ALIVE AGAIN:

Move through the city early, keeping to cut-throughs,
Back-streets, subsidiary canals, lead by our eyes &
Intuition, drawn to shiny stuff, thrill, buzz, visual clues,
Remembering 30+ years ago, cruising, penniless,
Bread, cheese & rucksacks, wide-eyed, scared & thrilled.
The years & the heavy weight of misplaced responsibilities
That have come between us, made us crawl close to the
Ground, imitating worker ants not people excited to be
Alive. Standing straight now, smiling, the unfamiliar sound
Of laughter spilling random from our mouths, a robot stare
Replaced by flickering stars of light, we walk, hold hands,
Dance through the cut-throughs, back-streets & alleyways,
Remembering that this is our natural habitat, the path less
Travelled.

Visited my friends at Rebel Relic Guitar, shook hands,
Smiled, caught up, smelled that sweet wood smell & wires,
Like when we were kids, sniffing second hand four-by-twelves,
Fresh from the road, carrying the scars of it, the fabulous
Stench of it, sweat, beer, petrol & fag smoke, names of
Legends stencilled in white to their backs, oh how I ached
To own one touch one, know someone who played through
One! Here at Rebel Relic ignited by that same thrill, handing
Over cash for another set of ’54 Telecaster pickups, like I’m
7 years old again. At the Stedelijk Museum we queue to enter,
One-by-one the belly of Barney’s Beanery, a bar I’ve drunk in
Many times, but never slipped deep into the throat of it’s
Art installation twin that’s been waiting for us here since that
First time we arrived, dirty from that cheap train ride, bread
& wine, rain soaked tent rolled up forever at the bottom of the
Sack. I was shocked to find Ed’s Beanery twin in this back room,
Beckoning, turned to you, 30 years later,
“I want to take you for a drink in LA”

(K)

AMSTERDAM RELEASED:

Church bells ring melodies with missing teeth,
name that tune. 5am, 6am, 7am, 8,
‘Lord of The Dance’ & all’s well, sleepless but
Happy. Back on the streets of Amsterdam,
Dodging fleets of armoured bikes & trams,
Following canals to wherever, no need for maps,
We’re drifting, pressure off, in tune with everything,
Resonating. No snare drum skin or tuning folk, this
Is pure muscle relaxant, rolling with punches
Without the punches, just rolling, barely a summer
Breeze whispering between cartoon, toytown
Architecture, drunk listing buildings, lean into each
Other, eyes wide, smiling, benign, Watching over us,
Following metal twins, inset into blacktop,
coffee shop, stag boys staggering, dressed as
drag queens, real men & beers, chilled & smiling.
We turn, cut through, bee-line across the city,
Between churches, galleries, boutiques & head
Shops, the leaf, the red gold & green, fabulous
Structures of light & steel, big- eyed windows,
Everything here is about letting the light in, lifting
The spirits, looking up & out. The Bimhuis, a path
Under the rails, illuminated icicles dangle beneath
Rail bridges, mugger-less alleys, cruise ships
Disgorge house bands, dance bands dressed in
Themes, to tiny cars waiting as we steam along the
Quay, the pilgrimage converging on Jazz, free form,
Improvised, cut free memories of Sydney Opera
& Brighton Dome, “Have you ever seen them play?”
“No, but I’ve played with them”
The Necks, via Sydney & Berlin, Tony, Lloyd &
Chris, slip out into a hushed room, though the
Rhythm of coughs & adjusted butts amuses me,
The tilts of heads & wives & girlfriends suffering
In tow about to pay their dues, The Necks wait
Quiet for the muse, kiss the strings, the keys,
The skins & I’m grinning all the way back to
The bells.

(K)

I WANT IT BEFORE IT’S READY TO BE HAD:

Late night in the kitchen, the fridge groans like an old
sailing ship, I type, I surf, hungry to hear, to make
something with a guitar. I’ve been playing around with
an idea for days, but it’s only an ‘idea’ of the thing
I’m hungry to hear & the idea-ness of it keeps getting
in the way before the process has had time to deliver
it’s surprise.
Have to let go, to let it walk through the door I never
noticed, on it’s own terms, in it’s own time, I’m hungry.

