Me and my friends, we're all misunderstood

There are some people who will tell you that youth in mass is an inherently animalistic, base and destructive thing; that, given a chance, young people will make life worse for people because that's what their idea of a good time is. There is a subliminal cultural mentality, I think, that has always been around, that decency has to be forced on the incoming generation.

At Andrew's 21st last week, I witnessed one of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed. Given the very chance I have already mentioned, allowed any and all sorts of shenanigans (as is the custom of the twenty first birthday celebration), the not-inconsiderable mass of youth that I was in the company of could think of nothing more enjoyable or worthy of their time than to gather on the dancing floor and sing along with drunken and endlessly good natured luster to Go West's The King of Wishful Thinking.

I was genuinely, absolutely awed, and monumentally proud to be young.

That Measured Melbournian Poetry of Jordie Lane

I knew Jordie Lane tangentially in high school as the senior king of guitar, and indeed he was in those days something of a technical and musical wizard. What the young performer has grown into, however, is an artist of astounding tastefulness, one whose poetry is fused into treasure somewhere between the beauty of music and the bare honesty of lyric. The more that I listen to his reflective ballad I Could Die Looking At You, the more I become disturbed by the certainty that it is, however obscure, one of the great Australian songs of our time.

Have a listen for yourself: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4bMBquVKnYo

"Getaway Car" by Audioslave

Is a supremely sexy, suave and sad song.

For my money, it was the group's finest hour.

Vampires

I'm wide awake on the bathroom floor

I’ve never felt this cold before

I must have let the day slide in

Cuz the dark is gone and light sits thick and ready to begin

I fear the stake

Is too high to waste

And all man’s slothful efforts were in vain

I forgot the way you do it here

Blind and mad with fear

Of the Lord

But I’m never doing that again

To live scared stiff of my own end

Amen.

I feel my love

In my blood

Flowing fast to where there’s not enough

I hear the prey

Call my name

And Song the Fourth

A working model for poetic meditation on the intense pathos of insanity and the insanity in pathos.


Tuesday Pills

I heard a voice on the wind

She said, ‘The danger’s over.’

But there was no one, so then

I’m hearing voices again.

I saw a man on the road in town,

saying, ‘If you need a cry, then here’s a shoulder.’

But when he spoke, there was no sound

So I’m seeing things now.

The newspaper is full of messages, and

It's all tantamount to me being missed

And wanted home. “You’re not alone”.

The secret people, they’ve heard my tapes

And they love what I do and the way that I play,

They tell me so on my phone,

Their code is in the dial tone.

Oh, and I’m not so bad

What did you expect to have

Happen?

Oh, and i’m not that scared

I know I’m almost there

So it might not happen this afternoon, but

The whole world is going to love me

The whole world is going to love me soon.

Dylan Newport Folk Festival; 1965

Have you ever actually seen Dylan's performance at this infamous event? It is, quite simply, the best live performance the man ever put in. The band was tight; there was a band, not just him rattling around on an out-of-tune guitar; he was singing more-or-less in tune; there was more going on musically than there ever had been before and it was engaging. And the audience threw it all away for a change of instrument, and actually booed him. Ladies and gentlmen, there's only one word for that: fucktardation.

Something

First blog since the sadness.
I don't think I want to talk about it in my usual stupid way.

But here's something: I'm going to start playing solo gigs next month. It's a pretty big deal for me, a terrifying one, but I'm at a time where I really feel it would be destructive not to do it, for a number of reasons, and every person I've told about it has thought it is a good idea.

I was kind of running on apprehension last night about the whole concept of playing by myself in front of other people, and I ended up writing this song about what I realized is the state of my life. Strangely enough, it's pretty much the first time i've ever done that. I usually end up writing songs in really abstract ways, but this one was pretty direct and personal and just fell out. Anyway, I'm really happy with it. I think I'll open with it at my first solo gig (:S).

Song the third

Those Weird Kids (In Primary School Who Cared About Things)

I believe in kids
who never called in sick,
making plans to fix the world.
Cuz I don't know 'bout you,
but I could go a few, so honey
tonight let's let the kids do the work.

Dancing on the table is not a wrong thing to do
near as I can tell from the queue;
lining up to take
the Normal Person claim,
putting down on paper why it should be you


I believe in luck
fucking people up
and the worst cases aren't here to get drunk.
So see these times as ships.
parting ocean lips.
Baby, we're among the rips

But swimming in the water is not a wrong thing to do
near as I can tell from the view;
standing on the shore
of how things were before,
rubbing myself raw and through


I believe in sweets
being good to eat.
There's this place down the street: it's cold.
Oh, please don't give me that "no" smile,
you can stay a while,
The kids have everything under control
The kids have everything under control.

