My definition of a devil is a god who has not been recognized. That is to say, it is a power in you to which you have not given expression, and you push it back. And then, like all repressed energy, it builds up and becomes completely dangerous to the position you’re trying to hold.
#13: Vortex Party!!
Last night I dreamt I was at this big party in a mansion celebrating a vortex that had been discovered in the floor of one of the rooms. Everyone was dressed in costume and it looked like a Stanley Kubrick movie. The vortex room itself had glass doors but I was told I could only take a quick glance lest it take over my mind. The room was occupied by about ten insane, terrified people, some dressed in black, scattered around the floor moaning mournfully in foetal positions. The owner of the house grabbed me by the arm and told me not to look and come back to the party. There was loud music so you almost couldn’t hear the wailing. Everyone was dancing in a giant kitchen, somebody told me ‘we wear the costumes for context, so we can tell that time has passed..’
My Desert Island Ten*.
In no particular order..
1. Beastie Boys - Pauls Boutique
2. Bob Dylan - Bringing It All Back Home
3. Leonard Cohen - Songs Of Love And Hate
4. DJ Shadow - Endtroducing
5. Sage Francis - Personal Journals
6. B. Dolan - The Failure
7. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Murder Ballads
8. Buck 65 - Man Overboard
9. Madvillain - Madvillainy
10. Tom Waits - Swordfishtrombones
I’ve written a few things over the last couple of days but none of them are worth sharing here. Just all heavy handed and contrived. Wouldn’t want to waste your time. I’m currently in the process of trying to rebuild myself, I have a few irons in the fire and hopefully I’ll have something to share in the near future.
Just saying. I’m not dead yet and I didn’t forget about the blog. Not lazy just bad at writing.
For my residency this Thursday I’ll be performing with Gravity Champions instead of my usual solo thing, also playing will be Sweat Collectors, Soul Benefits and Maatzi (DJ Set). 4th of September at The Forresters, Surry Hills. Free entry.
Til next time.
#11: The Crow Goes Caw
The artificial glow of the streetlight makes everything appear unreal, dream-like and warmer than it is.
There’s a distant roar of traffic that reminds him of the ocean. It’s transporting. His mind flashes to another time and another place in the world. It’s all so much safer as a memory.
This town is completely deserted except for the neighborhood ghosts and a few stray cats. What time is it?
He doesn’t care anymore. Tomorrow never comes anyway. He continues to walk, for a moment the sound of a far away freight train is audible, but as it fades he can’t know for certain if he really heard anything or if it was just in his head. The feeling is a familiar one, he always heard his dreams before they manifested visually, when it passes it all sinks into the same foggy bank of memory, a place where the boundaries between reality and imagination dissolve.
Whether it’s real or not, he takes his direction like he should. He walks to the edge of the train tracks and waits, watching the world quiver under the moonlight.
Staring into space, wondering how anyone could be so self involved as to ignore the sky. His gaze drifts back to ant level and he notices what looks like a big black house cat, perched at the end of the platform. An immortal sphinx, watching over her corner of the universe.
He’s drawn to her. Hopelessly. As he gets closer and his eyes come into focus, he realises that it wasn’t a cat at all but a woman. Her dress billowed romantically like Bela Lugosi’s cloak, her eyes were covered by a long black veil and only her mouth was exposed. A cat? Really? His mind plays tricks in this darkness.
Without turning to look at him she spoke..
'Is everything ok?
You seem surprised’.
Slightly embarrassed, and coy he replied..
'It's just.. Well when I first saw you..
I thought you were a cat’.
'What makes you think that I wasn't?'
Confused he looked around and nervously asked..
'What are you doing here so late?'
She turned and lifted her veil to reveal a pair of dark yellow eyes..
'I am always here
and it’s not late,
you might try asking yourself the same question though,
I know exactly where I am’.
He turned away, dejected and started toward the exit. Just as he was approaching the base of the stairs he turned around to steal one last glance at that mysterious woman from the opposite end of the platform.
Shockingly she was staring right back at him, with those yellow eyes still clearly visible from so far away.. He was paralyzed by them, and what he saw next made no logical sense..
A speeding train came into view. The woman looked forward and stepped closer to the edge of the platform. Her lips moved and she spoke some words that he couldn’t make out.
She was going to jump. He knew it and he had to save her.
His adrenaline carried him faster than his legs ever could.
and he jumped right after her
directly into the path of the oncoming engine..
There was no time,
just the deafening roar,
the white light,
the screaming of breaks..
It was much too late to do anything more but accept it.
His fragile body collided with the full titantic force of that gigantic steel monster and he exploded into a murder of crows soaring high on the updraft, flapping their wings and vanishing into the night sky where two yellow stars shimmered, brighter than all the rest.
He shook his head, exhaled, and ascended the staircase.
Rebel Without A Crew - Robert Rodriguez
#10: Most Def Regrets - Guest Concert Review by Trillion
Mos Def in Seminyak (venue Warehouse 82) - Bali
Saturday 16th August 2014
Has his ego become so huge that he feels he can do whatever he wants
at his shows?
