Song #79 Grandfather

 

CC image from James Stringer

GRANDFATHER

Grey rocks on green grass – a long long time ago

You walked the misty coastline – on a lonely distant shore

‘Twixt home and school and church yard – you felt the sea’s soft spray

On lonely Eriskay

 

Your children growing older – you think of far away

Did you ever think Australia - as you gazed out on the sea?

Could we leave this lonely isle – this land so far away?

Our windswept Eriskay

 

Grandfather – you never knew my name

Grandfather – you died before I came

 

In the church upon the hillside – you sit silently in prayer

The wind was blowing stronger – you knew you had to go

Tears of salt roll down your face – you must leave your island home

Farewell dear Eriskay

 

Grandfather – we never shared a dawn

Grandfather – you died before I came

Is there a part of you I might find in Eriskay?

Is there a part of you - is there a part of you in me

To take back to Eriskay?

Commentary

I have long been fascinated by the story of my paternal grandparents who lived on Eriskay in the early part of the 20th century and then migrated to an equally remote place in rural South Australia. My paternal grandfather died before I was born. There is no recording of this song yet but it will come .....

Gunther Stopa

 

"Gunther was like a bottomless pit of empathy." (Damien Coghlan)

I guess I knew I'd never see Gunther again. I had often suggested getting together in these last few years and he’d always say ‘yes we must catch up soon’ but it never happened. In the end I stopped asking – I had the feeling that he was still quite self-conscious of how he looked and sounded after his last round of surgery. But happily I did bump into him on Semaphore Rd once a couple of years ago and had a lovely chat with him and Gail.  It was the last time we saw each other. But he always wished me well for upcoming gigs, and never failed to pass on birthday greetings. He also posted wonderful links to live music on social media. Whatever the genre – classical, jazz, folk, rock, country – you could be assured it was first class and worth listening to. His last music post to Facebook was about a performance by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band with Alison Krauss just two days before he left us.

So though I was no longer seeing my old friend I always felt he was there in my life somewhere. And now that he’s not there I’m quite taken aback by this feeling of immense sadness as I realise he’s gone. I knew I loved the man, but only now do I appreciate just how much I appreciated having him in my world.

I met Gunther at Marymount College and over the following five years learned to love his calm warmth. There was a stillness about him that was very comforting. We played bridge together at recess and lunch time most days over those 5 years – both of us preferred to retreat into the ritual of a card game rather than talk. Gunther in fact rarely talked. We marvelled at how this oh so peaceful man who rarely spoke could manage to teach a classroom full of rowdy 11 to 14 year-olds. But he did. And students loved him. He spoke gently and quietly and they shut up, listened and proceeded to create works of wonderful art. Students loved his art classes. He managed to get through to those kids in a way that no one else on staff could – with a gentle dignity and grace that kids respected.

One evening on a school camp the students had sort of gone to bed and it was time for some teachers’ adult time. Gunther and I both had our guitars. We had never played together but I decided to sing a song about a painter called Patrick. Some way though the song Gunther had learned the chorus well enough to join in and I heard this deep resonant vocal come in under my melody and it quite disarmed me. It was just beautiful.

Rich, warm and resonant, it just gave the song a solid base that allowed it to fly. And it occurs to me now that maybe that’s what it was about Gunther; why we all loved him. He provided a place of comfort and warmth without judgement in which we could just be ourselves. He was always supportive and encouraging. And yet often silent, and always quiet. As another teacher from those days at Marymount recently wrote, Gunther saw us all as better than we really were. He allowed us to believe that we were OK; that life was good and there was opportunity ahead.

Deep, warm, resonant – these words keep coming to mind as I contemplate the man he was – at least as I saw him. It’s also tempting to see his quiet calm as something akin to wisdom but he’d hate that. But I do know that I’ve never known anyone quite like Gunther Stopa – his deep warmth and calm was highly unusual and it was beautiful to be around.

Goodbye my dear Gunther. You were my colleague, an erstwhile singing partner, a painter, a place of refuge and above all a very dear friend. It’s a cliché to say life won’t be the same without you, but there really isn’t anyone else in my world that is anything like you.  I was fortunate to share a lot of life with you, and I will dwell for a long time on what it was about you that made me feel so good to be in your company. But it starts with warmth ….

The Picture of Dorian Gray - Review

 

Her Majesty’s Theatre, Mon 14 Mar.

The Picture Of Dorian Gray was my introduction to the world of literature and social commentary of Oscar Wilde. Originally published in 1890, it made an indelible impression on my young soul and I was excited to see how this adaptation by Kip Williams would work for the stage. The essential idea of Dorian Gray is that he is forever young and that he only ages in a portrait of him created by his artist friend Basil. This sense of eternal youth gives Dorian the freedom to follow his every hedonistic, immoral fancy. But in a message for both old and young there are grave consequences.