(K)

WIND DOWN:

I keep driving, the car is my shed on wheels.
Turn on the radio, zone-out, everything gets simple.

(K)

LOST & FOUND:

Sleepless & breathless, showered, shaved & meditated.
Check the artwork for the 7×7″ exhibition, the marks,
the erasings, smudges, flicks & flourishes – photograph
them all & sign. Hunting for envelopes large enough to
carry them into the Emerald City I found one with a
contact sheet inside. Images of Freur recording with
John Hudson, 2nd album, you can tell by the clothes,
like counting rings in a fallen tree.

(K)

AT THE CROSSED ROADS:

Scrape frost of the car, drive into bright sunlight,
empty roads, empty carpark at the 24 hour shop.
Cruise the aisles, it’s all strange to me, the colours
& the shapes of things, all wrong. Found what you wanted,
a present to start your day with a smile, show you I was listening,
bought from the lady preparing carrier bags for fast shoppers,
smiled, got one back, left with a spring under both feet.
Two builders laughing, happy in the sun, stocked up on snacks.
Shades on, turn the key, spirits up & rising, recounting stuff
I could’ve done better, make a mental note to own up to my
faults, pocket full of laughs to bring home, bird song,
spring flowers, early blossom, park, lock, walk through the
front door smiling.

“What’s wrong?” you asked

(K)

NOTHING QUITE LIKE IT FOR COOLING THE BLOOD:

Drive, cold toast, radio, carpark, old people cars,
young family cars, picnic tables, river ducks, swans, mud.
Map, dotted line, follow,, boots, wellies, coats, bottled water,
lost. Go back, keep going, go back, past the sewage works,
the barbed wire, the holes in the ground, dogs walking people
on leashes, smells, back to the start. Tired legs, start again,
bridge, track, mud, field, purple violets, white violets, broken
stuff entangled in winter briers. First blossom, daffodils, primrose,
mud, flint, the huge corrugated iron roofs of black backed barns,
black crow kites flying above tender crops, yellow arrows on posts,
the right direction, mud, river, carpark. Horns honk as we sit on
tail gates pulling off boots, thick socks, one, twoo, bang off the
mud, take time, fold laces, place them in the boot without making
eye contact, as drivers wait, revving.

(K)

NUMB ON THE ROAD TO PEAS & QUITE:

Find a quite spot, get outside & breath, walk around, count stuff,
turn off the thinking. Words spill from mouths, meteorite showers
of questions as I lurch around, still numb & dazed from sleep.
The tongue in my head is fat & stupid, dropped it’s connection with
the brain that looks out through the pinholes in my head watching
particles dance in mid air, making no sense. By the time I’ve crossed
the kitchen I’ve accumulated a ‘list’, Jobs for days off between tours.

I get outside & breath, walk around, count stuff bursting out’ve the
ground, feel the head come back on line, words line up, articulate
at last enough to calculate numbers, words form into sentences,
ideas remembered, the desire to create returns, I’m alive!

Spent yesterday with my good friend Trevor Morais, one of the finest
drummers in the world.

(K)

FLOATING:

Still unclear of the co-ordinates to that floating Easter island
during any given year, I fire up the studio, flick on the turntable
drop Far East Family Band’s ‘Parallel World‘, picked up at
The Collector in Brussels & lock the door. Turn it up!

(K)

YESTERDAY:

Started good, still coughing, doctor’s closed ’till after Easter,
Easter, that floating time, allocated to weekends a none specific
date, irritates me, ha ha ha! People say,
“What are you doing over Easter?”
I ask,
“When is Easter?”
they look at me, shocked, like I’ve just returned from Mars,
but, I ask you, ‘how do you locate a floater?’

Day deteriorated from there, should’ve locked myself in the studio,
away from people with conflicting ideas who involve me in finding
solutions to their problems. This broom only sweeps my side of the
street, you’d think I would’ve learned by now.
Eventually locked myself in the studio, working on the score to a
new installation I’m collaborating on the music for with Efterklang.
As I thought….it was by far the best idea of the day.

(K)