The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

in the hinterland
outlying areas
small towns you never heard of
evans beach
emerald heads
dalton
mermaid river
valhalla park
sleep in the car beside the sea
at night the rolling surf drums on the shore
you listen to your radio and smoke
you fade into the songs yourself whole
you live each song in your blue car
the songs of that era
in the night beside the black and silver sea
no moon to illuminate your heart
faint stars only
and youll never get to sleep like this
all the love songs strip you back and sensitize you
you start to pickup on small details
realms you assumed uninhabited
the way the distant stars were in communication
the memories of people who used to live hereabouts
another song comes on the station drowning in static
someone has set one of mozart
or beethovens most beautiful pieces to rocknroll
and some girl is singing these words in my car
thru a tiny tinny radio speaker in a mazda
in the inky darkness it is a revelation
listen she sings
is it that i have always loved you
or was it a dream i had
in another life
answer me darling
oh tell me…
and the song is swallowed in white noise
and advertisements
shortwaves trying to focus in
blips on a faraway radar
the night is absolute
the sea once blue and inviting
contains unspeakably monstrous things
the shadows in the sand threatening
the wind whines in the barbed wire
how old are you i ask myself
how old am i you ask yourself
you see
it doesnt matter which way you ask it
you and i interchange able
projection and transference complete
you start the car
pull back onto the highway
your headlights shine through your own dust
the station totally tunes out
and the silence is taut with meaning
you pull into angel rocks at 3 am
drive into the caravan park then
a guy gets up and turns on a light
can i rent a caravan you ask
its been a long night you might as well add
the guy is wearing a dressing gown
yeah ok he says
he tosses you some keys
its the blue one down there with the light still on
jus’ for tonight ? he asks
you shrug
dunno notshore
ok see me in the morning he says
ok you say
drive down to blue one with light on
undo the door
its warm and stuffy but not unpleasant
crisp sheets
some arrowroot biscuits in cellophane
a low rounded roof
small cupboards
moths buzz around
the odd mosquito too
slap!
fucking things!
slap!
you pull off your clothes
and lie down in the caravans bed
its too short for you
but youre so so tired
its safe in here
safe to dream your dream
safe to slumber
neutralized
passive
still

who cares?
i give up
i give up giving up
i sit on a wall in the shade pulling on my boots
a pleasant breeze ruffles the leaves overhead
the sea was cold
the currents were strong
the rip ran deep
the cold sea like a woman with its moods
a woman like the sea with her deep secrets
green grass blue sky white buildings
everyones on holiday and the dream is beginning
the last of day of school finds you sadder than you thought
the empty classroom left with regrets
the discarded uniform never to be worn again
the music fading in the corridors
one last look around then
finality
childhoods end
the blackboards are all green
the lessons are all over
you return home to live up your new freedom
the phone never rings
you jump in your blue car and drive and drive
out into a wild frontier land and almost beyond
the lake that swallowed the land looms on the left
that swampy smell n children fishing from the bridge
the isle of capri
the land of plenty
homecoming
a beautiful woman is hitch hiking
your head says stop
but your foot goes down heavy on the gas instead
you see her lovely form recede in the rearviewmirror
the eternal separation
the aesthetics of loss
for the next thousand seconds
you cant get it out of your mind
but you drive on into the future awaiting you nonetheless
stopping at a servo
halfway to angel rocks on the old coast road
everything in the dusk has unbearable significance
the man at the register winks knowingly
its almost too much to walk in these darkening pastures
at a picnic table i drink fanta and eat my smiths crisps
the birds in the bush twitter and coo
the creatures in the grass rustle and are silent again
i think about that song
that song that reminds me of you and breaks my heart
suddenly the darkness and aloneness feel so sweet
another car pulls in the servo
a plane flies overhead white n red lights flashing
you get back in and drive on
school has begun
and someone else sits in your old seat
pleasantly cocooned in childhood
the way you never will be again
its nearly lunchtime out there now
and the kids are eating toasted sandwiches and flirting
the teachers in the staff room drinking tea
the rowing team at the regatta
the debaters prepare in the library
but you
you ride this dusty road taking wrong turns
you sit alone in fast food places under fluoro lites
drinking thick shakes
showering in a sea side change room
you catch sight of yourself
a vague stranger
all grown up

