memory swirls throughout time
like raspberry juice swirling through triple sec
chop up some lemon n orange n apple
keep chilled
music is one thing
wine is another
blood holds it all together
the dark red stuff
ichor in the veins of the gods
aphrodite from cytherea
zeus from olympus
kilbey from nowhere in particular
the sky darkens as you sit there watching
typical says a voice in another room
the sun fades away behind the grey
the heroes return from the war all bled dry
diminished and wanting
david neil sings in the headphones
the plane touches down n rolls into town
maybe yer precious ‘magination is all used up
saturday is a strange day
sometimes it makes you cry n
makes you feel so bad
the 4 of us plus noel “banga” pearson
hurtle through the night
down some highway going south
at hyper speed
gigs pop up
we play at a million strums per second
the crowds dwindle n surge
words come out my mouth
peter kopf sends telegraphic messages with his devices
the clouds whizz passed overhead
the crew sets up n packs away
money a blur as it changes its hands
the faces on the notes age and grow old
a hundred dollar note in my coat sings david neil
gonna see a man about a boat….
backstage twenty years have passed
you step on stage at 34
you come off at 54
rip van kilbey
where are all my old haunts…mutter mutter
god, ive been asleep so long
that was a long set, mister….says a janitor
as he casually cleans up the mess
the lights have come on
and the place is littered with crushed beer cans
in the cruel light everyone seems pale and lined
the light stabs yer eyes n you blink like a dormouse
a husband n wife come forward for a photo
they smile when you say ok
but they groan when they look in yer eyes
wow you better get yerself some…..
sleep ? i offer
yeah uh huh some sleep
david neil sings sleep with me but dream alone
the road south is flat n broad n unending
i stick a cassette in the player
not fuckin’ david neil again, killer ! banga shouts as he drives
much laughter from the backseat
isnt there anything else? someone yells out
we’re cruising through the desert at 90 miles n hour
all the windows are down
everyones smoking something or another
and david neil is blasting above it all
suddenly another gig looms up
in one second flat
i’m checked in
tuned up
sound checked
dinner’d up
n
onstage
we used to be popular in this town…..sheeesh
which town is it ? someone asks
its uh….not syracuse
not melbourn florida
not saska toon
not uh….i dont remember exactly
but my room had a view over a park
and the flowers were ….uh…
anyway
its always the next day
think about that when tomorrow comes, killer
banga pearson was the philosophical aussie type
like a digger from ww1
he was strong philosophical n liked a fucken beer or 2
he grew up on the mean streets of new south wales north
n he could surf like a demon at 8 years old
when asked by a man or a woman why he was called banga
banga ‘d say ” do you wanna fucken find out?”
one of bangas brothers was in jail
the other one was the lead guitarist
with phyllis stein n the nom de prunes
who had had some chart success in the south west
banga ‘d walk thru a brick wall for me (he said)
but he couldn’t be bothered with finding my passport
which he’d lost in a rumble with some other idiot
boy he was a good driver tho
when hed had a smoke n a cuppla lines
gee he could go all night
no more david neil killer! he screams out over the racket
as arizona n santa fe and mississippi go past
david neil sings
oh the sorrow of parting from you nadine
split me down my silver screen..
what the fuck does that mean asks banga a year later
weave finally stopped driving
but the ground still trembles under my frictional feet
we sit in bangas room with its beer bottles n cigarette packets
banga rolls up a huge great spliff which i wont smoke
cos of all the tobacco hes put in there
we watch mtv n video smash hits n top of the props
david neil comes on
fuck, no! exclaims banga
i dont believe it!
david neil doing the unplugged thing
boy he sure can play guitar tho
even banga has to admit that..
banga :pigs arse i do!
he’s looking kind of old but in a cool way…
david neil sings lets go to la tolteca
lets go inside there
david neils fingers glide over the guitar like a magician
the sangrias clotting he sings
there you go ! exclaims banga
bang!
but its true what they say
about the endless road n the lost highway
the miles do as their tolled
the bridges detour leaning
and the signs
can only point you in the wrong direction
still the palm trees bend in the wind n rain
and of course david neil was never found alive
and by the time the doors open
we should have had something to eat
you’ll have time to do 2 quick interviews
n pop back home n get changed in to yer mansuit
sip the sangria
smell the rosy apples
chew the bitter lemons
nibble on orange counties
strap on your pulverizer
and stuff yer strut
emi have got the test pressings
cbs have got the masters
wea have got the blues
and curare records have disappeared
theres a curfew at 11 so dont play 10
the house takes 15 per cent of all winnings
and the deuces are still wilde..
banga looked up from his guessed list
as the gig boomed n thundered all around
it smelt of beer n aftershave n smoke
2 pair he said
almost a full house
wait till i tell killer he said
he’ll be stoked…..!