The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

its midnight in the hotel
the hotel by the sea
the big white hotel on the coastal strip
with the swimming pools and cock-tails
with the little bottles of shampoo
with the complimentary hors derves
with the bottles of water for 8 bucks
with the a/c ya cant switch off
and the internet costs a bomb
but the view ah the view
the indian sea rushes away in murky blackness
little silver points of light
a cop car cruises way down below there
i stand on my balc n blow a number
no one can see me
no one can touch me
no one even knows i’m here at all
i’m the time being whatever that means
the tampered one
the white hippy panther walking by moses side
hey i’m a footsoldier with my killers hands
i sit up here above the world
summer oh i in my element
summer my cloak
summer my apparel
summer my regeneration
summer night by the sea
the ghosts
the spirits
the stories that will not fade
18 floors high
18 floors high
wow
what a life
i turn up to this quarry
its like san diego
the houses all around are fucking gorgeous
i could live in em all easily
the yellow grass
the green lawn in the amphi-theatre
yeah my band rocked of course its a given
yes n my monkey rocked n its a gibbon
and the silent ones spoke in my head
now you will write a song they said
why me i cried
silence said a voice
it was a female voice
the voice of the future
you have been chosen
you have been frozen
you have been in nineveh and lemuria
you have sung the words of the silent ones who have no voices
no voices to sing
no wheels to ride
i should be stumbling down this highway on my boots of steel
time being came the reply
well i live all my lives in my songs
thats where i right my wrongs
but the summer night comes down and kicks out the evening
its black out there
suddenly the internet swallows up half my blog
and i can remember what im sposed to write
too bad
midnite comes n goes
what did you expect
nothing
good then
thats what you get

the twillies arrived yesterday
very jet lagged i can tell you
scarlet cant believe shes got her big sisters after all this time
today i flew to perth
where i am ensconced in nice hotel
tonite 1st gig at quarry…open air gig
not many open air gigs in aust
(please bring jazz to me if you can
you will be handsomely rewarded…..with a kilbey knighthood
just tell em its jazz for olde sk…theyll put you thru
shame on punter who said that in 2006 in u.s.
n then had no jazz…no…not one single note of jazz)
looking forward to it
boy we gonna rock under them starry stars
we gonna raise the roof…except there is none
2 sold out shows

if my scars are stretch marks
or cuts from a toy car at preschool (really, iseult?)
then they are awfully 90 degrees n perfectly in place
for such random things
wow…maybe the aliens work in weird ways