This production by the Sydney Theatre Company is simply superb. The ease with which Eryn Jean Norvill handles the multiple roles of Dorian, Basil, Lord Henry, various household staff, and several other characters is incredibly impressive. She steps in and out of these roles throughout with frequent costume and scene changes in a rapid and constantly moving parade.

On the staging side this production is a technical tour de force. I doubt whether many in the audience would have seen anything quite like this. I certainly haven’t. The use of multimedia and live video has been creeping into theatre for some years but when bigger budgets allow bigger crews on big stages to work in tandem with people with big ideas this is what can be achieved.

The opening scenes of Basil talking to Lord Henry take place at the very back of the stage and are filmed live. For most of the audience the scene is best viewed on a large screen hanging from the front of the stage, though those towards the front could view the live scene if they chose. This is often the case throughout – many scenes are both recorded live and beamed on to large screens.

On other occasions Norvill (as Dorian) is talking live to Lord Henry but Lord Henry’s contribution to the conversation has been pre-recorded and Norvill is conversing with a recording of his part of the dialogue. This device is often employed and should, you would think, seem strange and stilted. But it is seamless, barely noticeable. On multiple occasions Norvill is relating to other characters speaking pre-recorded versions of conversations that she has also recorded so she is effectively talking to herself. Not to mention the fact that so much of her performance here is talking to camera, not to another person or character, and yet must appear as if she is in deep connection with another character. Like combining the skills of live theatre with acting for screen I guess and it is simply brilliant.

In a chilling conclusion that sadly has acute relevance for the narcissistic trend permeating contemporary Western culture, Dorian Gray ultimately pays a heavy price. This play is full of the wit, wisdom and eloquence characteristic of all Oscar Wilde’s work. You will wait a long time to see an individual performance as good as Norvill offers here, and the technical wizardry achieved by a team of black-clad ghostly wraiths floating in and out of view is initially a little distracting but becomes strangely and appropriately symbolic of a hidden world that only Dorian knew.

This is a show that you could definitely see a second or even a third time. Sometimes five stars are just not enough!

5+ stars 

(This review also published on The Clothesline.)

WOMADelaide 2022 - Day 2 Review

(banner created by Ian Bell)

Botanic Park, Sat 12 Mar.

I decided to skip the yoga sessions and went straight to the Foundation Stage for Sorong Samurai. Musicians from PNG and West Papua (still under the control of Indonesia) launched with soft flutes and fast drumming. The West Papuan flag waved gracefully in the wind as calls for their independence echoed from the stage. Tribal headdresses and make-up were on display as the band pumped out rhythms built around drums and bass peppered occasionally with reggae.

At the other end of the park Sydney’s Crooked Fiddle Band tuned up to the sound of bats chirping on Stage 7. (It really should be renamed to ‘The Bat Stage’; The University of Adelaide now hosts an adjacent Bat Tent to educate festival goers about these WOMAD regulars.) A slow moody fiddle tune to begin with was soft enough to still have bats as part of the chorus. Despite what the band name might suggest there is just one fiddle player in The Crooked Fiddle Band and she interestingly carries a number of bows in a bag slung across her shoulder in medieval archer style. One of these bows was so supple that it actually bent as it was moved across the strings. They certainly offered a mixed menu. Part folk, forays into reggae, traditional Macedonian, and extended grooves that were more Funk than fiddle. Ever seen a melody picked on a double bass? It sounded great. As with many of the performers it was obvious they were enjoying playing in a post COVID world – today was their first festival in over two years. They commented that they didn’t believe they would be playing until they were actually on stage with their instruments!!

The Balkan Ethno Orchestra had the dubious pleasure of fronting the very warm afternoon sun on Stage 2, but they did a fantastic job. Five women vocalists resplendent in black stood across the stage and delivered a beautiful set of songs based around complex harmonies from Eastern European musical traditions. Supported by drums, percussion, guitars and balalaika their material ranged from faster dance pieces to slow emphatic rhythms, from contemporary to distant past. The more ancient songs had a polyphonic quality that one can often hear in vocal arrangements from early European music. One piece was reminiscent of Steeleye Span’s Gaudete and probably dates from around that same time. A lovely set that was in turn lively, plaintive and energetic.

The inability to include many international performers this year meant the inclusion of many Australian based acts we wouldn’t otherwise hear. That was a mixed blessing but I really enjoyed Australian artists coming out of lockdown and sharing what they’d been practising. Bush Gothic – now that’s a strange concept – has a mission of bringing women’s stories in old Australian folk songs into modern contexts. And they largely succeed with this admirable aim. Double bass and drums are the bedrock of their sound, supplemented with piano or fiddle. Arrangements were often a bit weird, but I still found them strangely alluring. Their songs uniformly have a lovely feel even if occasionally a little dark and sombre. Some pieces sounded like they were originally sung unaccompanied (and we all know how dirge-like they can sound!) Many of these songs would make great comparison studies – hear the song in its original form, and then in this new modern arrangement and think about what the changes do to the song; it strikes me as a great way for music students to examine what they’re doing and why. It was a bit onerous at times but I really like what they’re trying to do – old concepts with new rules.