Titles

The following are a list of titles for novels that I have encountered in my own imagination that set the scene beautifully for content of an astounding quality.

God May Be Gone - Assumedy this would be some kind of semi-fictional debunking of religious fanaticism using the continued and increasing horror, disillusionment and technological miracle of modern society. Of course the story would also examine the genuine loss of traditional Christian, Muslim and Jewish values that are of great importance and compassion, as not to make it too nasty or one sided.

Nobody Sleeps In Lonely City - This title covers all manner of sins, don't you think? I'm imagining a quiet, slow exploration of future society, experienced through a character who has only very recently been reawakened from cryogenic sleep. This guy will have been frozen sometime around the Vietnam war, I think, as so modern happenings (Internet, 9/11 and such) can be explained to him as long gone history. Think he should have a dead wife that he yearns for, and to whom he adresses his story. There's very evident noir in that title though, have to work that in somehow. Future noir is nothing new, anyway.

Melvin Mahogany Will Rule The World - Surely some comical adventure. I have been recently tickled by the prospect of a supervillain named The Convincer, who aspires to world domination via very rational and sane plans. He should have an office, where he invites people and disarms them with his charm, ie "Look, some people in my profession go in for blunt force, Brain Wave guns and things like that... uhhhhh, it's not my thing. I mean, I can barely work my phone, anyway, I'd be hopeless with a Brain Gun or what have you. But really I'd rather not insult your intelligence. I believe in informed decisions, not quick fixes. Here's an outline of my and my enterprise's first steps, please take a copy home with you, phone the office if you've any questions, some one will put you through to me. I really want you on board with me for this, Dave."

Also I think Mother Music Loves You is an excellent name for a lively big band.
And the title of this blog (I Fear the Worst on a Day Like Tomorrow) would be a splendid album name (preferably by a low-key indie outfit).

The Most Inadvertently Sexy Video I've Ever Seen

The Band

I am really not happy with or interested in the way the band is headed. I think we no longer have anything special. Don't come to our next gig. It'll only encourage us.

Little Known Wonders of the Musical World: Part Three

Tonight a certain piece has been playing on my mind. Although secrecy and the ensuing sense of security are surely a part of the warm feeling it brings, I would like to share.

What is it? It's a musical representation of a trip down the Nile river in Egypt, entitled River of the Ancients. It's written by a chap named Michael Sweeney, who has probably written more charts for high school bands than he has had hot meals.

Where is it? I heard it first when my high school concert band played it (all fucking year) 2006, but an in-tune and in-time version can be found on The Music of Michael Sweeney, Vol. 2, which I ended up buying last week just to hear the thing proper.

What's so good about it? You'd be hard-pressed to find a veteran of high school orchestra ensembles who actively enjoys the music they were forced to play, but I'm sorry to say I'm one of them. If you either accept or ignore the admittedly lame historic basis for the tune, it winds up sounding like something Grieg might have done - moody, unpredictable and manically symphonic. Maybe I just get off on really tightly composed pieces of music, which this surely is, but I like to think that it's more to do with the piece itself. Harmonically pleasing, heralding, rewarding. Conceivably lame, yes, but not one bit disingenuous. It's just music that sounds good to my ears.

Little Known Wonders of the Musical World: Part Two

Tonight a certain piece has been playing on my mind. Although secrecy and the ensuing sense of security are surely a part of the warm feeling it brings, I would like to share.

What is it? The song is called Gospel, and it signifies a very pleasant change in direction by Melbourne based indie group Treetops.

Where is it? Give it a gander for free at the band's myspace, and if you're very impressed, you can purchase their EP, also called Gospel, for what I'm sure is a bargain price.

What's so good about it? Gospel is your classic "bastard regret" song, but it makes its mark by using infectiously catchy melody and good-energy playing to shift its focus much more toward the redemption than the regret. The shout chorus of "I'm only doing good things from now on" is done with such relentless positivity and conviction, and is so congruous with the rest of the song, that the implied irony takes a backseat. Gospel isn't ineffectual - it knows there's despair and darkness in the world, but wants to celebrate the light when its there. True to its name, it actually is something of a genuine Hallelujah.

