Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

All The Joy In The World

June 5, 2017

Falling down the hill
with a smile on your face
and all the joy in the world
in a brown paper bag.

Spare your pity, and some change
all the universe is solved.

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I Get A Kick Out Of Being Kicked Around By You

April 19, 2017

Nobody pays, nobody minds
Everyone’s game every once in a while
You radium girls, that’s quite a smile
Nobody came, and nobody tried

I gave you my heart and you gave me the boot
I get a kick out of being kicked around by you
I get a kick out of being kicked around by you

What would you trade to taste it all?
We got a day to waste and a bottle of panadol
What would you pay for some piece of mind?
Nobody came, and nobody smiles

I gave you my heart and you gave me the boot
I get a kick out of being kicked around by you
I get a kick out of being kicked around by you

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Good morning,

I should be out surfing, being the holidays and all and given how much I complain, but it seems a bit on the cold side, so I’m going to wait just one more minute, just one more cup of tea. I’m gonna go, I swear.

While I’m in this holding pattern, now is as good a time as any to let you know we’ve got another new single out, and it’s short and sweet and doing about as well as most Royal Chant singles seem to do (read: not well enough).

Our bassist, Adam Murray, came up with a film clip for it using old Super-8 footage from his parents and violá: we have another small piece of noise to add to the monstrosity this is, has always been, and always will be the “music industry”.

 

As usual, you can grab it for free from Bandcamp

Or maybe SoundCloud is your thing….

Or, if you wanted to be a super trooper you could hop on over to our Triple-J Unearthed page and get it that way. If we thought it would work we could try and bribe you into leaving a review or rate it to help us keep up with the young whipper snappers (let’s face it: Royal Chant ain’t exactly a collection of Spring chickens anymore, if we ever were in the first place), because HOLY HELL HAVE YOU SEEN HOW MANY PLAYS AND LIKES AND REVIEWS AND SHARES THESE YOUNG BANDS HAVE?!?!?! I’m so happy for them I stand in awe, then shame, then quietly sneak out while everyone politely looks away.

https://www.triplejunearthed.com/embed/5860751

And that, as we say in the business (claps hands), is how it’s done.

We’ve got some more dates to keep us busy until the end of May, and then it’s time to rest, collect our marbles, and get the record ready so we can do it all again.

.:: Royal Chant Tour Dates ::..

Saturday, April 22 – Meatstock Melbourne
Saturday, April 22, Retreat Hotel, Melbourne
Sunday, April 23 – Meatstock Melbourne

Friday, May 5 – Vic On The Park (Sydney) w/Fingermae
Saturday, May 6 – Meatstock Sydney

Sunday, May 7 – Meatstock Sydney

Saturday, May 20 – Ric’s (Brisbane)

Friday, May 26 – Town Hall Hotel (Sydney) w/Wasters
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

That’s all the news from here. Remember: nobody pays, nobody minds

xoxo

-M

OMG! Are you on Facebook? coz we’re on Facebook, and we should, like, totally be friends.

the Yada Yada Yada….

January 18, 2017

So yes of course it’s been ages since I wrote and yes of course I feel guilty and yada yada yada…

And yes of course that is the name of the new Royal Chant single. Yada Yada Yada.

Although it’s not part of my normal vernacular it used to come up from time to time in my stage banter.  Some of the lyrics I poached from a previous song that never got finished, and the chorus, is, of course: Yada Yada Yada.

We’ll see what Australia thinks of it, but if previous performances are any indication it’s probably safe to assume…we have no idea. Probably not much.  You can get your hands on it through all the usual.  Some folks really like bandcamp….

While others prefer to get their kicks through SoundCloud…

There’s always our Triple-J Unearthed page where you can have your say by leaving a rating or review, but we’re not Spring chickens anymore and the youngsters have really changed the game. If I sound jealous, don’t worry: I am.

And yeah, that’s how we roll. We’ve got a stack of tour dates kicking off on Australia/Invasion Day, and then we’ll see if we’re still in one piece at the end of it all.

And lastly, just so I don’t lose sight of my roots…

See you out there xoxo

..:: Royal Chant – Yada Yada Yada National Tour Dates ::..