who knows

gonna cruise on down to sound check
see ya

ohm at last
safe n sound
2 shows in newcastle
1 show in sydney
the newcastle venue is incredibly nice
the staff are numerous n extremely helpful
i could suggest some dinners without cheese might be nice
but what i did have was pretty good
more veg options tho
the people at the shows seemed to genuinely like us
we had 2 encores both nights
a few of my jokes didnt make em laugh so much
ok…my humour is not for everyone
it takes a while to figure out my particular peculiar loopiness
the band play well in acoustic mode
peter koppes n tim powles play 2 instruments at once.
can you believe it?
during all i know pete plays mando n harmonica
n tim pays piano n shakers
look its hard enough playing one
but these guys can do 2
mwp of course can certainly play his axes
the 3 of them are super musicians with individuality
absolute 1st rate top shelf players
intuitive knowledgeable innovative…you name it
to play together is a joy
like being in the hands of experts
the band at a very harmonious phase
inside n outside the music
now everybody realizes we dealing in a rare commodity now
you cant just whip this up outta thin air
anyway we acquitted ourselves well
we adapted ourselves to our surroundings
which is what any sensible organism must do
(so they say n evolve…!?)
sydney last night
was good gig
not absolutely transcendental
but nonetheless a solid good
the factory in marrickville in syds inner west
a bloody cool venue
itd be great to see anyone there
the bjm played there one night
we are very tired
i arrived home at 330 am previous night from newy
couldnt sleep almost at all
before n after soundcheck i do yoga
and it pulls me through
allows me to detach a bit
allows me to relax
allows me to focus
outside in the warm night
one of the opening acts : belles will ring
they stand outside talking n smoking
i drift off in shivasana ….the pose of the corpse
the band have a soft harmony rehearsal
n i drift in n out of focus listening to their sweet voices
in my reverie it was crosby stills nash n young
when i finally snapped out of it
i was surprised to see it WAS belles will ring who was singing
out in the concrete n wire courtyard
under the leaden white sky of mid evening summer sydney
anyway
we had more payers this time than last time
we are on a bit of an upwards curve
just a bit
i take nothing for granted
no smugness in our current good fortune
i just accept it n try to let it go
just like failure
just like life n love too
i try to remained unmoved
basking in success or thrashing in failure
fuck it it just derails you from yer mission
the church hit the stage only 15 minutes late
we are notoriously dependably slightly late
backstage is some wives some friends etc
quite quiet
do our usual set
the energy picks me up
my body has been softened up by yoga
i do not creep or shuffle around the stage
i do not stagger though i often stumble
my joints are opened
my muscles are ready to rock
im loose like a long legged goose – ball
so thats yoga in action helping me rock more efficiently
can you believe yoga helps me to rock?
is it yoga that makes us rock?
i expect myself to be able to rock hard
n lo n behold i do verily rock hard
ie
i give it my whole body n mind n spirit
my fucking leg starts bouncing
my fingers start plucking
my throat sends my voice out over the crowd
same olde same olde but different
i let my own music possess me
this bunch of disparate songs that makes up our set
welded n melted with extreme volume
the crowd has its input as well
the gig is the crowds as much as us
the gig is for the crowd
a swirling mass of grey n black n white
sings jagger on salt of the earth
we got about 7oo people maybe
not as good as the glory days of 2 enmore theatres
but things are not static
a long hard dedicated commitment to excellence can pay off
people notice
eventually
but eventually is better than never
nevertheless
we stuck to our guns whatever that means
now we reap the modest rewards of our long harvesting
voice in the next room : what are they…?
they are better sales for u#23 n tickets n merch
they are more kudos from press n general public
it is a very nice warm feeling yes
but i am not complacent, expectant or smug
(a real estate company name?)
i am enjoying it in a relaxed fashion
after all i am kinda olde….simply no point in denying it
in human terms 55 is kinda olde
its ok to say it
i not afraid of the “o” word
why should i be
last night i show you n the world or whoever
that if you wanna stay in tune with the une-iverse
you can rock into your grave with the guitar still strapped on
but not old mans rock
just like we werent young mans rock neither
we just are
we came out this way
its what the church accidentally is
so i can rock for hours so what?
im just showing ya
you can decide how you want it if thee but truly knew it
i made the thing
i fucked it up
now im remaking it
i cant ever get that olde steve kilbey back
hes gone into some frozen yesterday
he can only be recalled via those old songs
if you want ‘im back at all…
well we played well
they enjoyed it
thats that
and thats all too
until perth on thursday
under the stars in the summery sky

