The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

eyes down n looking

i deal in weirdity

oh idyllist is a strange mixed up record

hawkwind meets bowie meets 1960s pop meets frank sinatra

all of  them living in cologne smoking hash and working with mellotrons

a future that never came must have its songs

well here they are lurching tilting stumbling jumbled up and leaking out

this is the sound of a man with too many ideas

i go all over the place twice before breakfast

oh the idyllist rocks in some sick lumpy way

look ma i’m playing all the instruments

im a massive over achiever on an ego trip from utopia

no one can do this stuff but me

i am the maestro the undisputed king of this thing

it aint smooth but sometimes its sleek

how come i’m so fucking good

how did i ever get a handle on this so i can pump this stuff out

all of it marvellous music and songs full of love

well it took time and it took talent and some other force

something extra i know i have on my songwriting side

oh and my mad methodology even i dont understand

if you want raw uncooked time being nutrients this is where to get em

no ninny came between me n my music

thats all me every last fuckin thing

i  conjured that whole racket outta the silence

some of those songs soon you’ll wonder how you lived without

i bet

door to summer

the sounds of yesterdays

the moorings of the mornings

yes yachts on smooth summer sea sailing in sunset

strip away the night and yet this fragile feminine day

down by the shore they singing all the more

oh sweet jesus oh how i love you so

the sins mount up in the penthouse

the rubbish accumulates in alleys of bygone months

the beach boys singing in that old abandoned beach house

mouths empty of song possible worlds gone wrong

the idyllist is a (c)hanged man

the idyllist in a valiant transistor radio oh it should have been that way

wim o weh oh wim o weh

the lion sleeps tonight

from a jack to a king

my friend the witchdoctor

in the jungle the mighty jungle

river jordan is chilly and wild

and transvaal with servants and picnics

and rhodesian scholars in travestied gowns

the idyllist intervenes suddenly

in broken tones of electric guitar he strums out a C

the idyllist reaches back in  to his mind

nazarene in nairobi

of course he was says someone in another room

you mean alabama says someone else

someone occluded

a corridor of flowers

a procession of daughters

still…

will my spirit rise above this plain…..?

tor wrist

dearest heart

the weather is so fucking warm 115 degrees

i go down to the seas

i drink coconut water and dive for sponge

summer salt from greek cliffs into pacific waters

at night in the clubs hung with lanterns

i drink black cane rum skulled like a ram

the water is so blue my darling oh its so very blue

underneath the surfers is a world of silent fishery

perch bream mackerel and snake swim in these climbs

a swirling world of bubbles and weed and sand and mouth

that night they play a record called the idyllist

i lay in my hammock listening to this music

who wrote these words and these songs…?