"It's Never Over": More on the magic of Jeff Buckley

About three hours ago I finished reading David Browne's dual biography of Tim and Jeff Buckley, a compelling read for any Buckley fan as avid as I which tells two equally interesting and tragic tales, spun thirty years apart. Though the book has, to an extent, inspired me to look further into the music of Buckley Sr., I don't plan on giving cash prizes to anyone who can guess which of the two I was more smitten with. The experience has lead me to reiterate in text my love for Buckley's masterpiece:

Having unspecified relationship troubles with Rebecca Moore, an un-discovered Jeff Buckley began fiddling with a song idea in 1992, detailing his pretty standard feelings of inadequacy, regret and all round heart-ache. The song was called "Lover, You Should've Come Over". And, from the corner of Sin-e amongst the clatter of forks and the bustle of the street outside, the greatest Love-Lost song of all time was born. From the mere title, in itself a lingual treat that feels good in your mouth, to the melodic moaning, crooning and howling which end the song, communicating what words couldn't quite reach, it remains to me one of the most perfect musical pieces ever written... and I get such a strange rush out of realizing I was alive and well when this happened. It reminds me that music, I mean really great, life-changing music, is not dead.

But the untouchable, untouched musical passion that resided in Jeff Buckley isn't the driver in this case: it only necessitates what makes "Lover" great; it gives the song its force and sharpness with which to penetrate us, all the way to that deep part of the human experience where Jeff lived, all the time. Once he's there, we hear what he's saying, and if the moment has caught us just right, we'll damn near weep.

Because it bends a lot of people out of shape to know it, I think, but every hurt and every happiness you ever suffer never leaves. They make you who you are, and you carry them around with you, in varying forms, til you die. That's why there shouldn't ever be a person who hears the sadly uplifting gospel bridge of "It's never over; my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder" and doesn't immediately think of one specific person. There shouldn't ever be someone who hears those words sung with that voice without remembering with a frightening freshness that feeling, that feeling that there was nothing in all your life you wouldn't have given for one more second of being a whole with that person, that feeling that nothing would ever be alright without them. It was everything, that feeling. It was the whole fucking world for however long you felt it. And Jeff Buckley felt it too.

It takes a special kind of person, I think, to write a song of such paradox with such confidence, but I say what is emotional pain but confident paradox? "Lover, You Should've Come Over" is the truest of all songs in that sense: it is every sad story. We all hear it as we are, sitting at home and feeling normal and good enough, watching the funeral of the outside world parade before our door, and its no coincidence at all that amidst these verses of calmness and acceptance and the signs of a life moving on, every chorus comes back a little stronger than the last, a little more insistent. It's the hardest, and most universal kind of sadness, this: we are happy enough most of the time and as many problems as we may throw up to the sky in the process, the only answer that feels right, and that keeps returning with more and more force: "oh, but I wish you'd come over." It is the tear that hangs inside our soul forever.

And yet Buckley holds out hope: "It's not too late" are his parting words, before the song calms down to its initial lull and fades away, as Jeff himself did not three years later. Because of his untimely departure, we will never know if he was right. Was this optimism his greatest strength or greatest tragedy? Would someone, some day have walked through his door and make it feel, to his hurt and yearning, that his lover had returned? Was the surety that it's never over virtue or vice? The pain is undeniable and universal, but the conclusion is entirely ours to draw, through ourselves and everything we know. That's the magic that Buckley had.

Little Known Wonders of the Musical World

Tonight a certain piece has been playing on my mind. Although secrecy and the ensuing sense of security are surely a part of the warm feeling it brings, I would like to share.

What is it? The song is Vale Deah by Trocadero.

Where is it? I first heard it during the end credits for the DVD release of the first season of hit machinema series Red vs. Blue, but it can also be found on the group's album, containing many songs used in and written for the series. The album is the one I'd recommend: it holds many a treasure, including the indie-rock/pop killer No One, another of my secret securities. Vale Deah is available on youtube also.

What's so good about it? Vale Deah is not a flashy show tune, nor a soaring epic, nor a crunching rock outburst. In fact it doesn't rip and tear at the seams with barely suppressed emotion of any kind. It is the aftermath of emotion - the denouement of pain. It's soft, slow, simple, unobtrusive even its closing moments, where it builds to a full room of sound but can't find any passion inside. It wants there to be passion; it's frustrated that there's not.