stumble home from high school
along the old road by the quarry and
through the bush beside the beach
roaming among the rockpools
full of green starfish
and little bearded lizards scuttle around on the stones
yeah the beach shack is cool and still
hidden in the palms and the great oaks
take off my clothes
i lay down in the warm afternoon
i put harvest on
on the little record player
neil youngs lonesome old voice
the wide prairie spaces in the music
the melancholy simplicity of the rhythm :
think i’ll pack it in n buy a pick up
move it down to L A…..
a fly drones on in the shack
possums scratch scratch scratch
the cicadas sing outside like the summers tinnitus
a constant deafening ring
but the sounds all melt in with neil
a tractor miles away purrs along like an organ
the parakeets overhead a brief twittering fanfare
the faraway traffic like swelling cymbals
the surf pounds like a drum on the skin of the beach
then in wormholes in my mind that connect me
to the cosmic all
i hear the rush of the planets
i hear the moaning moon bound to this green blue earth
i hear the thoughts of the citizens in their hondas n jaguars
i hear the songs of memorial drive
i hear music from biblical times
oh i tell you it was a fierce and wonderful racket
i hear gilgamesh turn on the radio in his spacecraft
he tunes in fm 69.69
a blast of incandescent sound
behind it all i hear neils weary trembling falsetto
i hear the clash of great empires in the orchestra luna
i hear those fucking egyptians scream as the red sea engulfs them
i come down from my mountain where i have talked to a god
i am in an asylum in france
antonin artaud has smuggled in some ‘ash’ish
look theres van go go
look theres freddy nietzche
look theres poor old willy reich
and all of em talking in my ears
i shake my head in disbelief
i wander out in the back yard for a piss
ants rush at me
black heads n abdomens
scarlet thoraxes
ok ok
i back off elsewhere
on the line hangs a wetsuit
theres a fishing rod n a couple of broken surfboards
neils voice fills the surrounding bush
and goes floating through the leaves
and the pedal steel gets caught in the blue sky
its perpetually the day before christmas dec 24
the day before jesus is to be born
agAin
the day you get the house to yourself
mum n dad n brothers n sisters are going to grans do
but you borrowed a car and made your own way across
the burning sands
and now youre here
where you always wanted to be
and ok
youre alone
but at least youre here
and you know what it means
and you know what you mean to say
but instead you singalong with neil
live alone in a paradise that makes me think of 2
while youre out there
you see a car pull up n theres 2 girls from school
theyre friends of someones in town
theres the pretty one n the other pretty one
gee uh yeah come in ….you say
as you open the gate
oh hi says the pretty one and gives you an unenthusiastic hug
yeah says the other pretty one
popping her cassette out of the car stereo
we were listening to credence she explains
oh ..?..you say….but can think of nothing more..
the girls come in and sit cross legged on the floor
we smoke some bongs of potent east shore pot
the smoke curls up the rays of light like serpents
the girls have a stoned conversation
that brendas such a bitch….
such a bloody scrag…..
shes a little bloody slut
yeah n so’s her friend diane
diane moody…?
no…diane percival!
mick percivals sister?
yeah…..of course….
i was going out with his mate tony crooks…
yeah you told me…
oh did i…?
yeah…a few times….
i tune out their conversation
i exist in multiple locations simultaneously
i’m a dim receiver but receiving nonetheless
receiving and returning what i receive
this is how my travel begins
i stretch out on the floor in shivasana
my body fills at once with golden light
i begin to inwardly shudder n vibrate
next thing i’m out there somewhere
flying the walls n aircraft hangars n factories n mansions
music leaks from other universes
worlds adjacent to ours in the strangest of ways
where we invisibly lock into each other
leaving no trace of our existence in our opposites reality
i scavenge around
at the secret corners n edges for their old hits
i beam in great chunks of fantastical music
youve never heard the like
like the trumpets of phoenicia
and the shrieking madwomen of madagascar
and the sighing strings of sumer summer
and the hanging gardens and the quaint back yards
back in the shack
where its always 24th of dec
the day before every hero is unleashed to die
die for you n me
because the hero will always return
burn
then
return
and in australia its summer
its the day before christmas
the girls drink their cans of coke n rum
they smoke alpine cigarettes
neil young sings on obliviously
it doesnt matter
none of it
its all crazy n sad n mixed up
but it doesnt matter
and
it never ends

under a summer leaden sky
oppressively hanging down
wake up in darkness of a strange room
pull open curtains
we in some weird motel
people work on the gardens
theres a tennis court
theres a pool
theres a little bridge
i walk out over the grass
an ant immediately bites my big toe
and a bindi gets stuck in my foot (a small thorny weed)
all around australian nature presses in
omniscient omnipotent
omnidirectional
the cicadas wail away in the trees
i feel rough
old and achey
check the internet
no internet
i watch tv for a while
a tv show about a bondi vet
and a dog who swallowed a whole ham
n threw up until its eyes popped out
(i kid you not)
and dogs peeing on the xmas tree
(great balls of fire!)
last night….
last night was hard work
crammed together on a tiny stage
we bump into each other incessantly
we dont feel like we’re loud enuff
my monitors start playing up
n i feel like chucking the whole thing in
a long way from the glamour of the big shows
but
like a showbiz trooper i persevere
(what choice did i have?)
we get thru
no second encore tho
i immediately go downstairs n have a nap
until its all over
n we drive off in the quiet darkness
to find our strange hotel
tonight
is a lovely venue in newk-ass-hell
2 nights sold out…big deal…..
meanwhile a new showbiz opportunity has arisen for yer humble hero
man the offers are flowing in thicknfast
will let you know more as it comes to hand
gee i wont have to be a postie just yet
that will disappoint our obsessive pest i guess
sitting backstage
waiting to sound cheque
whatever
see ya 2morro
killa

