The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

dee vee dee

well it came back from the factory today

ready to ship tomorrow

my little dvd

i dunno if you ever see such a thing again

until jack frost ( in the not too distant future)

but here is LDCBAF

spinal tap you betcha

we are every cliche and then some

but when we rock we rock ferociously

has anyone in a band actually ever made a POV doco before?

just looking at 1990 is a trip

its jerky in places

but theres much more unjerky than jerky

theres some distortion on live sound

yet it still bloody well rocks

it gives you a real feeling of how it all felt

its intimate its stupid its poignant its dopey

its immature …!

all the contradictions in the church are all here

its a pity we didnt bring some our liveliness into the interviews

sometimes we are downright rude and silly

sometimes we pontificate like the world depends on it

we jump on n on on non that fucking bus

we check in in in in in in nin

we swear and laugh get tipsy n smoke dope

we play hard hitting shows

we get on fast planes to here n there

we turn up every night n do our gig

you’ll see some of the snakes n a few of the ladders

its a long way even to the middle let a lone the fucking top

sometimes the olde glamour wears a bit thin

now you decide….

and please

write your honest reviews in the comments below

(thats if  you bought a digital download)

thank you for supporting this project

i believe its unique and you might find that its a bit of fun too

quiescent umbrage

sydney is a woman down by the shore

old and beautiful always young

snorting up lines of traffic and riders

a bitching city wriggling across high rise lands capes

drugged up on saturday night she staggers her arrival

dressed in red clouds and mature grey sky

she shows a lot of leg

she carouses in bars with jacks of all trades

she kneels in temples of masters of zen

mocking the mourners in some gaudy flash

she toasts the idiots on their yachts with a slap of cold spray

knocking at yer door screaming come out you bastard

you boring old bastard

there are dances and card games and orgies and films

there are cafes and theatres there are gardens and rooms

there are shows about anything you ever thought of

man its pulsating out there with intrigue and strife

man the helicopters whirl in

the hoodlums drive up

the tattoo parlour illustratin’ illustratin’ yer skin

the needles are banging

the pipes are all smoking

the coppers take you down with a ‘lectric gun

sydney come here you tipsy old dear

some of these people still out there surfing

the dirty old sharks all hungry confused

the lovely trails someone has left in the sky..how thoughtful..!?

sydney some of your streets are radiant i feel them even here in my tower

sydney in the tunnels and markets and in the marginal fringes

in developments that havent caught on

and traditional federation

and in alleys in the city and in bars in the cross

sydney you know i tried hard to leave you

i see through your lies oh please tell me em again

i close my eyes deep in the opera house

i stood on a stage with a nearly a hundred players

the words that i sang sydney were all of them for you

you fucking should have listen you stubborn little fool

you could have had me again that night

with your fingers of boulevards

and your bridges of love

with your harbouring suspicious evenings

and you give em the quays and you give em rose bay

where mansions rush down to the water

and you give em the reflections in the black surface of moon

and the fluorescent flash of your own clowns camera

and in some chat up meat market you meet your make-up girl

oh hi honey did i ever tellya that you look so sweet?

oh no why thank you i am a big fan of sydney too!

you hear that sydney ?

shall we 3 go back to my tower on your eastern shores

i have certainly by now procured the wherewithal

but first sydney thinks of herself

her sprawling self over acres of paradises and slag heaps

swamps and museums and parties in houses

sydney drags us to parties in balmain and rozelle

we eat a at place and king street turns into a princes highway

hang on a second

sydney hails a cab

she dials a number

the dealers arrive

a guy with the stuff that makes you so white

the woman with the stuff that makes you so black

the old guy who brings the stuff that turns you up loud

the young girl with the stuff that turns you down soft

we 3 of us slurping the champers

a single span bridge sydney sniffs

fuck you… aint it the biggest one in the whole world?

