i was standing in a guitar shop in queanbeyan with my dad
he said do you see anything you like here, slim
i looked around and the guy brought over this huge red guitar
its a rhythm guitar he said rather foolishly
no dad i said
i want a bass i said
we walked outside n dad was gone
i get on board a bus that drives through the pleasant evenings
down some stairs i go
a whole bunch of guys standing round smoking cigarettes
long hair and impatience
blasting loud guitars
cymbals crashing like white lightning
i light up a peter stuyvo
i drink my chocolate milk
i scream into a mike
i blister my fingers on the bass thats never loud enough
i drive up to sydney n stay at the squire inn in bondi junction
i do a residency at some now defunct joint that now does massages
we carry the gear in
we plug in all the leads
we argue
we smoke
we meet some stupid bigshot whos checking us out
i reckon he wont like us so i’m super-rude
we play awfully
things feedback
someones angry at me
i walk out into a cold morning back in canberra
stripped of band n everything
i fiddle with a tape recorder in a bedroom in rivett
i sit crosslegged on the floor
i got my bass n my e guitar n my a guitar
i got my drum machine n my synthesizer
i got my flange pedal n my distortion pedal
i got my little mixing desk
i got my stack of coloured leads
i got my mike n my stand
i got my exercise books full of words n poems n notes
and i begin
4 years later
i wake up in sydney rozelle
i got this terrace house with black walls n red carpets
i got a load of people hanging around
russell sits at a table eating cornflakes
the music is pounding
people smoking hash bongs n spilling stuff on my carpet
i go off on a tour
everything goes hazy at the edges
we tour the gold coast in summer listening to pet sounds
we get on a plane n fly to england
we stay in a crazy place with a spiral staircase to the roof
we play a gig in london n 2000 people show up
we play pretty awfully but they love it
ploog n i cruise the streets buying clothes n records n dope
we eat hash n go for goofy walks in hyde park
trying to relive a scene out of some beatles movie
we play before duran durank
and i quit
i mean
it was a serious joke
we come home
eventually
achieving little
and we go round n round aust for 4 years
round the mull-berry bush
we check in we check out
we sound check
we have fights with each other
we write songs n we forget chords
we bicker n squabble n wobble n snicker
we bitch n we moan n we goof off
we play great shows n we balls up others
we think we’re pretty good
n we dont like the provinces
we go in recording studios
n we argue n work n whisper n get out
i fight with everyone ALL the time
no one sees it my way ever
and i have to convince em somehow
sometimes i lose heart n go with the path of least resistance
the years fall off the calendar
i wake up in some american town n jump on a bus
we play every night we drive everyday
i feel the world closing in on me
i cant remember who i was
i lose the plot
suddenly i dont care
i let go of the rains
i buy a you-beaut sampler n make “remindlessness”
its clunky n awkward but its where i’m at
i do it my way n i dont have to argue
next thin i know
i gotta studio n a habit n a house in surry hills
n i’m falling asleep on the couch again
or arguing with someone on the phone
or slipping upstairs for a production meeting
or i’m playing my piano behind the glass
boy hanging out for the gear is not conducive for music
grant comes over
we walk around strumming guitars for days
i eat n smoke dope
grant drinks red wine n smokes cigs
we write songs that are so great we immediately forget em
next thing i know
grants moved to qld
and im on tour with marty strumming a guild 12
n then petes back n tim walks in
and i move away
i live in some apartment where its so cosy
but i’m cold inside and i’m frightened to thaw out
i do some ragged gigs on my own
marty n i play sometimes
then i’m in delaware making dabble
n the monkeys jumped off my back
and then i’m in bondi
and we do a song called sealine
and we do a song called block
and we do a tour somewhere
i and i get a blog
and i do a painting
and i sit here
on a warm spring night
listening to the birds n the children
lucky i guess
a song in spades
yes
thats for sure