the long drive thru sydneys northern suburbs
struggle to stay awake
whose driving
past the posh houses and the brick boxes
christmas trees
other days
i go into my reverie
dad tuning in the radio
i hear my sweet lord for the 1st time
it was already #1 in england n america
mum in the back seat with the boys
on our holiday
we pull into a caravan park
i get a caramel thickshake
i eat hot chips with vinegar
reverie warps a bit
memorys all in one
kathy n david neil run the place
we are in canada walking through the pines
in some brief summer
david and i take acid in the northern light
we swim in a dam with some other people
crazy davy and lazy jane
we build a fire
drink beers
david plays us his songs
i close my eyes n i drift off
listening to his words
in his song hes jumping a train to saskatoon
i feel the outside go past
i hear the track and the clacketty clack
i hear the whistle
i wake up in a swiss hotel over looking a lake
i bought some dope at a dope emporium
i had been dreaming of our holiday
we had when i was a kid
dad had really laid a lotta money down
a big holiday he had said
we stopped in at places on the way there
i heard george harrison again in the caravan park
i heard ride a white swan too for the 1st time
it seemed i had reached a fork in a road
dad was smoking little cigars to get off cigarettes
he didnt like my sweet lord so much
my parents were very wary of gospel singers
the hallelujahs put em off
if they listened n heard the hare krishnas
they would have hated that even more
last thing my dad wanted to hear on his radio
was an ex beatle singing an ode to a blue hindu god
years later when heroin had truly becalmed me in my own house
when my day was trying to scrape money together
i found krishna in my library before i sold all the books
on a hot overcast day i tried to save a beautiful weed
growing in the gutter
a lovely pink lotus like flower had appeared
in filthy grey rozelle a pink lotus bloomed outside my house
in the gutter
it was sign from krishna to me surely
but the idiot from the council cut it down
in that single act lay the madness of the western world
perhaps i have told you of that before
yeah dirty old rozelle full of rust n fleas
full of terrace houses full of hippies smoking dope
full of pubs and working class geezers quaffing ale
blokes walking greyhounds
fly backwards n forwards round australia
check in
do sound check
find veg meal
have shower n shave
do my hair
do gig
meet the locals
go home
get to sleep
get up
pack your suitcase
aw it wont fucken close today
jump in the cab
you dont stay anywhere long
your own breathing wakes you up in pitch darkness
where are you?

today i dont know what to write
things seem unreal
extremes swing wildly to extremes
extreme pleasures
extreme pains
extreme joys
extreme griefs
life keeps coming with both barrels
shooting me with its surprising bullets
my band is enjoying a mild resurgence
its not surprising …we are pretty damn good
but there again
we should be…shouldnt we
we are one of the best on the planet i guess…
this displays no modesty but i have to call a spade a spade
(in spades)
we have enough thrust n lift to blow the roof off
we’re intuitive and we’re wildly chaotic
but we know our music
and we know how to do it properly as well
paying no lipservice to any time or place or ideology
we are 4 musicians hell bent on transcendence
and our music can be of any style or intention
we are continually innovating and improving
whilst remaining true to our high standard guarantee
its a pity we are so bloody olde
because we are playing the best we ever played
a variety of reasons
my voice is now easily thrown around the room
i sing in key a lot more now than i used to
my lyrics are brilliant, of course
look they just are and you know it
its boorish of me to mention it i know
i’m just trying to cheer myself up a little maybe
tomorrow night is lizottes on the central coast
if you live in england or europe
it might be hard to picture lizottes
like a big restaurant with all mod cons
in like the country almost
people come from miles around
they come from their charming bungalows n apts
(the central coast is very picturesque)
and drive for miles through all the towns
the fishnchip shops
the lagoons
the little bridges
the motels and the white vans
the new apt blocks
the olde beach shacks
and all that
and they sit down n have dinner
watch a whirled class act like us
and all in comfort n ease
nice weather
green lush fields
horses
used car dealers with little flags
nice wine
nice company
the church almost in their very living room
a good deal i reckon
the church acoustic a good little package
whooda thunk it?
we strive to master all genres
even as time runs out
anyhow
if youre coming
it will be a very good show
you lucky devils
you gonna enjoy yourself

