killer wakes before dawn
a wild night
sydney has turned cold and deserted
the wind bite bite bites
it comes in unexplained
all night long
the triffids songs go round in my troubled dreams
somethings got me so itchy
standing in the warping auditorium
im all mixed up
its all mixed up
im singing the wrong words
im leading the wrong life
it almost seems right and then…..
strange day the day before
took evie starr and the woofle to the beach
the sun is irradiating out there
oh ocean is soothing cold clear
i catch some little waves
woofle (looking more and more like dr seuss creature)
the woofle plays in the sand on the shore
in her pink zip up swim suit
occaisionally a wave reaches her and she breathes a ooohhhh!
she asks lotta questions all the time
dad whos that?
dad whats this?
dad where ya been?
shower ok , dad?
shops, dad, back soon?
last nite i held the woofle on the balcony
she’d been annoying the other 3 trying to watch something
we looked at the moonless sky
moon gone hinda clouds dad ?the woofle almost says
i start to sing moon river
she leans back away from me
and gives me a poignant meaningful look
like
oh that song….of all songs…!
then
she clings on tightly tightly to me
he face pressed dramatically into my neck
her chubby little arms squeezing for all theyre worth
scarlet is a super senser of anything marvellous
she acts like we’re an old married couple
and moon river is “our song”
i must admit i do a nice croony version of it
out there in the foggy night
wider than a mile…im crossing you in style, one day
something dave mccomb might have written almost
why does the woofle carry on like this?
shes been here before, baby
oh you cant get like that at 2
shes sentimental n nostalgic for times long past
she still feels her memories
buried deep deep down
she aint no first time arounder
(none of us are presumably)
anyway we stand on the balcony in the night
with the chalk and the little toys i keep treading on
with the withered vegetables in planterboxes
and fleshy shrubs
towels hanging on railing
kids swimmers carelessly hung
the beautiful white flowers in the garden next door
the diffused lights of sydney
my little woofle childe like a baby beethoven
her wild hair
her broad forehead
her deep blue eyes
that look out at you so knowingly
woofle i couldnt bear anything to happen to you
the rehearsals have been going well
im getting on very well with everyone
ricki says that everyones happy with me
oh i like that
oh i do like it when everyones happy with me
oh i want to please the triffids and the audience
mick harveys a lovely bloke and a good singer to boot
chris abrahams on piano
what an amazing piano player oh how i wish i could be like him
and he is
the sweetest nicest most ‘umble geezer
melanie oxley singing beautiful versions of daves songs
sister to jeremy n peter from sunnyboys fame
again a nother lovely person
toby from youth group
a big triff fan
a warm mellifluous voice
rob snarski a real singers singer a creamy voice
his brother mark deep and resonant on bury me deep in love
the triffs emselves are an idiosyncratic bunch
they are each perfectly apt on their respective instruments
graham lee running the show plays exquisite steel n lap guitar
jill on keyboards plays in a very triffidy way
she steps out to sing occaisionally
and raining pleasure is a show stopper
“in your arms i believe its raining pleasure”
marty on bass now in bad seeds with mick h
wow
a propelling bassist who drives the entire band
he just plays n plays n plays
instantly recognizable style
hes borrowing my bass cos its so good
alsy on drums is inventive thoughtful and unique
rob mccomb is just right on guitar violin n a mean harp
ricki is cramming cramming cramming to learn everything
im trying to take too much in at once he says
nonetheless hes coping well
mick harvey jumps in on the xylophone or vibes
its a small orchestra
a tall thin suntanned weathered looking geezer
prowls around snapping shots
i get it in my head that its the other mccomb brother
he checks me out occaisionally
steve miller from the moodists is there
as an m.c. i guess
a few people at rehearsals are surprised by my dedication
and the way im throwing myself into these songs
steve miller is one i guess
he enthusiastically shakes my hand after i belt out my numbers
“youre…..youre…..(grasping for a word)…good!”
thank steve i hope so
these songs are some of the best ever written in rock
we do field of glass the ten minute epic
including weird spoken n screamed passages
thats right scream
i turn into joe cocker spaniel in this one
after i finish field of glass rob jill n marty say good job
jesus… daves were big shoes to fill and i need encouragement
when i sing the songs however
something takes over
i get sent
“sent” a word my dad would use in humourous awe
when he saw a muso or singer going off his head whilst performing
“look slim, hes been sent” hed say n we’d have a laugh
now im getting sent with daves songs
i walk around trying to get a look at the “3rd mccomb”
he looks bit like rob n dave
but he looks like a wizard too
i see him deep in conversations with various triffid alumni
i suddenly deeply need his approval
oh i hope he likes how im trying to do these most important songs
then unexpectedly we’re introduced
steve do you know….i cant hear his name over music
the guy smiles his strange smile
he makes me feel like a kid
hello he says and shakes my hand
have you met before ? says someone
how could we ? says the guy
we only just got introduced!
he walks off
i still dont know who he is
is that another mccomb brother? i ask
much laughter
it turns out its bleddyn butcher
legendary
i do mean legendary photographer for english NME
he was photographer du decade in the eighties
hes writing a book on triffids
he took loads of pix of em back in the day
when they were feted as superstars in england
too much wild acclaim n too much record co pressure
their calenture record an equivalent of our gaf
all drum machine souless n underdone
fighting against idiots in record co etc
wow bleddyn butcher, huh?
gee hes an imposing kinda lookin’ character
anyway
various peoples approving of my field of glass
including mark snarski sending me up a little
cos i was overdoing the “satchmo” stuff
thats right satchmo
and if ya cant beleave yer urbane olde hero
is singing like satchmo get yer bum down the metro
sydney, nsw aust
thurs
fri
sat
sun
darling wife coming on sun night
should be real good by then
oh jericho!