i am the observer
i like to watch and think about it
i recycle experience into a poem
now i dont know where i begin
and this poem ends
against a white wall in the warm afternoon
decided fact and fiction are not 2 opposites
oh they overlap and overlap again
weave in and out of each other
what is a lie
what is a blog
what is a poem
what is a diary
in my kitchen im somewhere exotic
everyones gone out and i see the palm trees sway outside
nico comes on my shuffle droning on subaudibly
its hot and windy out there
i seek refuge in my solitude
my work speaks for itself
my hands convey only fractioned stories
by the sea the children are bathing bathing bathing
the gulls wheel n circle and scream above the wind
i feel im somewhere wild like south america
i feel like im on an island in the antilles
i feel like this cruel day has got something on me
my skin is dry
i sit in my cut off jeans typing in this heat
i get flashes of bondi a hundred years ago
scenes fly into my head quite unbidden
in hotel rooms ive never seen
in trains and at stations
drinking a beer with rog and molly and cyril and maude
double breasted suit n a hat
even on a hot day
where did my time go ? he asks me
child on the beach says how much time do i have ?
at a cafe : sit here for the time being
my therapist rings me up
are you fucking crazy?
aw, now youre making me mad, you sick shrink
youre outta time, olde bean
my beautician rings up
oh, youre ugly and olde
and i dont have the time
my mechanic rings up
it was the timing chain
my distant ancestors ring up
i cant understand them at all
my own personal demon rings up
i love it when youre angry he says
izzit hot enuff for ya? he smarmily asks with a smirk
its like all yer summers ‘ve come at once
meanwhile in my kitchen
the wind whips at all the pictures on the fridge
and petals of flowers detach and blow away
i never said i always said the truth
so everything is under review
a committee studying my technique
has been formed in a university some leagues hence
the professors want to cut me up
n see where the ideas come from
they say it cant be live
they say it cant be done
they said i evolved from a chemical miasma
struck by lightning
they said everything is randomly generated
they said god was just a big bang
they said stay off the grass and give way
meanwhile mecthilde remains unpainted
the debris accumulates
ants invade at the window ledges n edges
cockroaches drop in from outta town
is that the santa ana wind blowing out there?
the west must be baking
and even my imagination will not go there
instead i drift back to a private sea
i own this sea
every last drop now paid for
every fish labelled
ever chip identified
i try to keep people out
i send them away in a violent storm to drown
get your own sea i laugh as they go under
my friends said i was mad to buy a sea
why not wait for an ocean said rog and meg
a river would be more handy said basil and petunia
i’d have got two small lakes at that price said uncle rimbo
now thats strange
now theyre all down here under my umbrellas
walking on my pier
wearing handkies on their heads and baggy black bathers
dont daydream son ! says mother
no im fifty years in future and fifty years behind, mum
im in 2007
im in 1907
never 1957
oh youre all over the shop says rog and marg
sort the boy out les ! says auntie bea
spare the rod spoil the child says aunt li
whats wrong with me i say
everythings merging
everythings surging
you and dad are getting bigger and smaller
closer and further
just go to bed son says dad
youve been asked nicely now…
my autobiographer rings up
if you could just explain that bit…
anyway
the salt is sweating in the cellar
the sellers mark it
the wine curdles in the cask
and the whiskey is unalcoholic

meanwhile

on the prehistoric outside
blacksky filled w/insects
a jim morrison night
naked chicks in blue swimming pools
motorbikes roar out there searching
i drink absinthe n i smoke jazz cigarettes
i stumble on a party
i fumble with the keys
we light a bonfire on the deserted beach
the sparks race upwards to the southern stars
i kick stones in the crowded empty street
i jump on a harley and race down sea street towards the horizon
the streetlights have been smashed by moths
fruit bats collecting in an upside down world
i decelerate as i interpenetrate nirvana beach liquor
multipurposeful
accidentally off kilter
fairy bombed
now im riding a board
hanging ten like only a bleached blasted poet can
my beard nestles against my face
the wind sings through my earrings
my wispy thin hair is clinging lingeringly
i go sailing over a crest into the darkness of a deep trough
the palm trees are still nodding at me
wow i remember i got to get home
running up my steps outta head
gosh when how thats ok alright then
music
nattily
the music plays so nattily i guess
children in beddybyes
wife in the bath
fish in the tank
books on the shelf
knives in the draw
voices in the ether
fingers in my skull
tap
tap
tap
oh!