the make up girl giggles and draws in the condensation

sydneys limos speed through the night

carrying visitors and legators hither and fro

and back round the corner for a bitter you know whatski

hey driver take us down to the wharves

we wanna spend a fortune and sample everything

through warehouse districts just like in batman

where crims rent huge spaces to rehearse their capers

dressed in the demi monde of the times

strange tight pants all baggy at the crotchet

and wooly hats or something like that

we smoke cigarettes out front of some hotel

sydney acts as if she is immortal

as if she will never die

but no she can not keep up this pace forever

one day she will probably fall because of her mouth

of course her name might get changed

her houses knocked down

but by then all of us here would have reincarnated

in possible futures where sydney might wander

in ornate paths

in ordinary miracles coincidences seem to align

we interrupt our ride again and again

tolls are deducted by invisible hands in your vault

where they stash your imaginary cash in binary rows

make up girl calls out to friends having a drink and a catch up

i smile as i dial up a pizza and an escort

to escort me through this forest of nescience

in arbours of temptation

out the back in the courtyards

under the lights down at the station

the coppers jeer at ya through your plexiglass cage

in the hospital the overdoses stack up in casualty

they dropping like flies in pubs in the northern beaches

the cars are crashing out there in sydneys cold night

the wives are nagging the husbands are angry

the ambulance driver has seen everything

hes seen the gash in the sides of night

hes seen the fight between drunken despair

hes sewn up the lungs of some fractured morning

and laughed as the first surfer entered the sea

a querulous priest lambasting a flock

never mind the guy they sent round to see ya

never mind the thousand bucks that he owed ya

never mind the finicky twit at the counter

who loses his temper and loses your keys

never mind the guy in the taxi who stops and he starts

i’m feeling quite sick but he just cant drive

never mind all the chlorine in the pool at the makeup girls flat

shes got an apartment looking over the harbour

she dives in her pool with sydney around her

they frolic and splash and gambol and splurge

come on in they say divesting my astral garments

come in says sydney i know that you love me

overlooking my bad sides

my brutal savage history she says

and all of my boyfriends they all end up dead

and all of my rivals although i have none

with my golden streets and my white city ‘scapers

with my murderous secrets twined with moments of peace

oh yes come in and join us

but the traffic is stuck on this side of the bridge

some accident lights up the night like a xmas twee

the elegant waste of evenings like these

the rush of the shot the crack of the whip

the pale naked bodies all seen inner mirror

the crumbling cake you find in her fridge

like a season of folly crammed into an hour

the messages flicker as you monetize your page

and the likes and dislikes build up in your filter

suddenly you shout out some lyrics into the dark

as you stand all alone in make up girls kitchen

where the glamourous cockroaches nibble the brie

where the postcards have faded in 2 centuries mornings

where the hues and the cries are muted or gone

and you help yourself to some terreys chocolate orange

fuck it you cant be bothered to ask

in the morning the girl has gone

but sydney is there

sleeping quietly in the gathering rays

i must be derailed you think to yourself

and then

that thought

it too has gone

opening in

burnished speared flanks advance through desert

drinking lambarene laughing like fools

men harder than rock yet elusive like snow

a sea gurgles underneath us here somewhere i know it

under limestone and black plates the teaming grey waters

under cities and fields deep in some darkness

deep in some nightmare

approach it with caution

its energetic influence is staggering

a violent churning sensation then calm

adrift in some faery tale bliss you never notice this

white canvas of sky

the clouds are a smear on chinese pearl

heaven goes on and on forever as if in a painting

the happy peoples of earth rejoice

they care for everything

they kill nothing

to everything its own sweet life

to be lived in peace and ahimsa

hemlock bound

crossing the synapse

i blot out eyes

the realms they travel

outlandish sea

world of whorled beginning

we turn up in a cave

somehow i will decipher meaning here

this beast first creature by creature

this tiny morning captured in stone

this ice has cut deep planet chasm

this volcanic heat we must muster

you whirl around in a sudden blur

something has come in upon us then

in yesterdays scream i hear its death

you hack away in a trance of burning stillness

the poor thing groans its life out upon black floor

glass exterior protects my skin from such occurrences

my fingers collect data from bevelled sphered surfaces

microscopic dust emits red giant charisma

the readings take on a peculiar surge

i blot out eyes yes

honest engine

and maybe she will come from ethiopia

in a caravan along side some barren coast

a bridal pageant in an arbour

be sainted afternoon

in long ago from far away

unto the never ending road rendered a quiet prayer

black father who  above beyond heaven

in dark still stream i found a deepening dream

the drumming sound of thundering sun

the rain came down like diamonding drops

some time in the morning time stops

i saw an angel wrestle with a great worm

who pulled against this world like a comet would

inside a crystal ball frozen as the snow began to fall

swirling around snorting horses and the assembled hosts

and as the arrows dreamily fell all under the spell just died

i tried to find a word to shout out

i heard it inside….

