The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

why dost thou limp goode killer?
ah, well thatd be a nice sliver of porcelain in my foot sir
never mind
there is a side to music
an invisible plain maybe
a way of seeing it
yes
there are many ways to map and describe music
many different ins
everybody gets in differently
yes thats right
but have you ever thought about the mix..?
if a mix is good
you wont hear it
a mix shouldnt clobber joe listener
over the fucking head with its brilliance
cos then itd be a bad mix
a big brassy brazen overtwiddling
resulting in instant overstimulation
and subsequent boredom
you dont want that baby undercooked neither
some vapid unrealised formless jelly-mix
the real greats
they make it sound easy
sweet
real
they use all opportunities
but never blind you with the latest binglebanks
now i’m assuming you know that
a record is made
all the sounds sitting there
on their own discrete tracks
for example
on track 1 we have a hi hat
track 2 the snare
track 3 the kick drum
track 4 the crash cymbal
track 5 the ride cymbal
track 6 the bass guitar
track 8 electric guitar
track 9 electric guitar double
track 10 distorted guitar
track 11 accoustic guitar
track 12 piano
track 13 and 14 stereo strings
track 15 thru 23 vocals
track 24 tambourine
ok
the music is recorded
the ingredients assembled
now
these things must find aural space to coexist
this is not a given
certain sounds will affect others
reverbs swallow sounds
the acoustic guitars are lost in the cymbals
the voice wont cut thru
or it doesnt sit in the song right
everytime you adjust one thing
you disturb the delicate balance of everything else
its not just only volume
the sounds must have the optimum eq
eg a kick drum should have a bit of oomph
will the sounds be compressed or gated
what effects and echoes
how should it be panned?
these sonic painters
tinker with the music
on a load of levels
you will never think of
flying things in and out
bouncing things around
copy
append
truncate
slow it down
bend its pitch
auto tune it
reverse it
make it silvery
the list of tricks is endless
strange art
to be as unobtrusive as possible
then again
some mixers with their trademark sounds
thats what you pay top dollar for
that wall of sound
those teenage symphonies to god
those ambient afterimages
anyway
polinski mixes the song which will be closer on painkiller
not what you say
it breaks down into long shimmering haze of guitar fizz
everything is just right
hes done a sterling job
what else what you expect?
good boy polinski
A+

i am the killer who lives to die
i am the point at which there is no point
i am vanished into your mind
i am registering as pleasure
yes yes you think
pleasure lovely pleasure
you let me into your head
into your deep mind
into your dwindling faded memories
and distorted daydreams
imagine me
in the white robes of a devotee
as i glide over rivers of thought
mountains of ideas
notion oceans
why do you do this you ask
i dont know i answer
how did you get in you ask
the songs i answer
the songs opened you up
why did you write that song you ask
i wrote it for you i answer
and to make money i quickly add
and because i needed a new song
of course
i dont know why i even like you you say
me neither i say me neither
later
in the library surrounded by the gardens
fountains statues small pagodas
you meet me again
you feign surprise
introduced by one of your mere inklings
i slip and
i spill my eyes on your bare shoulders
the music stops
a deathly hush has fallen
who are you to come in here and do that you demand and
i dont like that song anymore im tired of it you add
i dont like the power you think you have you continue
i dont read your stupid blog and i dont comment
the place slowly empties
i see some famous people in your mind
i see napoleon b and some others
now theyre all leaving
leaving the soiree in the salon
or whatever it was
and i
i unannounced
i unbidden
yes i was uninvited like the sodding clouds
me
innocent me
standing there
my cheeks reddening
eyes brimming with warm tears
my hands uselessly at my side
where are all my smart rejoinders now
ah vocabulary deserts me when i need it most
it just deserts
anyway
what can i say to you in your own mind
why should i justify anything at all
i
a plankton
like you
sucked into the jaws of the whale-like time
strained through hospitals schools and crematoriums
our age tells us how to behave
and limits us to its narrow precepts
mother says this
father says that
the law says dont do it
the night says go on and do it
the woman said too much a man
the man said too much a woman
handed my uniform
told who to be
modeled moulded and mixed up
bitter and twisted
shaken and sturdy
battered on whatever metaphor im searching for
crushed under the weight of words
the hit n miss parade
drugs rotting my own mind from within
now i can barely string a cohesive sentence together
im ugly as sin but not half as much fun
im beset by all manner of psychic attack
i believe animals talk to me and lo they do
i can hold my breath as i sing
i see things that really are there
i am approached by aliens and offered tempeh
i listen to music with 16 bars
i eat rice with rice milk and rice syrup
i meditate on the 7 wounds of the demi-god phooie
i stand in the oomoo boomoo position
i never win but i never lose
i like 2007 its better than being dead
i avoid things that hurt more than avoiding them
i pretend im nice though its very hard
i wish i was much much sexier because then i’d be happy
i envy everybody doing better than me which is everybody
i waste time everytime the time being is being timed
im sorry i had to speak my mind
in your mind
dont mind me
im of a mind
having mined your mind
to declare
this find
closed