sleepy little monster
caught in a trap
not the sphinx
some other kinda bitch or jackal
these then are the salad days
i guess this white whine is the dressing
i suppose these clouds are the mayonnaise
i wonder if this ocean is the ointment i need
i need to read more about need
i mean i want to do that
i think it will help me feel
feel the waves engulfing me
a piano arpeggiates and modulates
the foam fluted
the deluge is tongued
music will herald the end
old nick blowing on a tomb bone
until then
in these years
in these stormy balmy times
until our island sinks
or apollo looses a plague
you will remain chained to my pain
not what you wanted to hear
gently dozing terrible little gargoyle
now that youre unkillable
undrownable even in this specific ocean
more hideous than all the denizens of any deep
reaching out in your tentacled slumber
a wild wreck on a distant shore
the surf pounding in your two ears
the ears that hear the eyes
the eye which looks
the eye that sees
the seas that seize
and the amazing days of olde
when the anointed one trod these sandy paths
and he wrestled the great serpent
and cast him down to sodoms deep pit
where the fire causes him to scream
and his screams float over the ashes like echoes with wings
and by harvest time they arrive at the ocean ravenous
and they drink it dry
until neptunus comes out in his fury
strangled by his godly magnificent hands
they disgorge the seven seas
and a great turmoil coils about the heavens
until the thunderer appears wrapped in nimbus
his voltage bolts electric cute crucifying and transfix
the stormwielder
god of most hosts
fierce and beautiful and old and young
recreated the land and studded it with new cities
filled them with things like yourself
half angel half idiot
dragging yourself along bound
bound nowhere else but where
the fruit bears itself to stain
corrupted to soon
undone
unravelled
unquenchable
the wind has whipped the sand into your eyes

a big black moth flew in
from the whirling dusk
where the wind lost its mind
blowing in all directions at once
throttling the flowers
hurling petals a round
velvet darkness has fallen like a curtain
utter luxury of warm night surrounding me like a second skin
the night which caresses me
like a twin
the identical moon
named and nameless stars
nepalese fingers meddle
trees run out of room in the sky
this night is delicious it has become uncontainable
this darling night with its white pinpoints
a gorgeous creature of a night
all feminine and warmsoft
oh night find your mouth and kiss me
oh night be forever open
open like the vastness you cover
as you ride the sea
and soar over the sand
who are these birds still singing?
oh i am an egg in the nest
oh i am the bursting bud on the branch
oh i am the soft moaning evening
on the eve of springs second month
and my moth flew into your dwelling
where my daughters dance in your dreams
my lovely daughters from pleasure realms
where there are no weekdays
where trees grow on money
and people shoot up silver colliding in trance
yes and i the eternal night
who rules all space and spaces
say this to you because i need a voice
i say the day you see is shortlived and soon faded
everything returns into me unto me
i was there and i am there and i will be there
the day is a fantasy
a glitch in continuity
the day is light stretched thin
the day is impermanent
eventually all days end in night
and in time
night will swallow day forever

the night had spoken
her introjected silent voice ceased
my ears drown in the silence that came in her wake
the moth lands on a wall in the kitchen
black moth on white wall
beautiful little big moth that you are
part of the night
a little piece gone from the puzzle
here here im rearranging things again
for the sake of my friend the night
the 30th of september night
who i call the duchess of darkness
an exquisite night full of notice
ha you would succumb too
even you daylovers and suntrippers
lightfreaks gambling in the mornings
even you afternooners in the shadow of twilight
my my baby you love to move through this tonight
i carved my wand from ash and i charged it with thought
the night endows it with her subtle power
the night who i salute to boot
the night i have produced on your screen
the night i engineered on our behalf
the night you got me for my birthdays
the night you found on the bottom of a pool
the night you dreamed of a night like this
the night that was nigh
a night like a knight
nightlife
nightfighter
nightsuit
nightwings
nightfeeler
nightlove
moth
night
moth

