset of an empire expired

and how we loved one another through almost endless nights

telling them about the way the world looks now in a new light

with the muted dawn dappled upon a morning from antiquity

i stand up nearly young again an impossible reversal i know

look at those black black crows in that oblong sky

the shapes on the hillside like men from a distance

for a moment i freeze a frame in my mind

with a sensation of nausea i am able to zoom up close

i see the salt in the air eating the metal

i see the columbine wind twist among the gravestones

i feel my old wounds which split up time

the ache of the clamour of the blood of the charge

my boys rushing rushing into arcing dark darts

i thought i’d never see you amongst these tombs

i thought the moss and flowers had reclaimed you

i thought you had wandered away scattered as in life

i thought maybe it is me who has evaporated

nothing seems that real as when we were children i say

it could easily be a memory i am living in my own past

a cracked fountain against the oblong sky

its too warm to sleep but its too late to dream

in the hollow at the foot of my bed a cat spirit sleeps

in the arches of dianas temple a guarding angel watches on

in black marble mausoleum you will have your say

in white mist of morning you will go your way

oblong sky straight ahead

expect delay


posted on February 15, 2015 at 3:00 pm

Tune into Double J from 3-5pm AEDT today, and on demand all week. The baroque geniuses, boogie boogie tinklers and rock’n’roll freaks. SK zooms in on the ‘keyboardists’


posted on February 13, 2015 at 11:12 pm
solutions r us

solutions r us


soft hue coming down on the swimmers behind the nets

perfectly twilight as the trees seem to drip down the cliffs

oh warm sea envelop us wash us cleaner than we ever could be

oh i languid and glide on the deep green side under leaden sky

breathing in through my nose out through my mouth

dragging myself through the briny billows

little wavelets crash into me and fly off my goggles back into their sea

so it will be for you and me entering eternity

even then a sun shines inexorably on behind all the clouds

its rays permeate the water of the harbour

illumination of its clear depths

verdant valleys of moss and shoal way below me

i try to remember the names of who i used to be

my rushing self is stilled

i have willed it to a standstill

darting schools of thought fly out of mind

ideas come unbidden into a garden prepared for peace

ripples from outside the whorls

marine films projected on the white screen of evening

fish on hooks screaming

everything you think is real

just seeming



posted on February 12, 2015 at 11:02 pm
a worry

hundred per cent chance of 1AM storm

the measurer of violet night is back on the scene

the trimmer of slack black evenings him alighted alight alright

with the tinkling faery bells knelling around airy havens

down the coast amidst luxurious pines he dines for six thousand a week

oh his lovely little bunnies do it for the monies and the fun

oh his sweet sweet tooth sucking on all that complete youth

in by jiminy shadow the last mad poet of the fall

the storm talks in its faltering thunder blowing clouds asunder

black cars in the rain contain tequila and dealer of cocaine

in a dense library though he knows the answer weird and plain

the chef hired for his brain delicatessen and to lessen hunger

among the shells he tells apart the sound of the sea

and the sound of thee

he spills no blood unleashing instead a feast of tears

the stars are white and bright set into the dessert of the night

guests and pests arrive to partake of this and the strange angel fruit cake

beneath the vaulted firmament a trellis of elysian grapes

between the banquets clamour and the silence on the stage

as age after age succumbs to a dumb urge to emerge from the page

surrender rendered in red wine gone to the head

dystopian glamour i was hoping they’d hammer me down

in walks little judy with her rude mannikin acting the clown

they must have busted the budget trust her to nudge it

the lighting and lightning heightening the slight dizzy crush

a rush of cautionary proportions


is he even aware of us..?