Tag: playful

  • music unfolds in the Funkhaus, live and barely planned

    Today we will be making a new song, the first towards Cathoel & the New Government’s eventual second album. First album prompted 50s jazz impresario Bob ‘King’ Crawford to say, “In my opinion you will be one of the greatest artists this country has produced.”

    He was talking about Australia but I have gathered fellow travellers from New York, Czech Republic, and Berlin. There’s eight of us today and only two have ever met. This is the persistent idea of ‘the new government’ – it is elastic and can consist of anybody who wishes to step up and take care of something they feel moved by. Something musical, something ecological; something furred or feathered, something human. It’s how plenty of people live in the world already. We’ll be recording in the famous Berlin Funkhaus and hope to produce a tiny doco about our day’s work, which will be improvised from scratch around a vocal line of mine. The lyrics were written on a drum kit in an Airbnb apartment in Spain:

    you came a-courting me
    in your skirt
    and no shirt
    and no shoes

    and I swallowed down all that you taught me
    in my bed
    in your arms
    in my youth

    Imagine a bunch of people with jazz sensibilities set out to make an electronica dance track, but using all real instruments and playing the whole melee live, not looped or sampled. Imagine it might build into the kind of trance intensity that explodes. This is my plan, insofar as you can call it a plan. I have only met one of these musicians before now, when he walked into a Berlin bar three years ago carrying a beautiful upright bass and proceeded to set up an irresistible stomp. I’m recruiting interested musicians online through musos’ groups. Song has no title as yet but we will see what evolves.

  • storm

    I just cycled home through the spattering rain, with thunder rolling heavy overneath, and as I swept down the hill riding on my brakes I passed a cluster of dark-clad people raising their umbrellas, phones to their ears, released from their desks for the day and not happy. They were large but looked not so much fat as spilled, a kind of liquid inactivity none of us had two decades back and now even swimsuit models can’t avoid. They looked as though the world had offered them poor options and their lives were dragged by addiction and stimulants and their day jobs were dull and dispiriting. Flowers of colour in the form of bright umbrellas struck me as indications of courage. And I thought about how with all our beautiful ingenuity we have failed ourselves, and how we’ve birthed the first generation of babies in human history who are likely to live shorter lives than their parents. Along the backs of the houses and light industrial sheds the river, muddy and sludgy and odorous between the prickling mangroves, lazed brimming with its greenish life and drawing down to the sea and back again all its clean secrets. I need a better life. I need more time on my feet. I want to live in a happier world. I want to get away from my screen and all the screens in waiting rooms and bus stations and fuel stops and public spaces and gather all the home going commuters for a game of touch footy in the sweeping black rain.