at 3 am
dead of night
the man gets out of bed
leaves his sleeping wife to her dreams
how long had he been asleep?
he stood naked in the darkened living room
as a moonless night stretched above the house
he checked on the children
who slumbered restfully
in his own workroom
he sat dazzled under the light
boxes of pastels and and a half finished portrait
guitars lying around in cases
pastel colours squashed into the carpet
a yoga mat
a vase with fake flowers
a small chest of drawers
an amplifier
books on art
a bin full of v cans and fiji water bottles
a printer
paints in tubes all squeezed and that
boxes full of papers and statements
a bookcase full of books
two desks one full of art and memorabilia
the other with computer and drawers with accounting
and bits and pieces
on the wall hangs a self portrait
a postcard of kali
a poster advertising a long passed exhibition
photos of children
botticellis rape of the nymph by zephyrus (detail)
some russian saint with a kid swaddled up tight
a tree in a pot with two wooden birds
the man sits in the quiet of 3 am
nothing anywhere seems to move
only the man awake in this city of millions
the clocks incessant tick tick never tock fades
the man hears it
oh so faint a sound
like a beautiful hum
like the voice of a dreambeing
was he really ever even hearing it
the man who is half asleep
listens
for the direction of the sound
the tiny warm humming
silvery sound
coming from his third drawer
he opens the drawer
pulling out bits of paper
and khaki envelopes
and sticky tape
a deck of cards
the little hammer slender and deadly
there
in that little bag
he pulls the bag out
is it emitting a signal or not
it seems to be silent
no the man thinks
no i must have been mistaken
absent mindedly
he empties the bags contents on his desk
a piece of crystal
shaped like a small phallus
its body cloudy and veined with tiny white lines
its head is clear but becomes a smoky grey on the very tip
a piece of paper says
lemurian crystal
the man thinks
he remembers a charity event a year ago or so
a woman
god he cant even see a face now
a woman relatively unremarkable
insomuch as he had no memory of her
she seemed shy
she had said something briefly
handed him the bag
and disappeared into the thinning crowds
he had glanced briefly at the crystal
oh how nice he had thought
it ended up in his drawer for a long while
but somehow now
it had made its presence felt
lemurian crystal said the little bit of paper
and something else too small for him to read
at this time of night with no glasses
he held the crystal in his hand
it gave off a slight warmth
like the sound he thought he’d heard
it fitted into his palm
like a weapon or a wand
he could feel a subtle pull on his energy
an exchange
as the crystal absorbed
and in return gave out
lemurian crystal
semi conductor
a transducer
the man turned off the light
he sat in the darkness
with the crystal in his left hand
miles away and years ago
the crystal emanated its information
the man sat and he listened
listened to something
that made no sound
at all

approaching one million
one million reads
yes
i
ttb
1,000,000
ah its just a figure
a good figure
yes
but just numbers
polinski sends up a nice new mix
yeah i think youll like this mess
go n have swim at beach with eve
aurora under the weather
reading the kids northern lights at bedtime
next weekend is election
shoulda seen the silly pamphlet
some lovely tree died for
that arrived in my letta box
oooh its kevin rudd the opposition leader
visiting a school
oh what a regular guy
here he is explaining sumfing to a childe
oh look here is our local hopeful with him
watching on in admiration (and love)
as kevin explains things to children
kevin says hes gonna have ” an education revolution”
he says his goal : aussies to be best educated in the world
yep thats a big goal
like the world peace miss universe contestants wish for
and just like kevin
they have no idea how to achieve it either
kevins promising lotsa stuff
grandiose commissions hes going to launch
the way he’ll slash bu -rocracy
(hey…aint that at cross purposes?)
he’ll fix up the hospitals
trains ll run on time
bald men will grow hair
frigid women will have orgasms
and all the children will be happy
oh please please please
let him
let him have a go
he dont need the dough
his wifes a malty millionaire
please let him have a turn
just so
he can
look at himself
in the mirror
and say
ooooh kevin youre the prime minister !!!
however
i say
the system has failed us again
is this the choice ?
an insincere dodging nebulous nobody
or howard
the old school
warmongering royalist ugly olde twit
with a voice and accent of a vole
howard : the brickwall past
rudd : the jellyfish future
is this what democracy had in mind?
are there better leaders in aust than these 2
i find them lacking on all levels
where is another choice ?
neither of these should be doing a job like that
howard should be working in a hardware shop selling sandpaper
rudd should be in real estate or interior design
even then hed probably get the curtains wrong
i wish neither of em would win
useless!