yeah
the chrunch hit melby
one night at corner electric
one night in fitzroy acoustic
gee electric nite sold out
like many of gigs on this tour
the zoo
the 2 perth gigs
melbourne
the 3 lizotte gigs on central coast n newk
(hi my good mate davey run-dell)
my mums coming to 1st lizotte gig too
so if you sit next to my mum
be nice to her…please…..or else….
she still wields a mean wooden spoon
anyway
the corner hotel was a great night
we rocked baby we verily rocked
usual caper
lotsa sweating n shaking n singing dem debils words
i pluck my bass
i emote my lear-icks
i send em all home
i put the whole thing to bed
tim pounds
marty n pete strum n roar
craigie wilson on keys does a sterling job
his band streetlight song are AMAZING!
3 guys making a lotta sound
didja realize sammy bright on guitar is tims son
in a family explosion we also have petes daughters in the kicks
who played down mean lean n dirty rock too
we were pretty good ourselves
not 100% but about 85
we often ” choke” a little in syd or melb or new york …
we choked just a little little
3 encores
i was dripping wet with sweat
my cold was pounding me
but rock got me thru
fitzroy gig another thing
we loose n funny
acoustic fun
lotsa jokey jokes
lovely audience
a few different songs
a few the same
we still manage to “rawk”
many men calling out that they loved me
i mean…isnt that sposed to happen in sydney…?
we did 2 encores
pete a great night on piano
blah blah blah
terrible news before we go on
that a good friends sister had passed away
dampened things a little

now to fly home
with jorden brebach the 5th member of the church
see scarlet kilbey n the gang in n bondi
if you came…thanks for coming
if you didnt…..thanks for nothing
if you couldnt…too bad
whatever
next 3 nights at lizottes
acoustic
central coast n nuke-arse-l
better be quick
lotsa love etc etc etc

the killer in me

yeah i type type type
i climb in n out of planes
i fly to adelaide
i fly to melbourne
i getta terrible cold
my head like concrete inside
feel weird achey n dizzy
take codral cold relief
mm pseudo-ephedrine
codeine
its a speedball gonna knock yer cold for six
but last night
im feeling weird real weird
i have a smoke n a wee drink
man im out of it by the time i hit the stage
the cold makes me feel kinda hollow n numb
i play a good gig
tim has a good night
we whip up some enthusiasm
i feel giddy and strange
i keep seeing things outta the corners of my eyes
i sing pretty good all things considered
we get better n better as the night goes on
by the time we hit the encores
rocknroll has healed my cold
lordy be praised the power of rocknroll
we’re loud
we’re brutal
we’re whatever you like
and thats about it

the endless summer rolls on devouring youth
your days on the beach
your nights in a car
the lights of some city in the distance
the motels clustered along the coast roads
that disappear in mists and lemurian jungles
as the companions dwindle
as the accommodation becomes scarce
as the neon blurs into one red dull furry glow
as you brush the sand out of the sheets
the waves crashing on the shore
the breeze rustles the curtains
suddenly they billow out into the room
and you flinch against your pillow
in a load of freezing darknesses
inside the nightmarish world of your dreams
in the morning
in the early morning
crawl out of bed
no reflection in the mirror
nothing good anyway
the pale sea pounds away softly on the shore
music faintly from somewhere
you have breakfast alone facing the sea
no one up yet
the heat is fantastic even at this time of day
gulls screech and carry on in the carpark
the a.c. purrs along
a motorcycle roars past disturbing your thoughts
you yawn n you sniff
you make mental calculations
in your mind you assess the given take
and the taken give of course
try to figure out where all the money goes
try to figure out where it will all come from
a bunch of noisy green n red parrots streak overhead
the palm trees stand sombrely as if awaiting your decision
the granola is soggy
the toast is limp
you pay the bill in whatever currency it is in
euro dollars and chinese pounds
swipe your card
start the car
winding along the ocean boulevards
through summer after summer
summers only differentiated by songs
summer songs
while you were waiting for your milkshake and chips
while you were waiting for the waitress
while you were waiting to be seated
while you you were waiting to be served
while you waited for a friend outside his work
coz he said he had something for you
down in the shadows
where all the white concrete meets the green sea
where the old wooden garage doors are all deteriorated
where the old jetty lies half rotted in the sea
and some old rusty hulk off the coast
and her drunk captain pissed in every pub
and the sponge diver who found a pearl
and the demolition man who wanted to be a builder
and the girl juggler and her moving tattoos
and the tramps living in luxury out in the forecourt
of the ruined motel
and the coloured lights twinkle merrily at xmas time
stupid dog yelps repeatedly miles away in reverb
yeah we drink a beer as we sit round a table
we play cards
you lose some money n you slink off furious
someone gave you a pill and so you took it
you feel kinda relaxed
you lie outside on the balcony
dizzy and dazzled by your own life
as it arcs like a star thru existence