its so hot i am sweating all the time

my sore fore head full of ideas drip drip drip

my eyes the colour of sea blink in the searing noon day heat

the equipment becomes too hot

the whole island struggles under this merciless sun

i make notes about life about my purpose herein

holiday land with the pineapple fritters and palm sunday salad

my swimmers hanging on a line

my mask that i wear overwater

my mansuit damaged by choral arrangements

ripped by the march of indulgence

crushed by the may of maybe not

oh summer is upon em out there who asked for it

a thousand summers still they cry for more

i met a girl darling who came to my room

we listened to the idyllist in the midday blur n hum

my curtains floated over  us like a bridal shower

we listened to idyllist as we sweated in the bed

the girl skin is so brown and smooth

i stood in a cold waterfall shivering

on a plateau above the coast a silver river ran through the land

before white man arrived from over some sea

i  love the idyllist the girl say in her gentle english

oh sweet jesus oh how i love you so she sing

in my hotel room where the wind tickles the venetians

among the abstracts on the wall and the faded cushions

oh sweet jesus give me another go she sing again

we light up a joint

out on the balcony in a towel sunburnt and starblind

the idyllist plays on and on

more black cane rum more dope more stars

the night is blacker than the rum

black black black

the native girl moves like a cat in moonwhite heat

the ocean roars and crashes

the tourists drunk in a thousand clubs red faced and too much aftershave

i am isolated now

my room high on the hill

i order rice milk iced coffee

i drink cold coca leaf tea

i listen to the idyllist now

it brings it all back to me

a path through the madness implied in secrecy

dont worry about that girl i never  saw her again

she disappeared into a furious market boiling in the square

cheap sunglasses jewellery and kaftans engulfed her sleekly

everyone was singing along to african jesus

while my  still kisses lingered on her thighs

and the brutal sun blazed triumphant in vivid skies

and i  gotta call from the hotel asking me about the sand bar

i got wrecked like a pirate there last night

found myself in the arms of brazilian women with fake tans

a boyfriend took a swing at me

i staggered into idyllist nights of potential

heat hotter than i ever know

the afternoon right now finds me lazily enervated

this and that are too much to deal with

the idyllist is on somewhere behind it all

thumping lilting crooning mocking

darling i think i got heatstroke

i cant go on anymore right now

i will write again soon

love etc

me

pink freud

low hangin’ garden of sky

seaside suburbs under long grey

tiny rocks n stones white against orange

sandy soil throws up palms and arms

the idyllist at his work …no ordealist….

oh that theme from some a place

threw and threw those waves washed through

swimming between the oceans legs at woonona

dad says steven wake up we’re nearly there…..

oh my dad who now lives in my heart guide my fingers over piano

dad look i have done this and this and this….

the unmistakable sound of an empty room

i am not talking to nothing…am i…?

that old devil Mr Doubt……

soft laughter in the distance today …oh how kilbeyesque…..

i spit out songs like gods hurl out suns

42 years on the bass has paid off hand some lee in spades

oh how my hands glide and roam

i still like the simple stuff

the perfect equation of notes within the bar

the slight muffling on certain sections of inter string dialogue

the way the wood has soaked up your vibe deep and big time

oh my old friend how i bless the day i first laid my hands on you

softer than silk you effortlessly throb

your slender neck yet so easily strong

your notes linger on in sex in darkness in acrid scorching summers

i wrestle with your weight then youre nothing but light

the idyllist and his bass alone in this holiday planet abandoned

the idyllist with his songs from shallow callow youth and on

down swims idyllist and bass

down down down into specific ocean

into underwater realms and green shelves of melting ice

the steady pulse keeps me locked down

we pushing a gain white door polar vanilla

the idyllist wakes up at his desk

here are his pastels

here are his songs

the songs other people bought to sing to their wife

the song i cut short because it threatened me

the song i wrote about you that you hated

the songs with the meandering hippy razzmazzataz carryon palaver

the songs i didnt mean to be so mean

and the songs i didnt mean at all

drift deep child now

listen to your old soft sugar daddy dreaming under cloud

listen to the idyllist touching his bass

it is almost inaudible

listen to the rings ear that resonates on after universe is gone

listen to the monkeys in lemuria chatter like swans

my songs interrupt me who want to be fed

what did you come up with kilbey today?

how is that cold ocean water laps round your heel

how is that sound of seagull so magically done

oh mister my bass is playing your song

that song about that woman who done did you wrong

you begged to her to shut up you begged her to stop

a pity she was engaged to a cop

my songs on the verandah are growing fine hairs

my songs up the chimney that mantelpiece scares

my songs under rocks in pools by the shore

singing i wonder why our steven dont come down here no more

some woman giggling a few windows away

while over her antelopes nice zephyrs play

and inside her garments of flesh and of soul

the love that is healing her blind as a mole

just like some mother licking a foal

i shot up sea creeks and each tiny shoal

my bass leans against the wall havin’ a sleep

i tether my thoughts with a gossamer chain

and neither of us will ever be unhappy again

but my bass grunts derision my bass starts to growl

my bass is murderous beast on the prowl

with the talons of eagle and the fins of an owl

with the razor snaked line the goes round the block

some of those gathered had walked right through rock

theyd arrived in a cloud but they  left in a blaze

they gathered in storms with summoning gaze

they asked for more songs more songs for idyll

idyll man

idyll woman

idyll photospheric stream of dream pumped down to me

idyll idyll on the wall

who idyllist of them all?