2 mynah birds crashed onto the porch
tearing chunks of feathers
and screaming at each other
and clicking furiously
a third bird
hovered around on the perimeter of the fight
was one or both of its parents fighting
after a while i thought they might be mating
they fell off my balc
and landed in some sandy gravel below
still pecking and swearing at each other in mynah
one could have no doubt something wild was going on
the kids ran down and surrounded the birds
but they were too engrossed in fighting/mating/screaming to care
eventually we all went back inside
the birds still thrashing in the dirty sand
little holes appearing in their feathers all over
as they savage each other
was one bird raping the other one?
eventually they flew off
still screaming
do all worlds contain violence?
ive seen cats playing with mice
ive seen dogs chasing cats
ive seen ferrets get hold of a rabbit
a cat i had swallowed a bird whole alive
its wings were hanging out the cats mouth
like a giant movable groucho moustache
at first i couldnt see what was happening
i’d make the cat spit the bird out
then the bird was stumbling around punch drunk
inside my house
and the cat turns round
gives me a nasty nip
i let it go
it pounces on the bird again
and you got the groucho effect again
the bird stuck its wings out
to prevent the cat from swallowing it
imagine that
a writhing beaky clawy bird stuffed down your gullet
now i knew the cat wasnt hungry
i knew that cos he was my cat and he got fed well
the cat just hated birds
it sat in the garden
watching them
growling
extending its claws
oh i’ll show you little birdy
says the cat to itself
it hates the birdys little song
it hates how the bird can fly
how the bird mocks it
as it leaves the branch at the last moment
and goes up and away
but mr cat is sometimes very quick
he could flick out a dogs eye
or snatch a cute little birdy out of the air
and this birdy had waited too long
just that tiny tiny instant he tarried
and the cat
graceful cruel and deadly
the cat who rarely misses
the cat with nine lives
seeing in the dark
feline and quick
the cat full of prejudice and hatred
full of malice and envy
and the sheer desire for bloodshed
he hooks the bird in mid-air
and brings it to the ground
the bird is squawking and going crazy
of course, wouldnt you?
an alien life form
a colder more efficient killing machine
unheard of in suburbia
cats with their yogic powers of balance strength patience
cat never second guesses
mr cat right in the moment with the birdy
the birdy is looking death in the face
death incarnate
the cat is confused
does this flapping bony thing look like food to him
no meat
held together with crawling lice
the cat is now ashamed and tired of the creature
he gulps it down
to make it disappear
so that it will never sing its little song again
or fly away into the blue sky
the cat hates it
it hates the bird
it tries to swallow it
but the human
the stupid human he will not understand
this bird has been on my list awhile now
i will not be cheated of this prize
the human grabs the cat
and slaps its back leg
spit it out he yells over and over
and to think
thought the cat as it choked back the feathers
that i brought the bird in to show him
just like the rats and the mice
and believe it or not
for about the fifth time
the cats spits out this seriously crumpled bird
why hasnt it actually bitten it
just tried to swallow it?
and the bird
sensing its last ever chance
at pecking up a maggot or laying an egg
or flying north for the winter
or whatever it was that it enjoyed
maybe it had a nice nest….
anyway it ducked out the back door
while casper the cat gave the human a nasty little scratching
and hissing
you idiot
you ruined everything
and miraculously
birdy flew away

lovely spirit continue to guide me
this silver aching evening
gentle clouds
birds call in the gathering night
flowers close down
warm close dark
i feel comfortable within this skin
ideas occur to me
reveries come on of their own accord
memories not mine
days i have never seen
the thread that connects us
words in another language
languages from another time
times from another deeper time
the world is starting to fall away from me
i have wised up to most of its shabby tricks
but its nets are pervasive and persuasive
lovely spirit light my way
the west is so deep in illusion
the west is capricious and brutal
the west is ignorant and arrogant
killing using arguing blaming
will it carry on hurting until its own oblivion
the west does not like hurt on its own doorstep
the west says one thing and does another
the west never learns
the west jumps in over and over
the west never questions itself
the west consumes itself in obvious error
the west sees only in black and white
the west believes its own damn lies
the west with the bombs
the west with the scientists
the west with its plasic surgery
the west with its atheistic depressed useless gossip
the west with its excuses
the west with its pet psychologists
the west with its gated communities
the west with its witchtrials and inquisitions
the west with its crusades and quarries
the west with its defoliants and napalm
the west with its romes and londons
the west who never get the message
the west who has obese weightwatching children
the west who was won by the west
the wild wild west
the savage west
the west with its history of mistakes
the west with its captain blighs and general custers
the west with its dark ages
the west with its quackery and its side effects
the west with its extinct animals
the west with its booze
the west with its own rosy view of itself
the west we know and love
so hard to divest myself of the west
what it has made me
who it has told me to be
how the west educated me to think western
underneath the west
underneath this thin veneer of western civilisation
the real deep me
whoever that may be
way down in the depths
that man knows everything
the west has told me to forget