ZOJ had a small crowd for their show on the Moreton Bay Stage. Consisting of Persian poems sung to electronic loops and live percussion, ZOJ produce dreamy sounds that are spacey and contemplative. Interestingly other Iranian performers from the Eishan Ensemble all listened to this performance lying down. Quite beautiful.

IS THE PANDEMIC OVER?

That’s how it seemed once the Melbourne Ska Orchestra arrived. Drifting on to the stage in chaotic higgledy-piggledy fashion while playing their catchy opening tune bumping into each other, falling over, and other general messiness until they all find their right place and then BOOM – they’re off! With the irrepressible Nicky Bomba assuming command the mood of the day just changed in a heartbeat. So many people just started smiling, people of all shapes and sizes started dancing and moving towards the Foundation Stage. It was a moment of pure joy. And it really did feel like someone had just announced that the pandemic was officially over. Such a wonderful band – great sounds of ska, reggae and Latin beats, a brass section that really swings (literally!) and a group of people who so obviously love what they do. This goes into the WOMADelaide history books as a magic performance.

Another lockdown project was unveiled back on the Moreton Bay Stage. Well known Australian slide guitar player Jeff Lang and partner shared their recent musical project. Some songs were quite a departure in style for Lang and as fine as they were I was happiest hearing those great blues and boogie riffs that he’s best known for.

If you wanted further evidence that at least people here at WOMADelaide figured the pandemic was over you only had to go over to Stage Two and watch a crowd crammed together at the front of the stage to sway and groove to the electronic wizardry of Motez. It’s an interesting time we live in where one person can occupy a huge stage pressing buttons and flicking switches that unleash a cosmic world of light and sound that not so long ago would have required an entire band. I resisted the hypnotic urge to go closer – I wasn’t quite convinced that the pandemic was over. People were too close for comfort after two years of social distancing and there wasn’t a mask in sight.

But it was so good to see people dancing again. The unfettered joy of people moving their bodies to the music they love after a two year hiatus was a joy to behold. The D in WOMAD after all stands for DANCE!

(This article also published in The Clothesline.)

WOMADELAIDE TURNS 30!

(image created by Ian Bell)

Botanic Park, Fri 11 Mar.

WOMADelaide is back to normal: multiple stages, the village, market stalls, the Woshop, the Kidzone, tables and chairs placed out beneath the trees all over the park, the Angus Watt flags. It’s WOMADelaide’s 30th birthday!! There are some changes too – more stages, more tables and chairs – it feels incredibly spacious and very COVID friendly. But sadly, it seems the Holy Cow coffee tent has been retired.

The gates are open earlier this year to allow people to saunter in at their leisure and not have to suffer long socially distant queues. As I sit and watch the crowd slowly filter in I reflect on my personal highlights of this extraordinary event.

I will never forget one of my earlier memories of WOMADelaide: a tall African man with a full-length blue robe playing the kora (an instrument I’d never heard of) on the Moreton Bay stage. I was mesmerised and instantly felt the privilege it was to be there

At my first WOMADelaide a friend recommended I see this Russian quartet, Terem, playing Russian folk music – not something I would normally bother to see. Their musical virtuosity was astounding, their humour infectious, and I had another moment of feeling I had arrived at something very special.

I didn’t get to the original WOMADelaide in 1992. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan was at that original event but I caught him some years later on his second visit and was taken to musical heaven by the extraordinary combination of chanting, singing, and percussion. I fell in love with Qawwali music then and there – and the passion has not waned.

I don’t know if I could have even told you where Madagascar was before I saw the Justin Vali Trio. Their joyous rhythmic melodies bounced off the kora and out into the park. It was some of the happiest sounding music I’d ever heard.

From closer to home New Zealand’s Dave Dobbyn came one year and his humble style and exquisite melodies showed his skills as a songwriter went way beyond Slice Of Heaven.

I had never heard Midnight Oil live. The year they were here I was wandering over towards Stage 1 as it was then called and you could almost feel the power in your body as it boomed out across the crowd. This is magnetic, pulse-driven primal rock.

In complete contrast my first awareness of Gurrumul was hearing bewitching birdlike vocal sounds wafting through the trees calling me to wherever it was coming from. He was a backup singer in The Saltwater Band back them. Years later he returned as a headline act and thousands of people sat in silence in front of the main stage and listened to the voice of ancient Australia. One of the most moving experiences you can imagine.

Late one night the legendary Jimmy Cliff and band bopped their reggae tunes out into the night in the rain and no one cared.

One of the selfish joys of WOMADelaide is seeing how foreign performers are seduced by the beauty of the place they’re playing in. A member of a Scottish band one year stopped between songs shook his head and said, “You’ve no idea how amazing this is – we don’t do outside in Scotland!”