oh you mighty time being you freckled man hag burn

oh you mangy panther decked under halls of tile

oh you white hippy moses who leadeth his people to……nirvana

oh you nevets yeblik thrice cursed with empathy entropy and ache

moving in all angles your idyll mansuit captures experience

you are the universes fawn

you are st steven beloved of summers and idylls and caravans

flippers and snorkel and spear and mask  

oh its is you time being

you are the true idyllist

there is none

can be none

will be none

more idyllistic than you!

the bass was too saturday-fied to respond

the songs were still hungry

the wind waited

what does kilbey do next?

idyll daze a bound

so the idyllist is finally coming home to roost

the sound of a gnarly gnarled old songwriter goofing off alone

a bunch of random songs signifying whatever the usual thing is

i just dont know what to make of it

and i’m curious to hear yer opinions

is it good or bad or worse still, average….?

its just what came out

if i did it now it would all be different

i would never have written these songs before or after the last few months of ’12

so here it comes shortly off the old turnaround

some will love some wont

thanks anyway and goodnight

do too much

albums to come this year

1 the new one i’m working on now solo

2 the new kilbey kennedy you are everything

which is being mixed right now

(thanks to all pledgers)

and it is a lovely thing too

3 . album with frank kearns (coral kingdom)

4 album with hu dost

i have decided to write my memoirs part one

and am currently in neg. concerning this

am co-writing a book on spirituality

the church may have a few more gigs in em….stay tuned…..

the play is coming back to melbourne “vanpark” watch out in march

will be appearing on telly and live with a TV show

getting ready to re-release earthed plus

working on doing music for a  series of lapse or slide shows of nature photos

2013 should herald the finishing of macbeth and my soundtrack (and guest part)

accepting painting commissions

thatll do for now

sk

science as uncontrollable anxiety

we barbarians have sacked all the cities

the beat of war drum in dreams

the promise of gold and women

we marched on empty stomachs and hard hearts

we crawl over terrain like molasses

at dawn we are mirror

no need for documents we arrive as by magic

our unfathomably insane desires now immaterial

we gloat although hungry

we brag nearly dead

everything ive ever seen through a slit in my id

avalanche of body as the slain come down

communicate this : pain misery dirt

some god not ours enjoys this sport

men hewn from oak or rock hewn down in dive

looting the temple of some virgin rape seed

it was burning before i got here

the earth cannot shudder or it would ….

the poisonous means of diplomacy prevail

we take back our holy places by unholy mistake

lemmings into the afraid n over any old cliff

such a clever job they did everyone every one

down in some desert place there we are virtually

some miles to go until freedom is ripped out screaming

you spearmen ahead who fight for culture

and you you axe wielding giants who maim for a living

and great loyal bowmen who rain death in a cloud

all of us plunder the pleasure of ages

unbound on the field unleashing fire and pitch

in warships like nightmare i burn in the sea

all of it sinking sinking into the past

swallowed up in the darkness of memories blur

my fever my brothers my others my fingers

swirling around in the life rushing by

twirling strand woven  by the norns in the sky

light paws outta me

apocrypha is indefinitely shelved

i wanted to make a certain kinda record

some weird obtuse masterpiece

some classic epic blah blah blah

(something that means something)

yet what i made was not that

its a collection of songs

no more no less

i mean this is what i did

i set out to do one massive conglomerate

and i came up with all these little bits n pieces

a collection of songs with no theme

with no overall scheme holding the dream in place

i just started and i did some work and this is what i got

my muse is a hard muse to focus

it wants to wander

i have  let it wander

well it wandered right off apocrypha

and straight into this

its more dabble than remindlessness as far as some continuity

its all over the shop

its not really weighty n serious either

i dunno what it is

i aint even gonna try n define (or defend) this record

i gotta still finish it

but i’m gonna hurry up

all those loverly people who just subscribed will probably hear it first

i hope by end o’ jan

maybe even before

a strange bunch of songs for you no doubt

the unlimited choices of Logic recording still baffle me

its hard to grok an artform where you can just do ANYTHING

thank god painting isnt like that

theres only so much you can do at any one stage

but music/songwriting….wow!