just me again

we had a great evening at the vanguard in sydney

me and martin kennedy

we did actually rock which was surprising

a great band featuring craig wilson on keys n guitar

lisa (lisa) gibbs on bass n b vox

michael evans-barker on drums

some early reports trickling through from america

seems some people over there are digging YAE

i stand by my opinion still

one of my best records and one of the best records out there

(of its type)

now its in the lap of them gods if anything happens with it beyond this

if only more people could find out about it….

we need some breakthrough somehow

nevertheless with or without that

it still is an amazingly beautiful and detailed disc

we’ve been getting great reviews too

but fuck

its a philistine world out there

just look at the cooking shows and the losing weight shows

and all the rest

i dont expect our lovely record to do well

not in this universe at least

still

i am proud of it

and wonder how martin n i can possibly top it

i thank all the people who bought it

and i thank all the people who came to melb and syd shows

and i thank martin for providing this music for me to sing over

anyway you never know

maybe sheer quality can still prevail against all the odds

(but i doubt it…)

lights ! action! church!

watched the whole thing again last night…

you thought you knew the church….?

i thought i knew the church…..?

its amazing how the same bits make me laugh over and over

the church in some hokey restaurant saying dopey things

the waitress all puzzled

you’ll hear my vegetarian battle over n over as i ask

“has it got meat in it?”

the church lurching round the world stoned and tired and having a laugh

yes having a good fucking laugh

we were relatively young

we were doing relatively ok

you’ll be surprised to see how big some of the places we were playing in were

the audience goes on and on

a sea of faces ( what a cliche!)

we were living the good life

it seemed things might go ever onwards and upwards

but alas it wasnt to be

(another cliche still) there were dark clouds on our horizon

i was beginning to sense them

though i couldnt say exactly what they would be

i was about to hurl myself into a midlife crisis that would shut me down

it involved women children money thailand music and finally heroin

heroin sorted it all out by getting rid of the women children and money component

i would crash down and it would take me a decade to fight my way out….

so here i am on the crest of a wave and almost unaware i was about to be dumped

still its 1990

still it was last century

no mobile phones no laptops (as such) no emails no instagram no facebook

no hotelwomb or anything along those lines

no youtube no amazon no paypal …you get the picture

vinyl was still extant…it was about to fade away as well as me

(we would both enjoy a modest revival too!)

our last record had sold over half a million

this record GAF sold 250 thousand  or so

the church had already had a chequered career

in australia we had already been thru a slump or 2 before coming back with UTMW

our career in europe fizzed and crackled but never really catching on fire

and yet on this tour we played 2 sold out nights in london at a big  gig

the town n country club

and came back to play again at an even bigger one….

we are doing good business in italy and spain and germany

look at the crowds

look at the press conference in milano italy

theres a room full of geezers ready to hear about GAF…

so you  listen and marvel and then guffaw out loud

at the churches pretentious answers

all delivered po-faced with heaps of quotes and analogies

you  watching it always have a big fucking chuckle at the baffled italian journalists

sitting there trying to understand our hogwash n waffle

boy i wanna jump thru the fucking screen n grab my former self

AND SMACK THAT LITTLE SMART ARSE IN THE HEAD

but i cant

so i just have to laugh

what else can you do?

the stuff we come out would baffle anyone let alone a bunch of italian geezers in 1990

and the poor woman translating our high falutin’ replies

at one stage marty exclaims to the puzzled journos

“the trouble with a classicist ..he sees a tree he paints a tree….YOU KNOW……!!”

no they didnt know …and its hilarious

in another scene

after listening to some heavy flemish discussion of how i could get a veggie doo dah

i say to the belgian journo

“ok give me your cliched opening question!”

and he says

” ok this is your new album. how is it different to your last album?”