The sweet melodies of Algeria’s Saoud Massi, the urgent desert-driven rhythms of Tinariwen, the ancient vocal sounds of The Sardinian Tenors, the foot-tapping bonanza that was America’s Pokey La Farge, the beauty and grace of the Gambia’s Sona Jobarteh, the surprising Celtic harmonies Ireland’s Alan Kelly extracts from his accordion …. I could go on. Some huge names are missing from this list. We will all have our own highlights. Each year offers the anticipation and joy of discovering something new as you hope to find an act or two you can add to your own personal highlights reel of WOMADelaide magic. And it rarely disappoints.

It’s time to start the 30th birthday party. The Kaurna welcome to county is about to begin

(This article also published on The Clothesline.)

Tom Waits for No One - Review

 

The Garage International @ Adelaide Town Hall, Sat 5 Mar.

Tom Waits’ trademarks were a rasping vocal style from somewhere deep down in the bowels of the soul, semi-spoken rambling narratives put to music detailing the life of the down and out, a close to the edge desperation that you felt could break at any moment, and an uncanny ability to cram these earthy guttural outpourings into an exquisite melody. On top of that every sinew in his body would ooze emotion in an artistry that was mesmerising. So any attempt to cover Tom Waits songs is a huge gamble!

Wisely Stewart D’Arrietta doesn’t try to be Tom Waits although he does a little character acting in the patter and jokes between songs. D’Arrietta on piano, supported by double bass and drums, did a fine job of presenting material from the Waits catalogue and got better and better as he went. Singing in any way that approximates Waits’ growling vocal style can’t be good for you and it was as if he needed to warm up before he felt totally comfortable.  He worked his way through many classics – the autobiographical Kentucky Avenue, the poignant Christmas Card From A Hooker In Minneapolis, the beautifully tender Martha, the rocky Goin’ Out West, and what he flagged as one of the best songs ever written, An Invitation To The Blues.

D’Arrietta broke character before the final song to take a pot shot at political correctness and mourn the passing of Shane Warne and offered up the gut-wrenching Waits version of Waltzing Matilda as a tribute to a larrikin. It was a sad, beautiful final few moments that was totally appropriate. You see Tom Waits could do that – he could break your heart as you listened, and Stewart D’Arietta took us out in that same fine tradition.

(This review also published in The Clothesline.)

Venus in Fur by David Ives - Review

The Arch at Holden Street Theatres, Fri 4 Mar.

She’s late for the audition. The writer/director is leaving. She insists on auditioning. He tries to leave. She changes into period costume for ’18-whatever’ and becomes the character she is auditioning for. He can’t leave now. And he may never leave. The die is cast. The show has begun. She is perfect for the part… except she doesn’t seem to understand the play. She keeps wanting to subvert it and analyse all these hidden issues which he says are not relevant. He says they’re not there. She says they are.

They argue, dance and parry as they work their way through the script. She thinks he, the writer/director, should be in the play. He resists. Initially. Both are issuing instructions to the other. The sexual tension is palpable. Lines start blurring between the personal and professional as the emotional stakes get higher with each new scene.

VENUS IN FUR was the title of a novel from the 19^th Century that gave rise to the term masochism and is a constant theme throughout the play. But who is to dominate who?

This adaptation for the stage by David Ives is powerful and provocative. Wil King and Bridget Gao-Hollitt are simply magnificent as they tease and taunt each other. Gao-Hollitt’s ability in particular to step in and out of character from the present day to the nineteenth century and back is just so impressive; it’s really quite remarkable. Wil King’s portrayal of a director gradually losing control over his script (and perhaps his life) is also beautifully played.

Engaging writing with multiple layers of complex issues to digest, and totally compelling performances from two seasoned actors combine to create this gripping piece of theatre.

4.5 stars

(This review also published in The Clothesline.)

Song #78 Changing Islands

(LISTEN HERE)

IF YOU’VE EVER WALKED IN A DESERT

YOU’LL KNOW THE DANGERS THERE

WHEN YOU WALK ALONG THE SEASIDE

YOU ENJOY THE SUNSETS FAIR

HAVE YOU EVER CLIMBED A MOUNTAIN?

AND BREATHED THAT PURE AIR

 

HAVE YOU EVER CHANGED YOUR ISLAND?

WANTING SOMETHING NEW?