it is bewildering a bit to me who left off for a long while

i dont even know why i did but i did

i dont know why i do things …i just do

some vague force guides me i guess

anyway in the last year i seriously got back into home recording

but

the unlimited nature of it often slows me right down

what do ya wanna do in yer song?

because youve got options coming out the grand wazoo at any step of the game

unlimited tracks

unlimited sounds

unlimited effects

unlimited ways of doing things

(simon polinski ,say,uses this program differently to me to write songs)

everyone can use it differently in different combinations

so

that is slightly hard for me to deal with

because being an imaginative and meandering kind of fool

i’m better off having an easy path to follow

which you did in the old days

with tape recorders and stuff

now….?

there is a thousand paths

i’m a bit baffled therefore

i’m a horse that needs blinders

you mustnt let me see everything at once  (baby)

i need my process but my processes mind was blown by logic

so many sounds n loops n tricks n gadgets n stuff

its all in one (virtual) box

so as i cope with logic

(its like imagine if you had a red and a blue and a yellow pencil

then one day you got the sennelier box set with 120 pastels!)

the sky being the limit

so as i cope with this freedom  (a paradox)

i have recorded loads n loads of things

most of this record was intended to be apocrypha

but it aint i just know it

so i will tell you its name when it arrives i guess

(the albums steve kilbey rejects)

i reckon some of you will really likey

some of you will say oh i see why it isnt apocrypha …

and most wont care if they like the tunes

and there is some incredibly catchy tunes

which isnt normally my hallmark, is it? my catchiness…?

but here i have been damned catchy and i dont care

in some ways it unsurprisingly reminds me of garage sutra

in as far as the songs go

the songs are the important thing not the other stuff

of course on apocrypha the songs were supposed to be strong too

but there was to be /will be “other stuff” involved …

here its just a buncha songs stuff free

free of any idea that puts them together

or anything

the sound of steve kilbey fucking around with logic

unlike garage sutra the bass guitar is back in a big throbbing way

and of course electric guitar and keyboards and live percussion

but its still very pop tunes-ey

you may like that

you may not

anyway thatll be coming down pipeline imminently

good on ya!

sk

“the spirits of two small beasts appeared lapping at his nostrils”

look i have concocted another universe

and peopled it with stars

studded it in with liquid gold sunned lights

in centuries bulging with marvels

i dagger fate

and i truck the wilderness

my green thumbs pull up andromedas

my legs astride the bucking earth

before the word was the thought

before the thought was a love like hate

a deep and bewildering love that will swallow it all

a brutal love that destroyer of doubt and faithlessness

in my skull of gardens

in my eye of diamond

in my hands i hold this lovely nothing

above and beyond angel home of grace

the life force churning out soul

electricity charging spirit

who will lay such beauty on this world …i’d like to see it

new years prayer

as i sit here in bondi

the sound of the chemical brothers soundcheck wafting up the hill

i wanted to wish every one of my readers

a new happy year from me and the thousands of behind the scenes workers

who bring the time being to your screens

we would most sincerely like to thank our subscribers without whom…..

well you could see this year that i dont make too much from record sales…..

it is just an unjust world and nothing is really the way it could be

never mind all that

of course i also thank top ranking officials within my empire

JT, KMc, KLK, DR, HJ,MEM

of course SJJM who is a diligent cog in the TTB mechanism

i really wish a new happy year whatever that means

for whatever its worth….i do….

so watch out and carry a big memory stick the time being will be here in 13

my lucky number too

i try to love everyone of you

i know i definitely need you all

thanks for your comments and contributions in 12

theres still a lot of football left in this game so stay tuned!