Thursday, Jan 26 – El Grotto, Scarborough WA
Friday, Jan 27 – The Fly Trap, Fremantle WA

Saturday, Jan 28 – Babushka, Perth WA

Saturday, Feb 11 – The Factory Theatre, Marrickville NSW (Elliot Smith Tribute show)

Saturday, Feb 11 – The Town Hall Hotel, Newtown NSW (midnight show)

Wednesday, Feb 22 – Lass O’ Gowrie, Newcastle NSW

Saturday, Feb 25 – Meatstock NZ, Auckland

Sunday, Feb 26 – Meatstock NZ, Aukland

Friday, March 17 – The Pier, Port Macquarie

Saturday, April 22 – Meatstock Melbourne

Sunday, April 23 – Meatstock Melbourne

Saturday, May 6 – Meatstock Sydney
Sunday, May 7 – Meatstock Sydney

Shocked & Shaking

May 2, 2015

I don’t know if it happens to everyone, but do you ever get those phases of sheer music fatigue? It’s not as if you’ve fallen out of love with your favourite music, but it’s just those rare times when everything loved & familiar suddenly become too familiar? It may only last an hour or a few days, (although I do recall one friend who seemed struck by the apathy virus for a few months), but either way it both a sign and symptom of weakened spirits that only compounds the problem.  If music is your bedrock, best friend, & bible, how cruel is it to be unable to turn to it when you need it most.

Of course I am well aware that “there is a world of music out there at your fingertips”, and this is certainly not a post about how “there just isn’t any good music out there!”. That’s complete rubbish, as anyone involved with music in any way, shape, or form can attest. The problem is simply that sometimes you don’t have it right here and now. Sometimes we find music, sometimes it finds you, and sometimes those paths are circuitous and meandering since we all don’t have access to an amazing radio station or a best friend or an older sibling to guide us in this wide world of musical thorns and wilderness.

And really, this has been one long introduction when all I really meant to say is that I stumbled across a song that has shaken me to the core and made all of the above somewhat irrelevant. I don’t know how long I’ll feel this buzz, but it’s wonderful while it lasts, and it’s amazing that when your spirit gets shaken out of its slumber that the rediscovered rosy glow is cast over your entire world, INCLUDING YOUR RECORD COLLECTION THAT YOU WERE JUST MOANING ABOUT.  Like a music rebirth or sonic baptism, all is right with the world.  All it took was the right kick and you were away and running.

I was wasting time over at Grantland, which would seem somewhat odd since I don’t much like Sports and have little idea about what constitutes Pop Culture, but….they seem to write about it so well.  Writer Steven Hyden had a piece on Titus Andronicus which I initially didn’t click because I’m a jerk (and probably jealous in some irrational way even though I’d not heard much of the band aside from the name), but once I had read anything that looked like it might interest me, and then everything else, I eventually got hit over the head with this:

What does one say to that? I wanted to hug the band. I wanted hug Steve Hyden.  I wound up hugging the cat instead, and then just sat there in awe, reeling in the beauty and steeped in envy. A simple (but amazingly clever) song, a simple  (But cleverly amazing) video that brings the brilliant verbal barrage to the front, and a voice that punches and aches at the same time.  The second verse killed me to the point that I felt like a helpless fraud. I don’t want to dissect it much more than that, because it’s enough that it just is. 

It’s hard to say why this song made me so happy, not just because of the thing itself, but I suspect it’s because I find comfort in knowing that people are still writing songs like this and are unafraid to say it in such a straightforward manner.  Instead of couching ourselves in modesty and self-deprecation (whether real or not), it would be nice to simply say Yes: this is me and this is it.

On a final note, I felt like a complete tool for not knowing what the term “Dimed Out” meant, but thankfully by the end of the song they had explained it so easily and obviously that even I managed to get it. That’s rare.

Land Sale

February 10, 2015

Pristine acres of mud
neatly sliced & cut
with promise and price-tags adorned.

A parade, a school band,
rambling speeches galore
with all the best clichés.

This new part of town:
a beautiful creation,
surgically envisioned.

Still, they eat & clap & eat
the sumptuous tasteless catering
accept a few brochures
and make nice with their new neighbors.

Later, they turn their heads
and in a stage whisper say
-it looks nice, but still rough.

Give it time.
Soon enough.

Taking its sweet time like the cracks
that appear for a brief glimpse,
not long before no single soul can recall
a state of affairs as anything but.

Give it time.
Soon enough.

A quiet street
for the wrong reasons
with rust and junk,
busted windows and faces,
and bored hungry dogs that know enough
to wait. It will come.

Give it time.
Soon enough.

A slight curve at the end of the street
she used to stand and wave
always in the sun, it seemed
her face as bright as the beams
that kissed her skin and laughing teeth.
Things change.

Give it time.
Soon enough.

Now she doesn’t wave,
but hangs her darkened eyes
and shivers despite being wrapped tight
in a cloak of the modern world’s making.

Give it time.
Soon enough.

It will come.

 

 

Gentle Confusion

September 28, 2014

More curious and less certain these days,
quieter and easily led.
History?
Is there such a thing?
Gentle confusion that paces
like a cat at midnight
wanting nothing but movement
motion
acknowledgement.