another weird day
i arrive in cold stormy melb
after leaving warm glamourous sydney
after waiting round for 1 n a half hours
my guitar failed to emerge
so i went off axeless
(without my instrument…i felt..so ashamed)
i turn up at david birdies house
a man of few words
he concurs that we’ll just “wing” it at the gig
that means we’ll improvise n hope for the best
hes gotta great studio out back of his house
avec grande piano et al
anyway after an eccentric ride into melbo
we load in our gear
i get on an endless phone queue
to find out where my irreplaceable guild guitar is
i feel really unanchored knowing its floating round melbo without me
david b n i rehearse one song together
he joins effortlessly in on teachers by lenny c
wow ok mr birdie youll do nicely
polinski n i do a jap dinner
during which a friend of polinski needles me
bout vegetarianism then god
but i dont lose it
back to gig
there i met melbo gang
sam s
don b
e g lee
david b turns up seeming impossibly untogether
everybodies talking at/to him at once
he mumbles n mutters n shrugs n twitches
but he goes on n does a lovely set
about 3 quarters way in i join him n play some rudimentary bass
then he splits n i do my thing
i still have a bit of match fitness
and i do fairly well without forgetting words or muffing chords
after a while mr db comes back on
and the real magic begins for me
we do providence
ramble
keeper
neverness hoax
hes never heard the songs before
let alone played em
i read an excerpt from fruit mach n he accompanies me
don b said this worked very well
then we do a long long medley
starting with invisible
chrunch fans woulda already seen this coming before
but this one goes on n on
swallowing up other songs with the same simple chords
d b is sure a great keys player
to jump in n knock it off like hes played em a million times before
this medley goes n goes
taking in all kindsa other bits n pieces
and then bang
it ends
david b packs up mutters good bye
and that we should do it again
yes please david anytime olde son
oh yeah n my guitar turns up during 2nd number
e g lee tunes it n whammo
oh mutch mutch better
this guild is my sound
i sign some autographs
fruit machine sells out n i sign em gladly
i talk to some fiendss n fanss
some of em shy
some drunk n overthetop
bellowing stuff at me
ah what the….!?
theres the little lord n mr d
we go round for a cuppa herbal tea
n finally i stay at donaldos cosy gaffe in elwood
we stay up talking n talking
and tis a weary killer who greets you now
fly back home at 2 oclock
love
me

come round the corner
i see a fleur de lis
formed by 2 lizards biting a third lizard
on either side just below the head
this 12 legged monster enjoined in the rites of spring
can go vertical or horizontal
it seems not to matter much
up and down the suncaked orange baked bricks
the lizards all flip around
trying to get on top of the others
sometimes other lizards appear
their heads popping up from the grass
and outta the bricks
their sleek brown bodies glint in the sun
i pick up on the lizards wavelength
they are not at all afraid of me
they say
they can intuit goodwill
however they fear my clumsiness
im standing very still then i communicate
good say the lizards all together
suddenly i’m aware of the reptilian rustle
the lizard airwavelengths are valve bouncing out
like sparks in the static
like a field of electric and aromatic information
like the fine tuning of a microscope
like the individual markings n tiny perfect scales
the deep beauty in the lizards eye
betrayed by their violent congress
is there no romance?
i think-ask them
no none says one
unless its loving on the face of a wall
the sunlight warming your cold blood up and up
the light penetrating your scales
filling your head with a dazzling boiling colour
red expoding slowly into purple blue
as you become warmer you become faster
taking advantage of the velocity of the light
the chatter in the field multiplies
we apprehend messages
we perceive subtle changes in conditions
as the sunlight intensifies
as it beats down on our absorbing hides
yes as we drink in the sun
and our veins fill with its fire
we are dragons in all but size
filled with fiery anger and desire
filled with springs imprecations
filled with lusts angles and slips
we bite into each other
and remain
with jaws clamped tight
until dislodged by night