LOOKING FOR A DIFFERENT PICTURE

MAYBE EVEN A NEW YOU

IT DOESN’T ALWAYS WORK

SOMETIMES YOU MUST RETURN

 

WE GATHER YEARS ALONG THE WAYSIDE

FRIENDS AND FAMILY COME AND GO

MAYBE WE SHOULD TELL THEM

WHILE WE STILL HAVE THEM HERE

THAT WE’RE GLAD THEY’RE BESIDE US

TOGETHER FACING FEARS

EVERYTHING RETURNS

AND NOTHING STAYS THE SAME

LIFE ROLLS ON AND ON

IN A NEVER ENDING GAME

 

THERE BUT FOR THE GRACE OF GOD WE SAY - AT LEAST FOR NOW UP TILL TODAY

I CAN CHANGE MY MIND - I CAN CHANGE MY PLACE

I CAN TRY AND ENTER A DIFFERENT SPACE

I CAN STAY RIGHT HERE OR GO BACK THERE

I CAN STAY RIGHT HERE OR GO BACK THERE

                                                                THINK I’LL STAY RIGHT HERE


                                                                          (Copyright 2021)

COMMENTARY: Sean Mangan and I were practising for a gig and we needed a name for it. We had both previously been in groups called Changing Hats and Dark Island. So for the gig we chose Changing Islands! And I thought the gig deserved a new song in its name ;)

San Ureshi and Friends - Review

This is not San Ureshi but an old man playing the
erhu in a park in Beijing.

 Nexus Arts at West Village, Sat 26 Feb.

Sometimes listening to great music induces a feeling of total serenity. And when that occurs listening to music from cultures other than your own the experience can border on mystical. The San Ureshi ensemble’s concert at Nexus Arts offered such moments. Listening to this beautifully arranged music from East Asia was like enjoying your own intimate WOMADelaide festival. This collaboration of Chinese and Japanese musical traditions seemed all the more poignant in the current geopolitical climate.

The core ensemble consists of Zhao Lieng (originally from Singapore) on guzheng or Chinese harp; David Dai (Taiwan) on erhu or Chinese violin; and Satomi Ohnishi (Japan) on percussion. One of the early pieces drew inspiration from 12^th century Japan with what sounded like the drums of battle underpinning the beautiful contrasts of the plucked harp against the bowed notes of the erhu. A cello joined the ensemble and the interplay between cello and erhu was at times exquisite. Chinese traditional singer, Cindy Fan, delivered songs in the distinctive high pitched vocal style characteristic of much Chinese folk music and transported us into the mountains of northern China.

Extra violins in the second half of the program added depth and texture to the arrangements. Behind all of these wonderful pieces was a variety of percussion sounds that were sometimes quite forceful and at other times quietly delicate: I heard horses racing across the plains, and the falling of a gentle rain. At other times rhythms were subtle and implied – quite masterful! And watching the elegant hands of Zhao Lieng pluck the strings of her harp was akin to watching the hands of a Balinese dancer.

Satomi Ohnishi’s lighthearted and often humorous introductions to each piece was the perfect counterpoint to some seriously beautiful music. It’s hard not to imagine that this group are headed for bigger and better things. Being at this concert just felt like a very special privilege.

(This review also published in The Clothesline)

Song #77 You Must Run Away

 

CHORUS

YOU MUST RUN AWAY NO MATTER WHAT THEY SAY

YOU MUST RUN AWAY NO MATTER WHAT THEY SAY

 

VERSE 1

YOUR FAMILY WILL LOVE YOU

MOVE HEAVEN AND EARTH FOR YOU

TO MAKE SURE THAT YOU’RE HAPPY

AND LEARN THE  FAMILY RULES

 

CHORUS

 

MAKE SURE YOU GET A REAL JOB

DON’T STRAY TOO FAR AWAY

WE'LL BRING YOU BACK HOME AND HOLD YOU

AND KEEP YOU SAFE AND WARM

 

DON’T PLAY OUTSIDE YOUR CULTURE

IT ISN’T WORTH THE RISK

WE’LL BE THERE TO CATCH YOU

IF YOU WIND UP IN A FIX

 

CHORUS

BRIDGE (1) 

BUT MAYBE YOU’RE DIFFERENT AND WOULD LIKE TO TRY

SOME THINGS BEYOND THE PALE

PUT 2 AND 2 TOGETHER AND SUDDENLY DISCOVER

THE ANSWER COULD BE 5

 

BRIDGE (2) 

SMOTHERED BY LOVE AND KEPT IN A BOX

THERE’S A MILLION THINGS TO LEARN

THERE’S A PLACE IN YOUR SOUL THAT’S EVER MORE CERTAIN

THAT YOU NEED TO WANDER FAR

 

CHORUS

VERSE 1

CHORUS 

YOU MUST RUN AWAY NO MATTER WHAT THEY SAY

YOU MUST RUN AWAY NO MATTER WHAT THEY SAY

– TO MAKE SURE YOU CAN GROW

 

© M Coghlan 2018

COMMENTARY: Ever since I read David Cooper's Death of the Family back in the 70s I have been suspicious of the hold that families hold on their sons and daughters. It's natural for families to want their children near and to want them to fit into family life but what growing family members actually need to realise their potential is to get as far away from their family as possible. Oscar Wilde put it something like this: "No one is an adult until they leave their place of birth." The song has a reggae feel.

 

 

Song #76 The Dance of Risk and Failure

 

WHAT IF YOU KNEW TODAY WOULD TAKE YOUR BREATH AWAY

WHAT IF YOU KNEW TODAY WOULD TAKE YOUR BREATH AWAY

WOULD YOU GO, WOULD YOU JUMP AND TAKE THE CHANCE

WOULD YOU GO, WOULD YOU DARE TO DO THE DANCE

OF RISK AND FAILURE?