It’s pleasant enough
let us invent some meaning.

“America” (much delayed…this is what happens when things get lost)

July 27, 2013

[NOTE: I meant to send this out on the 4th of July. Obviously I didn’t. Not sure what happened there. The only reason I am posting this at all is because I was reading this poem yet again last night, and was struck once again at how absolutely funny Allen Ginsberg was. His delivery does much to shade my interpretation, and now I can’t read the words without that same colouring. Whatever, it’s doesn’t matter, it’s good and always worth giving it a listen and a read every now and again. Brilliant.]

Dear America,

Happy 4th of July old girl. Here’s the man saying it better than anyone, and his words are more true today than ever.

For the rest of you, go ahead, listen to the whole thing. It’s not like you’ve got to write an essay on it when it’s over. Listen to the crowd grow warmer and more riotous as he spools his lines out like a comedic perfectionist.

My favourite line?

-When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?

-M

Jazz

October 30, 2012

Some cats are always hanging around
Some cats are always talking, perhaps too much
Some cats are hungry, while others sit quietly and stare
Some cats sleep all day, and most of the night as well.
Some cats are friendly
Some cats are mean
Some cats are viscous

Some cats slink around the corner, off to God knows where.

Some cats you wish would stay
Some cats, not so much
Some cats hang with hungry eyes, bleeding lips, and limbs awry

Some cats are gone

Some cats get lost
Some cats go far
Some cats never go home
Some cats howl for no good reason at all .

Untitled

October 22, 2012

It’s always 8 AM
always running late
the tea is always cold
always 2nd place
we are a field of poppies
proud but bent.

A study in the way
we hang our heads in shame
and the sorrows we clutch
tight against our chest
picking up the tempo
in this dance of death.

Waiting once again
night rolls into the next
for real or for pretend
alive or dead
standing like a statue
chipped and cracked.

We lost a few along the way
but what did you expect?
We lost something along the way,
it’s best we just forget.

Not working

September 13, 2012

Agh, it’s too late and I’m too grumpy to make apologies, but lately I have been ready to pull my hair out from lack of writing…anything at all.  No songs, no scribbles, no bad poetry.  Nothing.  ‘Aye, all our time is both precious and a-wasting, and at long last I am burned out and pissed off.  Just teaching and teaching and teaching and my hands ache and my mind is starting to recede.  Is my hair as well?  I surely hope not.  I am so vain that I’m not sure which one I would barter in order to keep the other.  I like the odds on my vanity.

I few weeks ago I finished Amis & Son: Two Literary Generations, by Neil Powell, which was somewhat of a dual literary biography of Kingsley and Martin.  It was decent enough, in it’s own way, although I must say I was a tad surprised by how hard Powell was in judging the shortcomings of Martin’s work.  There was almost a fatherly tone in his scolding, and given the affinity & affection I detected in Powell towards Kingsley I guess it somewhat makes sense.  He was quite fair and objective in his appraisal of Kingsley’s work, which must have been hard to do given how familiar he was with the man and his work.

I meant to write at greater length of Kingsley’s time at Oxford and the impression it made on me, but for now I wanted to share this poem that I have been continuously reading and returning to over the past few weeks.  Although Kingsley was a published poet in his own right it is not what he is most, or even second or third most usually remembered for. (I’d have to give those distinctions to Lucky Jim, drink, and….being a typical aging Anglo male in the face of a changing England?)  He composed this poem as he was getting on in years, most likely in the 1970s as he was approaching 60, but it wasn’t uncovered until 2004.  It is officially untitled, but it is often known by its first line, “Things tell less and less”.

Untitled

Things tell less and less:
The news impersonal
And from afar; no book
Worth wrenching off the shelf.
Liquor brings dizziness
And food discomfort; all
Music sounds thin and tired,
And what picture could earn a look?
The self drowses in the self
Beyond hope of a visitor.
Desire and those desired
Fade, and no matter:
Memories in decay
Annihilate the day.
There once was an answer:
Up at the stroke of seven,
A turn round the garden
(Breathing deep and slow),
Then work, never mind what,
How small, provided that
It serves another’s good
But once is long ago
And, tell me, how could
Such an answer be less than wrong,
Be right all along?
Vain echoes, desist

-Kingsley Amis
++++++++++++

That is a good one, in my estimation.  Or maybe it was merely the right poem for the right person at the right time.

Write back if it’s been a while.  I’ve got a few more days of teaching and then I am off with the band for a run of shows down the East Coast of the USA.  It should be fun, and if you’re anywhere on the Eastern seaboard give me a holler and perhaps we’ll be playing in your town or near enough.

More to come, and not so many moons between the next post.  Promise.

-M