imagine all those lovely songs as yet unwritten
think of all the divine music you may never hear
what is a song?
how would you explain a song to an alien?
music n words that go hand in hand
is a bad song still a song?
yes, because people still like bad songs
what is a good song?
a song that is a spell
what is a spell?
to be able to influence people or events
as though you had power over them
what do good songs make you feel?
that youre not alone
what is a song that many people agree is a “good” song
suzanne by lenny cohen
discuss
“suzanne takes you down to her place near the river”
by starting with suzanne
the singer implies you already know suzanne
or have at least heard of her
by suzanne being the first word in the song
i am suddenly forced to throw together a rapid image
of her in my mind
yes, the song is called suzanne
but before hearing it
i expected that in the song somewhere
suzanne would be sung about
but i did not necessarily think
it was someone that i already must know
or would get to know
cohen almost sings of her
as if he is passing her on to me
and i already know a lot about her
and her place by the river
the water flows
its incessant journey
its swelling and its diminishing
an exotic place
i can see it
in british columbia or somewhere
its summer
i see the overgrown white apartment
suzanne has a balcony or deck
the trees rustle n move in the warm breezes
its bohemian but its still very upmarket sixties
“you can hear the boats go by
you can spend the night beside her”
notice cohen is saying “you”
not i did this or that
but you
its ambiguity is delightful
is it a prediction
a possibility
or just a manner of speech?
(ie:you can get to canberra in 2 hours these days….
you can buy tickets when you arrive )
and her place is right beside the river if you can hear the boats
and arent you n suzanne just ships in the night as well…
cohen knows you can spend the night beside her too
something in this implies
suzanne maybe a woman of some promiscuity
a free lovin’ hippy
if you want to spend the night beside her…
well you can
i’m also feeling a certain bitterness
cohen spent that night
n now its your turn
he was just another bloke
another notch on suzannes bedpost
“and you know that shes half crazy
but thats why you wanna be there”
ok now hes really casting aspersions
on her
himself
and you
the woman is a little unbalanced
cohen realised that himself
and it turned him on
and he also reckons itll turn “you ” on
this half mad free loving woman with her groovy pad
next to that lovely churning river
with its beautiful n mysterious boats
whose destinations are unknown to us
suzannes lunacy is attractive in some sick(ly) way
oh i guess weve all met people like that
but im starting to feel a bit nervous about her
like
am i just exploiting her madness?
am i too straight for her glorious insanity?
“she feeds ya tea n oranges that come all the way from china”
like shes hand feeding ya the oranges
popping those juicy segments into your mouth with her fingers
those expensive chinese oranges…they must costa fortune
and the sweet tea
the ceremony
the feeling of ritual in its preparation n serving
“and just when you mean to tell her
you got no love to give her”
oh oh youre backing out now
youre looking for an escape route
maybe suzanne is crazier or dirtier than you imagined
maybe you aint got love for her or anyone
you were just looking for a night in her bed
you dont want anything serious
now you had the night
the tea
the oranges
the half craziness
its enough
youre getting ready to say some stumbling excuse
when
“she gets you on her wavelength and lets the river answer
that youve always been her lover”
ok
suzanne totally outmanoevres you here
shes crazy and psychic
she saw your bullshit coming and shes cutting you short
she tunes right into your mind
wavelength…a particularly “sixties” word
a crazy hippy nympho term
man, suzannes got yer number tho
she anticipates you
and then
metaphysically
metaphorically
the river itself
her permanent companion n neighbour
the great flowing river that carries men hither n thither
the river who has seen the whole thing
the river who has flowed since time immemorial
who meanders over deltas
and rushes in the mountains
the river speaks for suzanne
the river answers your excuse
before you have even said it
and it says
in its watery tongue
which it insinuates in your mind somehow
youve always been her lover
as a thing which truly understands the word always
the river utters these winged words
always been her lover
you are more than a one night johnny, mister
youre connexion is so deep
ha you dont even realise
you never see the layers of reality
the deep implications
but suzanne has fucking shocked you
shes telepathic with a talking river
which is in cahoots with this…..witch
and the river says
man tho i am myself verily deep
druid you are in deep with ms suzanne
you and her go way back
you may have forgotten
but suzanne herself
remembering through her lives
and i
the eternal river
flowing since gods beginning
we have not forgotten
arent you in awe of this woman?
do you know what youve gotten yourself into?
this musta happened like this for lenny too
cos hes warning you in his weary voice
its a prediction, after all, isnt it
these things will happen to you
as they did to me
and presumably a whole host of men
connected to suzanne
as she gently manipulates them
for her own crazy (hmmm, is she really?) ends
“and you want to travel with her
and you want to travel blind
and she knows that she can trust you
cos youve touched her perfect body
with your mind”
now youre convinced
now you wanna know and go wherever she wants
travel
where to?
what kinda voyage would it be being blind?
or will you travel willy-nilly
with no care for arriving anywhere
and once again cohens slightly bitter accusation
(now in the past tense)
that youve touched her perfect body
(and who would know better than him how perfect)
but you touched it with your mind
but you touched it with your fingers too
lenny somehow implies
there was an exchange
a body for a mind
suzanne let you have her
cos youre vaguely interesting
although cohen and the river
see right through you