as i entered the sweet unknown today
i thought about you
and all the different ways you are
i thought yoga must exist to chase the old insults
from where they hide
in all unopened spaces in our body
i thought about how we will all seem heathens
one thousand years thence
how great civilisations pass away into nothing
as vishnu blinks his eye
and the snake
awakes
at the base of the tree
coiling up the trunk
wriggle by wriggle
yes
there will be temptation
this time it will be overcome
warm power flowing up into me
the white cosmic light
a spear in the fontanelle
the air is a liquid plastic mass of energy
oh yes it all seems so obvious now
the easy easy way
golightly
as you reach upwards
you become lighter
you think deeply
you cease thinking
more warm power
a body of light
you are light and you are light
no weight
no wait
like instruments in a symphony
we intertwine and separate
we harmonise we emphasise
your piccolo lips emitting tiny sonar blips
your clash of symbols
your crescendoes which are deathening
your codas and slight returns
your outro which leaves me hanging
and my sudden changes of time
and my impulsive stabs
yes and im a real pitta
i look in the mirror and im red
my eyes are huge black wholes
my eyes see right through me
i am fiery
i am angry
i am creative
the fire burns me good
the fire burns me bad
i have cultivated fire
i am pitta pattern
my nature seems to scorch and scald
i stoke the fires and everything else just comes
i laugh at my years
i seize the day by the throat
and i wring its temporary neck
now the fire is rekindled
i am not what i was
you can change
you can change!
you are not stuck with that old you
the snake sheds its skin
turns over a new leaf
ignites its past
steps forth legless
and ascends
i should leave the fire alone
i have always been a firebug
though i hate to get burned
i should wait till im cool again
although in both senses
that may be never
i love this energy now made available
i am becoming and becoming more myself
open a door
open adore
yoga
if this disinterests you
then so too magic
watch this space
space this watch
now im gonna make some guacamole
yeah

steev thrillby
androgynous albino hermaphrodite
world famous photographer and dancer
older than tomorrow already
adept of tantric yoga
murderer of time
sugarlover
hardcalves and softheart
lives with his/her daughters
the five graces
in a little duplex cottage
next to the cosmic sea
spring was changing into summer
day was changing into night
thrillby was changing into something more comfortable
naked on his/her yoga mat
he twisted into garudasana
and ascended slowly
as the blinds flap flap flapping in the wind
as sweet incense coils to the ceiling
sealing the room with sandalwood and wild rose
rose up to the windows filled with liquid glass
lover fighter thinker thief
miracle worker abroad
spearman mintlamb
is this a take off
screamed at the launch site
sight and taste and hearing now merge
taste this music steev offers to you
precise german and germane
germinating aerating water whence springs all-life
everyman is in love with everywoman
birds fall from the sky out of wedlock
oh the clefts of the female
oh the obsidian man
blessed be the child of their union
sacred like the name given to loves rooms
in the balmy bar me evening
evening up the odds
odd that you should mention it
steev is so far out hes come back in
again
poor thrillby
are you jealous
are you envious
are you serious
are you certain
poor thrillby
so rich in adjectives
a huge insatiable vocabulary
sexy dipthongs
sensual turns of phrase
table of malcontents
dramatis personae
exit exeunt exstacy
crack my smack with speed
encrusted aphrodisia in whorling filaments
sculptures of semi-darkness
shell-suit
shape-up
faxing a shadow on teleport road
rode me hoarse man
manage without me
look left
look right
look at you
abrupt end

rsi
need to paint
ambience finish tomorrow i hope
sorry if any ignorant philistines were bored
what the hell are you reading me for then?
anyway
2morro
kill-ar

