The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

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

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

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…..

i did this today on garage band and i movie
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if you can

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

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