My first guess was that he is never going to release any more music
and is riding around the world on the coat tails of his past
successes, doing a last minute cash-in before he retires somewhere in
or was he making some kind of statement about the entertainment
industry that went over everyone’s heads?
I’m talking about the rapper Mos Def… after being booked for two
separate shows in Bali that he didn’t even turn up at, he gets booked
for a third and eventually turned up to basically piss on the
audience. The venue doors opened at 7pm with a DJ warming up the
building, then a great band reminiscent of a funky underground Lenny
Kravitz performed, followed by another DJ that played for three hours
until Mos Def and his entourage finally showed after midnight.
Apparently he was supposed to perform at about 10-11pm. He basically
missed the peak energy of the night and by the time he arrived the
crowd was fading. He then pissed around for about 15 minutes greeting
people on the balcony, before taking the stage with his DJ. A few
technical issues that would have been ironed out had he turned up for
his soundcheck delayed the start of his performance… the performance
was disappointing to say the least. He danced around on stage to James
Brown and Michael Jackson songs, occasionally chiming in over the top
like a sing-a-long. He told the audience to put away their iphones and
dance because only losers take photos. After 4 or 5 songs where he did
nothing but dance and do a few James Brown-esk grunts, some confused
and disappointed ‘customers’ started chanting ‘sing, sing, sing’ and
holding up their middle fingers. This seemed to upset Mos Def, so he
stopped the music and rattled out a rant… ‘I may or may not perform
any of my songs tonight, I’m here to have a good time and share with
you songs from my life that i love, and if you don’t like it, then
leave - the door is that way’. Well fair enough if it was a free gig,
but it was not, the tickets were $50US and $70US on the door. A
disgruntled punter left and he followed with ‘do any more suckers want
to leave? if so, now is the time!’
My thought at the time was: ‘No Mos Def, everyone who is pissed off
has a right to be, you are not providing the service people have paid
a lot of money for, and it is the audience who see you as a celebrity
that can do no wrong, who are the SUCKERS’
So, what is up with that?
was it an experiment, or a scam?
did he think he would be performing to Indonesians so it mattered only
that he turned up… and when he saw there were only two or three
Indonesians in the audience of 200+ he had to continue with his scam
because he hadn’t come prepared for anything else?
His performance moved from a funk/soul dance with his back to the
audience, to a classic rap karaoke, where he would rap-a-long to his
favourite rap songs, sometimes doing complete chunks of verses, and
other times chiming in RUN DMC style for the rhyming words.
Some punter comments as they were leaving the show early:
'weak sauce' - 'disappointing' - 'fucking shit' - 'we travelled an
hour and a half for this crap’ - ‘wasting my time and money’ - ‘rip
off’ - ‘he needs to keep his ego in check’ - ‘I’ve seen him twice
before and he was awesome, but this was shit’
So there you go, even with a hundred bad reviews, there will still be
people who will pay through the nose at the chance of getting close
to, and taking a photo of a B Grade celebrity. Interesting experiment…
Should musicians be obliged to deliver what is expected based on their past?
Was it a political statement about the entertainment industry performing monkey’s?
If so, who is the joke… the industry, the audience or him?
Sorry. No blog this week. Subsketch is currently out of order.
#9: With These Hands
She stopped me just as I was about to walk out the front door..
'Wait! Your skeleton is showing.'
There was a not so subtle hint of condescension in her tone.
She grabbed me by the back of the neck with one hand, and with the other tore out the rest of my spinal cord, whipped it with a flourish and just before I could drip through her fingers jammed it painfully back into the socket, dabbing at the bloody edges with a tissue before straightening my collar and buttoning the moment with a tilt of the head and the emptiest of smiles.
'Now what are we going to do about these horrible old things?'
She was staring down at my fingers with disgust. I’m not sure how it happened exactly, but the flesh on both of my hands had grown transparent and gelatinous. With skin like decaying latex, you could see the blood struggling through my veins but even more offensive were the creaking little bones underneath.
'You've really made a mess of yourself haven't you?'
She shook her head and crossed the room. Kneeling down by the bed and pulling out an old wooden sewing box from underneath.
She rummaged around in several of the compartments until she found what she felt was necessary.
'You're a very lucky boy'
With hands tucked behind her back she approached me, slow and deliberate, smiling like a little school girl.
'Close your eyes or no surprise!'
Nervously, I closed them and felt her pulling something very dry and coarse over my hyper sensitive digits. It sent a horrendous shiver up my freshly adjusted spine that was almost unbearable.
'You can open your eyes now'..
I looked down to discover I was wearing what seemed to be gloves, but made from the skin of somebody else’s hands. Much too nervous to appear ungrateful or rude. I faked my best smile.
'Wow. They are really awesome..
Thank you so much’.
Her eyes were wide and teary and so proud that she had to step backwards just to properly take in her handiwork.
'Those were your grandfathers'.