in the next verse
cohen introduces unexpectedly
like a bolt from the blue
the last person you expected to encounter
in this riverside sensual extrasensual weirdass song
it cant be….. its…
“jesus was a sailor when he walked upon the water
and he spent a longtime watching from his lonely wooden tower”
suddenly you feel guilty
you been making out with suzy n
having weird psychic conversations with rivers
and freely enjoying the permissive n groovy free love sixties
when jesus appears
christ, leonards jewish as well
so we picking up lots of things here
the song has exploded wide open
and jesus and the sea of galilee have come through
hang on though
how does lenny feel about jesus though?
the whole of this verse is rather fictional
jesus was a fisherman but not a sailor per se
which wooden tower was he watching from then?
a crows nest or turret aboard a biblical fishing boat 33 ad?
or a lighthouse?
or a fortress?
theres no wooden towers in the gospels i can think of
cohen seems vague on what jesus was purported or not to have done
“and when he was certain only drowning men could see him
he said all men shall be sailors then until the sky shall free them”
this isnt exactly what jesus said at all
but how many could tell you that
cohen sings with such sombre authority
you could believe its the gospel truth…geddit?
imagine those drowners as they go down
seeing the soles of his feet
as he carefully treads the waves
like a surfer with out a board
and suddenly seeing a chance yet at salvation
the drowners furtively pray to him
but jesus wants more than the desperates
he wants your heart before it is an emergency
come out of love
not out of fear
and why shall the sky free them
when the sea is the sailors element?
does he mean freed by heavens judgement?
does he mean the stars in sky which light the sailors way?
“but he himself was broken long before the sky would open
abandoned almost human
he sank beneath your wisdom like a stone”
meanwhile where is suzanne in all this?
shes temporarily forgotten…
and,yes in one way christ was broken before the sky would open
in a way cohen echoes the taunts of the romans n pharisees
why dont yer god save ya now, druid?
as jesus was mercilessly banged up on the excruciating cross
cohen also implies the freedom the skies could grant was rain
going on with the river and ocean
(surely tears cant be far away??!!)
anyway now christ is abandoned
by cohen
by the jews
by the romans
and almost by you
youre almost at the end of this verse
suddenly youre losing interest in the man of sorrows
he who was abandoned by almost everyone
sold
denied
left to his fate
and now
despite cohen telling you his sad story
you have used your “wisdom” to push him away
he actually sinks into your watery subconscious
and on into oblivion
a heavy inanimate object
in the end
although he could once walk on water
he ends up sinking anyway
“and you want to travel with him
and you want to travel blind
you know you can trust him
hes touched your perfect body with his mind”
more travel/voyages
christ and his retinue of saved souls picking up momentum
but always into the unknown travelling blind
now hes touched your body your heart
with his mind his heart
hes saying go back to suzanne now
but a little part of me may go on in you
“suzanne takes your hand and leads you to the river
shes wearing rags n feathers from salvation army counters”
youve left her place
now youre going down down to the river itself
you seem a bit unwilling or unable
or you dont know where youre going
or why else is she leading you
one things for sure
her dress is a bit embarrassing to you
rags n feathers
2nd hand at that
shes a crazy scruff
but somehow she has some of christs attributes
rubbed off from the second verse
you try to understand her bizarre attire
“the sun pours down like honey on our lady of the harbour”
ah a beatific vision..
suzanne as whore with a halo
martyred beatnik wisewoman crazybitch
how are you feeling about her now?
a seeress
an angel of destiny
the sunlight is so warm without burning
its a lovely moment
there on the shoreline
the river is now a harbour
and suzanne is its patron saint
she is so much more than you could dream possible
its a photo opportunity
“and she shows you were to look among the garbage and the flowers
there are heroes in the sea weed, there are children in the morning”
suzanne
like all saints
can let you see the marvellous in the mundane
she needs to show you where to look
otherwise you may not have noticed
the beauty in every single thing
in the 2 extremes of garbage and flowers
in all things
in the seaweed the heroes
what does this mean?
nothing
except to look for the miraculous constantly
or is cohen referring back to our drowners n sinking jesus
surely heroes all now down amongst the seaweed
but still worthy of your remembrance
and of course
the children
the future
the innocent ones
the lambs
the ones you could still yet help
suzanne now reveals them
the hope for this dizzy world
suzanne is a voice for the phantom children yet to be born
or are they suzannes own children
running in to mother in the morning
only to find you and or lenny cohen in there too?
“they are leaning out for love
they will lean that way forever
while suzanne holds the mirror”
leaning out of where…the mirror?
leaning out of that symbolically future morning
into the present day?
anyway
they like all children need love
they always do and always will
even these children in the future
however suzanne seems to have suspended them there in time
as long as she needs to
forever if necessary
suzanne does things in forevers after all
and only when the love is truly available
from you or any other lover
only if you will love the children you may conceive
will she allow them to materialise