There is a certain point in a time of crises where the feeling so exquisitely created by Trocadero with this song becomes the be all and end all of existence, and its so transient that ne'er a songwriter has had time to catch it - too busy were they walking contemplatively on a beach, or (in Vale Deah's case) hanging plaintively in a bar somewhere. But here it is, for my money, never bettered: the universal Moment's Silence for heartache, head bowed, sadly numb.

Na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na

I somehow knew you were there
Looking like you didn't care
I reached for the change in my pocket
I counted the change in my pocket


I wanted to buy you a beer
I knew that you were somewhere near
The bartender said it's ok
The bartender said it's ok...

Na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na

The Art of Buckley (remastered)

The following blog was stolen direct from my Myspace blog of the same name. I think it's much more at home here, though.

Sometimes you experience moments in life that are remarkable in their own context, and should only ever be remembered that way. You are about to fall asleep, cozy in your bed, and it begins to rain. The rain on your rooftop keeps you awake just long enough to let you consciously realize just how perfectly content you are right that second... then it lulls you to sleep. This is one example of the kind of moment I hope we've all had - if it's just me, then I finally have cause to feel sorry for all you suckers.

The late, great Mr. Jeff Buckley (God bless his soul) and his music exist wholly in these moments, as I discovered on the tram this morning. My magic music machine chanced upon the devastatingly sexy Everybody Here Wants You, a take from the tragically unfinished Sketches for "My Sweetheart The Drunk" with which Jeff was for some reason unhappy, and although I had heard the song dozens of times before, something about this time was very different. The second that beat kicked off, it was obvious. I was just now, in this moment, hearing what Jeff never felt he could create - the imperfectly perfect rendering of the passion of his soul.

In light of this, it becomes obvious what is magical about Buckley. What from most people comes from training and practice, thoughts and feelings and impulses and putting pen to paper and fingers to frets comes from somewhere else in this particular man. Those things all help him along the way, but what he makes, his art, is spilling from a place untouched by anything human or conscious or tangible. I think this is probably why he suffered from mental illness, alcoholism and died so heartbreakingly young - because something about his construct as a being didn't care for his welfare or life, only for his art. Buckley didn't make music; music made him.

I focus on him because he most recently and fervently took my breath and faith away, but he has not been the only of his kind. Beethoven, Coltrane, Hendrix have all shared very similar traits, ones which I might call spiritual if I believed in such things. Even Mayer, whose brilliance I couldn't overemphasize short of committing suicide out of an inability to coexist alongside it, simply doesn't have what Buckley had. He's built his brilliance, where Buckley had to build himself to express it.

Has anyone ever wondered why Buckley's lover never came over? I often do, when being around such a man must surely have been remarkable, if only on an appreciative level. I'm selfishly glad she didn't; without her absence, the world wouldn't have Buckley's masterpiece to bathe in. But she couldn't have known this, so what's more likely is she knew she was dealing with something that was more than a person, or even a genius, or even a messenger... and she was just too afraid within herself to brave the eternal and touch the face of God.

11.27 PM, May 15. 2007

Anthem of the Woe Begotten

Something I wrote which I believe will be accompanied by music of a spiffy sort.

I've known the beast of the first day of Autumn
I've seen the sea of opportunities missed
I've heard the anthem of the woe begotten,
it goes, "Nobody knows pain like this."

I don't mind misery altogether that much. What I don't care for is when it rocks up uninvited, without calling ahead and with no valid reason for its visit. Just because you're the evil underlord of all the emotions doesn't mean you don't have to fill out a form and wait in line like everybody else. Happiness I'll slip through the Employers Only entrance, but that's only because I like the kid so much.

Yes, this was a vague and impenetrable whine blog.

Popular Masterpieces

Not many people know this, but Michael Jackson's Thriller is every bit as good as Antonio Vivaldi's The Four Seasons or Dizzy Gillespie's A Night in Tunisia. There seems to be a distinct stigma attached to any kind of culture or art that falls under the umbrella of Popular. It seems that the general consensus is that People are animals of the lowest possible taste, that anything liked by an overwhelming number of People must be Bad. But statistics have shown that if an object of creation is popular, its usually for a reason.

Thus, I propose a list of five candidates for Popular Masterpieces - singular works of popular music that achieve the heights and wonder of human experience and emotion. They appear in no particular order, and without justification. I consider them all self explanatory.

• THE BEATLES - A Day in the Life
• JACKSON BROWNE - Late for the Sky
• JEFF BUCKLEY - Lover, You Should've Come Over
• DAVID BOWIE & FREDDIE MERCURY - Under Pressure
• JIMI HENDRIX - Little Wing