 

WHAT IF THE LIFE YOU LOVED CAME TO AN END

BECAME TOO SAFE AND WAS EATING UP YOUR SOUL

WOULD YOU CHANGE, TRY SOMETHING NEW AND TAKE A PUNT

COULD YOU CHANGE, START AGAIN AND ROLL THE DICE

OF LIFE AND LIVING?

 

YOU KNEW IT ALL OR AT LEAST KNEW WHERE TO LOOK

YOU HAD ROUTINE AND RHYTHM ALL PLAYED BY THE BOOK

COULD YOU STOP, TURN AROUND, TRY SOMETHING NEW

BE A CHILD, TAKE A RISK AND JOIN THE FEW

WHO CAN COPE WITH FAILURE?

 

BRIDGE

YOU TELL YOURSELF OF COURSE YOU WOULD

OH THE CHANCE TO STAND ON THE EDGE AND FALL (X2)

 

YOU FEEL TODAY COULD TAKE YOUR BREATH AWAY

TODAY YOU’D JUMP, TAKE THE RISK, AND DO THE DANCE

OF RISK AND FAILURE

OF RISK AND FAILURE

(Copyright M Coghlan circa 2015)

Commentary: Another post full time work song when I was still trying to work out what I'd do with myself. Challenging myself to be more adventurous ....

Song #75 It's Hard To Tell

IT’S HARD TO TELL

 

CHORUS

IT’S HARD TO TELL (X3)

WHICH WAY TO TURN

AT THE NEXT BEND

 

VERSE 1

YOU’RE FEELIN’ ALRIGHT BUT THERE’S STILL SOMETHING MISSING

A CHINK IN THE ARMOUR THAT NEVER LEAVES YOU ALONE

ALWAYS THAT FEELING THAT LIFE COULD BE BETTER

 

VERSE 2

YOU FEEL YOU’RE WASTING YOUR TIME ON THINGS THAT ARE EASY

SITTING AT HOME WHERE THERE’S NO ROOM FOR THE BRAVE

AS YOU COUNT DOWN THE YEARS OF THE TIME YOU HAVE LEFT HERE

 

CHORUS

WILL I STAY WELL?

IT’S HARD TO TELL

NO ONE KNOWS

WHAT WAITS FOR YOU

 

BRIDGE

YOU CAN CLOSE ALL THE BLINDS AND SHUT OUT THE DAY

OR OPEN THEM UP AND GREET THE SUN’S RAYS

WHATEVER YOU DO YOU WILL BE ON YOUR WAY

TO ANOTHER DAY

 

CHORUS

WHERE IT’S HARD TO TELL

SO HARD TO TELL

WHICH WAY TO GO

AT THE NEXT BEND

(2015)

Commentary: Written in the year after I stopped working full time when I was struggling to work out how best to use my time. Catchy enough tune but really needs a band to make it live.

En Route to Bali 1973 - Train Across Java

 

CC image courtesy Nikita Gavrilovs 

The train trip across Java from Jakarta to Surabaya   was incredibly hot and crowded with people. Even   though we all had seats people sat on the armrests,   stood in the aisles, sat or laid down in the aisles or   even somehow managed to lie up in the baggage   racks. There were people everywhere. Thankfully all   the train windows were left open so at least the flow   of air against your perspiring skin offered some   semblance of cooling.

We'd been warned before we started the journey that we wouldn't be able to buy any of the cold drinks that were served on route because they were probably not hygienic. We were to drink just hot tea or coffee or bottled soft drinks like Coca Cola which were never cold. However, at regular intervals people who made a living from selling food and drink on the train would come through the carriages with these trays of beautifully coloured cold drinks that had ice cubes in them and were clearly deliciously cold. Local passengers snapped up these drinks - they were dirt cheap – and guzzled them down while we just sort of sat there drooling with envy for the first several hours of the journey and stayed with the coffee, tea and Coca Cola routine. As the hours went by this became harder and harder and at one point one of our group decided they couldn't take it anymore. These drinks looked so inviting! Suddenly as one of these vendors with these enticing looking drinks came by he just blurted out ‘I'll have one of those’,  took it, drank it and we all watched in anticipation to see whether he would get sick on the spot or 5 minutes later but after a certain amount of time passed he still seemed to be fine so from then on we all helped ourselves to these drinks and no one got sick. Not on the train at least.