there you go
probably not one of these thoughts occurred to lc
when he wrote it
its just my interpretation

*lyrics from the universal by small faces

well i went round jlks house last nite
and we did my vox on the secret canadian project
sample lyric
yesterday is a hole for me
in the afternoon that you sold to me
winter in the mirror feeling cold to me
and i wanna dig deeper
but i just gotta keep ya away

i reckon these guys should like it
if they dont then i’m no use to ’em at all
and they should ask bone-oh or michael stripe
or ian mcbolloch or some other blah blah blah
but
i reckon they will like it
i knocked off my lyrics n singing in 2 hours
came home started watching science of sleep
which i was enjoying
but nk says too tired
cant we watch the rest tonite
ok i says
today i listened to small faces on way to pool on pod
tin soldier
jesus, do you know that song?
my 1st girlfriend i was telling you about before on here
she or her sisters had a single of it
i hadnt heard it all that much on the radio
and when i put it on her fathers big old record player
it was the unbelievable visceral sound of love
coming off a scratched lump of vinyl
with a needle deep in its groove
starting with an electric piano
an ascending chord progression
its the anticipation of romance itself
the band suddenly jumps in real loud
and the songs starts to come on like a drug
the bass fat and round
the incessant ticking of the hi hat
the fancy guitar fingering
its horny music
insistent
rising up n up
cmon yells steve marriot slightly off mic
and the drums pile in
“i am a little tin soldier
who wants to jump into your fire “
and you know
that worked for me on so many levels
of course hes talking about
a more obscure tale
by hans christian anderson (hi tt in danmark!)
a one legged tin soldier, a toy
falls in love with a ballerina in a box
after much misadventure
arranged by some unexplained malevolent force
(who’d wanna be cruel to a toy? a one legged toy??)
including being swallowed by a fish
the tin soldier ends up burning in the fire
with his ballerina who doth verily love him back
a ha
but the next day as they clean up the ashes
the maids find 2 tiny tin hearts in the grate
is that a happy ending?
how would that test-screen out in burbank i wonder
anyway
marriot milks all the implications in the line with his voice….
oh i wanted to jump into loves fire
and i saw myself as slightly damaged a la the soldier
(why?)
and thus deserving of sweet sweet love
i dont need your aggravation marriot croons
in the breakdown…
i just gotta make ya
gotta listen (he spits out slightly off mic)
i just gotta make ya
my occupation!
well i could certainly dig that
marriot sang in a choked soul voice
implying urgency
it was urgent n important
his love was busting out all over him
he tickles the strings on a suspended fourth
and i was getting the idea
i do anything you want me to
sing any song that you want me to
(but what song could his girl want but this?)
i aint no child…take me as i am
(he insists)
finally finishing with a crescendo
marriot somewhere in there
the emerging urgency multiplied tenfold
i just want some reaction
why dontcha gimme satisfaction
cos all i wanna do is * to you
cos i lo-ove you!
*inaudible
man
i was hooked on this song for life
isnt amazing i said to the girlfriend, shocked
she smiled n shrugged her shoulders
obviously it was not doing it for her like it was for me
or maybe itd been played to death in that house
i knew how marriot felt tho
cos i never seemed to get that much reaction either
i dont know what it was exactly was wrong with her
but looking back on it
she was just a very ordinary girl in an ordinary place
in an ordinary time
why couldnt she see how groovy it all coulda been…?
she had no clue and i was disappointed
a couple of years later
i purchased the sublime
the autumn stone
a double album incl. their greatest hits
afterglow
i loved all the way their songs were slightly ambiguously