and we both break up guffawing

its the sheer idiocy of being a rock n roller

thats the beauty of my doco

the unexpected journey

the repetition will numb you

i left a lot of it out

we checked into and out of over 70 hotels

we tried to negotiate hundreds of veggie meals

shaking hands signing records by the thousands

another important juncture is caught on film here for you

2 years before in 88 i had had an argument with a little drip

from english rag melody maker

unfortunately said little drip was now the chief knob at said rag

and he sent a journo to finish us off in ghent belgium

and here she is

speaking in some hybrid transatlantic accent that would make

dick van dyke in “mary poppins”  sound authentic…

shes a real little horror

demanding ” does being a popstar make you a prima donna?”

my reply of “why …HOW DARE YOU ASK ME THAT…?!!”

elicits no laugh from this dull bint

she goes on to actually say “ive come to bury the church not praise them…”

her journalistic chutzpah extends to such brilliant questions as

” if your fairy godmother appeared what would you wish for?”

and asking me if i’m jealous cos marty is better looking than me n gets all the girls?

which despite me saying no to…she keeps insisting…” oh yes you are”

she later wrote that i hurled food at the crowd

envious of the attention marty was receiving …

actually i used to share the chocolates we usually had backstage

i used to chuck em to the crowd

anyway this bint stitched us up good

and that was pretty much that

at least you can finally see how it went down….on here….

marty of course is the perfect rockstar of all time here on this vid

he looks like a mixture of jagger richards harrison jeff beck and all the faces put together

with his floppy perfect hair his floppy fringed jacket and his skinned rabbit white physique

look at him lying round indolently by the side of an indoor pool

when he finally gets up and flops in he does it in such a way

it seems like an act of the laziest rebellion possible

marty seems so fucking happy and comfortable with himself

he laughs and clowns his way through the four hour vid

occasionally strapping on a guitar and blasting us with his sheer pizazz

pete is pete is pete as hes always been

ive known him 40 years and hes always like the pete here

mostly quiet smiling sometimes getting excitable but usually taking it all in

quite inscrutable usually

onstage he tall and slim in his 3 quarter length jacket

creating his amazing sounds without much fuss

me…i got the beard and some iffy hair dos

a bit podgy as the bint from melody maker was kind to point out in her article

we all had our shirts tucked in to in 1990

even our t shirts

youll see jay dee daugherty too

man he was in good shape too back then (he still is)

he doesnt say a lot but hes a humble modest smiling guy

he could wallop his huge drumkit too

(enough spare parts to build a morris mini said the melody maker)

hes having a good time

hell we all are mostly

flying business class

staying in nice hotels

(i filmed all the rooms for you all to see

what constitutes a good hotel room circa 1990)

23 years ago so much has changed

be amazed to see how the crowds try to pour into our dressing rooms afterwards

half the audience tries to get back after every show

and here i am holding court clutching an ever present bottle of evian

expounding on this and that

who the fuck is this guy?

i like him i hate him he amuses me

what a toffee nosed git!

what a handsome devil!

what a pudgy sod!

what a goofy fool!

what a stuck up turkey!

what a kind man!

in one minute your opinion of me will go on changing

a real mercurial flake …no wonder no one ever really trusts me

i’m always mucking around half serious half bored half aloof

ive left some nasty things about myself i could have cut out

like me bitching about my hotel rooms mostly

how someone else got a bigger or better or higher room than mine

hell i aint no saint

i left some nasty sides of me in here

then theres the other characters too

get a glimpse of mike lembo looking like nero or caligula or something

our amiable lighting guy trevor…still with us to this day!

our sarcastic sardonic subversive tour manager

helping us plot our dismissal of lembo

and theres the other roadies

the massive gilbert our sound guy

and all the others goofing off and fucking about

all over the world

the same little bunch in paris in NYC in london in atlanta

some of the footage is missing

i dunno

the tapes broke or got lost

this is an incomplete fragment of a tour

its jerky it lacks continuity it lacks polish

but youve never been inside a tour before

not like this

you can practically smell the dirty socks on the tourbus

you can nearly smell the beer and smoke backstage

youre there with me as i get up as i go to bed

as i sign n meet and greet and eat often from my POV

endure the tyranny of distance and the loneliness of rock n roll with me

the gags and disappointments

the memories and the regrets

a slice of my life

hey i’m proud of my film

its been a long time coming

if you thought you knew the church wait till you see this

its gonna put a real big smile on yer face

in spades and guaranteed

fuck.

i’m glad its all over!

sk bondi monday morning 2013

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