It was a 24 hour journey so we had to endure at least one night on the train. It was around Christmas time and in those days I always carried my guitar with me.  I don't know how it came about. I guess I must have played a few songs.  I don't remember whether it was my idea or whether someone asked me to play my guitar but late at night as the train was going clickety clack clickety clack through the warm tropical night across Java I played Silent Night.  It was one of the more remarkable things that had ever happened to me. Silent Night is one of those songs that everybody knows it seems almost everywhere and even if they don't the melody is so poignant and engaging and beautiful that it stops everything and it did indeed stop everything on the train that night.  For a few minutes as I was playing and singing Silent Night I was aware that 50 - 80 people or more were dead silent and were just listening to me singing and playing. Nineteen year old Michael on a train in Java singing Silent Night in the middle of a tropical night! Those who knew the melody or the words joined in.  It was a really special moment.

There is another indelible memory of this train journey across Java. As all the Indonesian people often walked up and down the train so we took to doing the same thing. It would help pass the time, stretch your legs, and you’d get some fresh air because the area between the carriages was not covered. It was just a very basic coupling joining one carriage to the next. There was a metal plate you could walk on with a couple of flimsy hose handles that would be considered unsafe and completely forbidden in Australia.  But in Indonesia back then it was allowed. It was nice and breezy there and a lot of people gathered at these intersections between the carriages.  The end of each carriage also had a ladder that allowed you to climb up on the roof and invariably there were people on those ladders between the carriages and clearly there were people going up onto the roof. Eventually I got my turn to climb up one of these ladders and to my amazement the carriage that I was riding on had about 20 people up there sitting, talking, some walking, some lying … most of the carriages had several people up there so not only were people in the aisles and on the seats and in the baggage racks they were on the roof as well! I stayed up there for a while and really enjoyed it. However some time later there was a bridge in the distance. Clearly it made sense to get off the roof while the train goes under the bridge and most people did. They climbed down from the roof. As I was climbing down the ladder between the carriages I decided to stay there and keep my head just above the roof level of the carriage to see what it was like as the train whooshed under the bridge.  There was a little boy - I'm guessing about 8 - 10 years old - who hadn't moved and was still sitting quite erect and cross legged on the top of the train and I was concerned because the bridge was coming closer and this little boy hadn't moved and I was trying to get the attention of other people to tell them the bridge was coming and that there was a boy still up there on the roof. They were clearly not worried and told me not to fuss.  As the train passed underneath the bridge I kept an eye above the level of the carriage to watch what this boy was doing - actually I don't think I did. I looked away right at the last minute. But without flinching he just sat there as the train whizzed under the bridge cool as a cucumber. It didn't decapitate him! In fact he was completely unhurt and the people around me laughed because they trusted that this boy knew what he was doing. One of them actually pointed to him and said “been before.” The boy was quite familiar with the train ride and the height of the bridge. He was just enjoying a game of chicken with the bridge. I'll never forget it

En Route to Bali 1973 - Singapore/Jakarta

 

In 1973 Singapore didn’t allow people with long hair to enter. So my brother Damien and I were ceremoniously sheared among friends in Perth before our departure on an A.U.S. flight. AUS stood for Australian Union of Students and everyone on board was a student enjoying cheap student fares so you can imagine the party like atmosphere .

I passed the haircut inspection after having to turn a full 360 degrees twice to allow the customs officer to closely inspect my hair, but lingered to see how one of the more senior passengers (he was probably all of 30) with very long hair would get through. He had tucked all his hair up under a hat. He was asked to remove his hat and at that point he immediately started demanding in a very loud voice that he would like to speak to someone from the Australian embassy. He just kept repeating this over and over and eventually he was allowed to enter Singapore with no haircut!

This was my first visit to Asia. I was 19. Singapore had not yet gone through its economic boom time and the streets between Changi airport and the city were lined with poverty. People dressed in rags living by the side of the road; rickety market stalls lined the route, noisy dirty traffic flew past without any apparent order. It’s that assault on the senses that many Asian nations offer first time visitors that nothing can prepare you for. I remember staring open mouthed at the chaos unfolding by the side of the road as we made our way to the hotel.

That aside, the party atmosphere continued on at the student hotel most of us were booked in to. We roamed between various rooms where the alcohol and marijuana was flowing. One of the rooms belonged to the senior hippy guy who had bluffed his way through customs and who was now sitting on his bed naked and cross-legged rolling joints like an Indian holy man. There was a sudden moment of panic when we get a call to one of the rooms that the authorities were coming up to investigate. People scattered back to their own rooms and all the marijuana was quickly flushed down toilets, and windows opened to allow the smoke out.  Smoking and possession of marijuana in Singapore in those days was even more serious than having long hair! It turned out to be a prank - one of the students had just decided to freak everyone out with the fake phone call. It worked. It killed the mood completely.

Damien and I were planning to head to Bali in Indonesia. This involved flying to Jakarta to catch the train through Java and then a ferry to Bali. The flight to Jakarta was not a student flight. I was seated next to a seasoned traveller who had been to Jakarta many times and wasn’t impressed that his work had brought him back there. He called it a hell hole and said that if I thought Singapore was bad I hadn’t seen anything yet. How right he was. There are moments in your travelling life that you never forget. My first steps outside Jakarta airport was one such moment. It was absolute mayhem. A mass of people and traffic and noise in a chaos impossible to comprehend. As we stood trying to work out how to get a bemo (taxi) I noticed a man lying in the gutter – barely clothed and quite still. He could easily have been dead. And the traffic flooded past just inches from his head. No one appeared to notice. Or care. The opening lyrics to a Neil Young song played in my head: “old man lying by the side of the road…. don’t let it bring you down…. it’s only castles burning….”