about sex
theres everything i need to know
just resting in the afterglow of your love
and the hammond organ is so grinding n creamy
and as usual the drums are so wound up
that he goes on pounding when the band has stopped
a trademark kenny jones move
itchycoo park
you wanna know what lsd sounded like in 1967?
listen to this flanged masterpiece
you can miss out school
why go to learn the words of fools?
marriot sings
n i could only concur
a ripping version of red balloon by tim hardin
bought myself a red ballooon with a blue surprise
took the love light out my eyes
ooh blue surprise
yes baby
the blue surprise was heroin
lazy sunday
which even my dad liked
if you wanna know how my dad sounded
when he was angry
listen to the cockney geezer
on this song
screaming out
“shut your bloody row!”
exactly the words my father would use
and yet
halfway thru this jolly song
when he sings close my eyes n drift away
the chords go minor
and we feel for a few bars
the real melancholy of sunday
the fear of it being over
the implied loss of freedom
tomorrow will bring
and lemme tell ya fiendss
sunday monday all the same to me who dont work
but sunday still brings me down sometimes
hey joycie wheres my toasted baked bean sandwiches?
anyway
its all captured there on this song
and of course the universal
sounding like it was recorded in marriots back garden
some psychedelic summer morning in the sixties
when acid rock mixed it up with english music hall
guitars n clarinets n euphoniums all together now
a hippy trippy name dropper
came to my door
he said i just bumped into mick
he told me you know where to score
no not me friend
the small faces
boy did they even look like a group
marriot would form humble pie with “franger” frampton
(thats what they called him in canberra
a franger is a condom)
and sadly die in a fire in a hotel
caused by falling asleep with a cig burning
ronnie lane
bassist extroadinaire n co author of the songs
kenny jones
and ian maclagan
the best keys player in rock almost bar none
would form the faces with rod n ronnie
confusingly enough
their 1st album
which may or may not be
called
the first step
was credited to the small faces
it wasnt until the second album
long player
that they were just the faces
i listened to a bit of long player today
particularly marvelling at a track
sweet lady mary
which is almost maggie may about 2 years early
its all there
the melodic lyrical bass playing
(i LOVE ronnie lanes bass playing)
the wandering organ
woodies scrappy n rough guitar
its a prototype hit
the first step had some corkers too
dylans wicked messenger
a song called devotion which is tres romantique
these guys certainly could conjure up some magic
ronnie lane died of ms in texas a while back
a tragic sad loss
what a wonderful geezer he was
my mate wil-o has met ian mclagan
out here playing with billy bragg
(who i dont like at all)
and he said mac was a diamond little geezer as well
kenny j played wiv the who for a while
what a raw powerhouse dynamo for any band
a true fuckin’ thumper with bags of finesse
rod went on to whatsername from sweden
and whatsername from new zealand
and woody joined los stonos roulade
(make up yer own spanish!)
if yer really interested
i cannot recommend highly enuff
ian mclagans book” all the rage”
one of the best rock reads ever
and it broke my heart to see
the wonderful small faces never got paid a brass razoo
ripped of by grinning hyaena andrew loog old-ham
who got the fucking lot
publishing
records
everyfing
and thats why i hate mosta the pricks in the biz
(but not all)
anyway
nk was no more enamoured by the small faces
than that ordinary girl 37 years ago
when i played her
here comes the nice n tin soldier
oh god i hate that guys voice she casually says
almost derailing this blogge
hmmm
i wonder if the small faces/faces is a kinda guy only thing
like dylan……
anyway
i dig it
even if its gone full circle
in my own life