brian peter george st.baptiste de la salle eno
an important cat
to be sure
eno was having an extraordinary decade
he would also of course
weigh in as co producer/conceptualist
for bowies incredible trilogy
low heroes the lodger
(although i am not so fond of lodger)
of course not having been there myself
what i say is mere speculation but
to me bowie and eno seem a nice combo
the all instrumental side of lows got enos hand everywhere
but mr bowie was no slouch either
and its seems a pretty much half half collaboration
as enos familiar motifs are given more light and shade
bowies beautiful languageless singing on subterraneans
years before sigur ros
although slightly after german band magma
who sang in their own gothic language…
one of my favourite pieces of music bar none:
crystal japan from these sessions
but these pieces were instrumentals but not ambient
although the feeling of ambience was at all the corners
of course
there is no clear line where music becomes ambient
one mans ambient is another mans new age is another mans satie
intention is all here
eno enabled bowie i guess
assisted and encouraged him
to mine a strange alien vein
untouched in rock at this point
very few people understood low at the time
reliable critic charles shaar murray
a big fan of db up until here
dismissed low with something like:
bowie and eno should trade tapes in the post
and spare us this stuff…
still
i loved it
it pioneered more frontiers in the 1st song
than most people do in a lifetime
in 1975
eno released discreet music
theres a blurb on the back
with diagrams of this and that
the music consists of a synth phrase
several phrases
interpenetrating each other
dying away slowly
drifting
the effect is serene detachment
like the tao turned into music
it was partially randomly generated
it should be listened to as quietly as possible
listening to it loud is doing it a disservice
let it blend in
let it float
do not concentrate on it too much
meditate to it
let it open doors in your memory
enjoy its subtlety and peaceful humility
a beautiful track and a first
the rest of the album is some cut up neo classic music
not bad
but not really ambient as such
next up
eno made the exquisitely titled
before and after science
to tell you the truth
only the last four songs approach some level of ambience
cluster join eno for by this river
at the time no music in rock was like this
even the songs julie with…
spider and i
as ambient as songs can possibly be
rock up until this point had been pretty me me me
it was all about me the ego the rocksinger
even eno himself on his earlier records
but he begins to disinhabit his songs as he goes along
eventually on spider and i
becoming a nirvana like emptiness
where things happen in a prolonged slo mo haze
we sleep in the morning
we dream of a ship that sails away
a thousand miles away..
through hollow lands is dedicated to harold budd
with whom eno would make 2 albums
the last four tracks on this record are sublime
music for airports came next
recordings of voices
pianos
synths
looped
randomly cut/fade
soothing hanging austere
yoga music
in 1986
i always did my yoga to this
totally different to discreet
the critics didnt lap it up much
some long forgotten critic criticised
the instrumentals on unearthed sneering
kilbeys music for dentists waiting rooms
it was, after all
a back handed compliment
eno was proposing that instead of the piped elevator music
or even worse nowadays
the latest idol winners super melodramatic maudlin schlock
that
we have real calming uplifting thought provoking sounds
oh eno if only if only if only
i envisage a world full of buildings with murals
the pavements decorated with chalk paintings
the cafes serving vegan food and mother natures own herbs
and the airports
ah the people would be proceeding thoughtfully
as this music drifted through the queues and the kisses goodbye
as this music permeates the luggage handlers and the hostesses
amazing stuff
actually named ambient 1 : music for airports
then
music for films
instrumental pieces and snippets for films as yet unmade
ironically you do hear this music in tv shows a lot these days
lovely pieces usually sad or sombre
some even approaching non ambience
in that they do demand your attention
because they are very tasty
the album still has a couple of downright edgy things like
patrolling wire borders
quite un-ambient in a way
as is a measured room
with its pulsating bass like a chase scene
but confusingly the title
music for films implies a continuation
of the series which music for airports implies
by being ambient one
funny i never realised this before but there is no ambient two
there is three and four but no two
and music for films is only partially ambient
but recommended
a borderline case of ambience
tracks like strange light however
are like discreet music but shorter
and a little more painted in perhaps
next
eno released fourth world vol 1: possible musics
with jon hassell the trumpeter
note the album is credited
jon hassell and brian eno
this is music you never heard before
the first time i heard the treated trumpet sound
primal hot pulsing music
unrelenting random blowing african tropical raining music
villages in the deluge
arrows fly in the teeming air
drunk on jungle juice and hallucinatin’ with malaria n ibogaine
threatening eyes in the trees
dark swollen rivers with sharp toothed teeth
meet a medicine man witch doctor raving shaman music
hassells almost unrecognizable trumpet like a stoned bird
cooing coaxing
the percussion clicks away tinny and insistent
the trumpet sounds like a voice is trying to break free
to be born and sing
singing in indonesian or in incan or ethiopian or something
not for everyone
one of my favourite records
for listening for yoga
for atmosphere
for any occaision
mysterious music
probably not ambient
certainly
worthy of your praise

tomorrow : ambient conclusion