By the time we reached our accommodation for the night all the women in the bemo were crying at what we’d seen. They guys I guess were crying on the inside. I know I was. Jakarta was extreme culture shock. I think we spent a couple of days there. It’s all a bit of a blur. It taught me so much in such a short time. I have never felt the desire to return.

Our next adventure was the train across Java en route to the island paradise of Bali.

Song #74 Happy Online

(Listen to a very raw version)

People say that I've got grey hair
I must say that I don’t care
Everyone strugglin’ to go on line
You might be a friend of mine

Tapping keys there across the world
Perhaps a lost and lonely girl
Who turns to the web to find her heart
With someone who’ll be apart
Far away

Everyone wants their own home page
Aiming to be the next web sage
I tried to find you but your site was down
You must have been out of town

Planning dreams to take me away
It’s time to go I just can’t stay
Email my friends to say goodbye
It’s time to go off line
I’m goin’ away

Then it happened - life fell apart
My friend dear life lost its spark
No urls ; no send, no reply
Just tropical heat and a whole lotta rain
In my eyes
Something had died
Someone has died

Gee it’s good to be back on line
Where real life can’t touch me and I feel fine
Say hi to my friends who have no face
They got no pain and they got no place

They can’t see that I got grey hair
And that’s why I say that I don’t care
They can’t see the tears in my eyes
I could be laughing and I could be wise
And I’m far away
Happy on line
It’s email time
Happy on line

(I don't mind 404. I don't mind server down. I'm happy online.)

(Copyright Michael Coghlan 1997)

Commentary: A song about life online and how much I enjoyed it. There is a kind of serious but flippant aspect to the first part of the song before it goes into a darker place. Flags the realisation that you can also go online to escape the hardships of the real world. As you can see this was written long before the advent of social media.

Song #73 All the Very Best

 

ALL THE VERY BEST

 (LISTEN)

Sing a song tell a joke

Close your eyes to the world

Throw your head back and sing

You spread your joy and laughter

It’s all part of your master plan

 

You play the fool drink a toast

Tell tales as a clown

Shut your eyes while your melody soars

You preach a message of peace through

 Miners, beggars, and whores

 

CHORUS

Yours is a voice from heaven

Sent to remind us that someone somewhere

Needs you

 

You bridge the gap

‘Tween now and the past

And share it with all your friends

To teach us all that singing our stories

Should never end

 

Such power in your voice

With the beauty of tune

Interspersed with a wicked grin

You left me waiting’ hopin’

That you’ll soon be back again

 

CHORUS

 

You roamed the world

Singing your songs

To the lucky and fortunate few

Who knew what to say

If we were asked ‘Vin who?’

 

It’s hard to accept

Your soul’s now silent

And that voice will soar no more

All the very best

Now you’re at rest

You left us wanting more

 

CHORUS

Copyright M Coghlan 2018

More on Vin Garbutt 

  

The Bad News Tsunami

 

Most of the postings on this blog of late are from the past. Lest I go drifting totally off into nostalgia it may be a good idea to write something about the present. Trouble is, the present has this giant dark cloud hanging over every aspect of existence. And that cloud of course is COVID.
We are besieged by a tsunami of bad news. "All media work us over completely. They are so pervasive in their personal, political, economic, aesthetic, psychological, moral, ethical and social consequences, they leave no part of us untouched, unaffected, unaltered.”
Like the young person referred to in the article above I am  “agonisingly well-informed” – a perfect phrase to describe ... people who have “no means of remedying the situation, like the captain of a sinking ship who knows exactly where the hole is in the hull but has no way of plugging it."
The relentless doom detailed in all media outlets over the last two years is crippling me. It’s not just COVID. It was also the Trump phenomenon and all it encompasses, the tormenting of refugees in off-shore detention centres, the assault on democracy from within its own boundaries, the reluctance to tackle climate change, species extinction … I could go on and list another dozen bleak issues about which I am agonisingly self-informed and at the same time feel helpless to remedy. 
Last week I took a few days away and journeyed around Western Victoria visiting a number of small towns with populations of less than a thousand people. I turned off all media and just drove, walked, took photographs and listened to music. It worked a treat. I felt better immediately. I need to distance myself from media more and more. I feel the damage its doing to my soul. I no longer feel light about life. Right now I don’t want to know about what’s going on beyond my bubble. I don’t want to know about case numbers, how many died, how many children got sick this week, the effects of long COVID.  It has gone past been interesting. It has gone past the point where I feel I should be informed. Being informed is simply debilitating.