Some kind of wonderful...

Since getting back from Darwin I have been really, really struggling. Physically speaking, I haven't been at the races. Not worth a cracker. I've been so tired, too knackered to do anything discretionary. Shame really, because I've been a dynamo in the preceding weeks.
I was in Canberra last week and it was a labour. I felt like I was a hundred years old. I did manage a few pints in The Phoenix so my efforts brought some reward, it is fair to say.
I got home on Friday night and spent Saturday trying to get back into the swing of things; doing jobs, standing in the pissing rain at the footy, falling asleep in my chair when I should have been at the Northern Soul night, and watching United fall over the line.
I guess I needed to rest up a little.
Sunday and Monday were much better. I went busking for three hours in the winter sunshine, did my APRA return for 2011-12, visited King William Road to view the SALA exhibition, made a date loaf, organised gigs, got to grips with the lawns and garden, cooked a kind of laksa, played with my latest eBay arrivals (including Top of the Tots!), attended to my Honda, watched a great film in Hunger, learned some new songs, and took possession of the latest batch of David Robinson CDs. I can't believe how different the last couple of days has felt compared to the preceeding couple of weeks...
Perhaps I am back.

www.bleakumbrella.com

King of the Bus

I've been busking at the Sunday Farmers' Market recently. I thought it would be a good thing to do because it's better than a music room rehearsal, I like the market environment, and it's only around the corner. You have to go through an application process; not very punk rock I know, but it's a pretty good gig.
The vibe of the place is great. I'm not generally a busker, but this is a performance opportunity within a community, and I don't feel that I am at the mercy of some of the more aggrocultural elements of society. As I might be if I was playing in the Mall...
It's great way to work on new songs, to meet people, and to make connections with stall holders and other artisans.
The challenge of playing for three-four hours straight without resorting to music sheets or repeating songs has also been great. I've been dragging out originals and covers that I'd forgotten I wrote/knew - what a hoot!
It's not just coins and notes that find their way into the guitar case. Last week I also got a couple of bottles of (delicious) organic wine, a bag of apples, and an iced coffee.

I hope this continues for a while yet. It's been fun so far.

www.bleakumbrella.com

(Camel) Train Man

Cavorting in the Northern Territory. A nice thought, when one is sitting in a freezing house in the middle of the coldest time of the year. Frontier Land - where long trousers are only worn on special occasions and, even then, generally unnecessary.
As I was daydreaming of Darwin, three words came to mind - warm in August.
The lure of a mid-winter's break ultimately proved overwhelming, so last week I set off on The Ghan on a northern adventure that would take me and my guitar not only to Darwin, but also to Alice Springs and Katherine. Two places upon which I'd never had the pleasure of inflicting myself.
I had to reacquaint myself with train-life, but a few familiar faces helped to smooth over the logistical challenges.
I had three or four gigs every day on the train; harder work than it sounds, really. Some nights I was playing from 6.00 until 10.00, with maybe a half-hour for tea. Not that I am complaining - it's a great experience. The passengers generally love it, and it gives me the opportunity to shift a few CDs, and accept the odd free drink. I've had some great conversations with amazing people, and listened to tales of triumph and tragedy. I also get to eat like a king, albeit in a rather rapid-fire manner. Nice one.
In addition to the joy of playing music for people who enjoy it, I also get to visit other parts of the country. This time I got to go on a camel ride, cruise Katherine Gorge, visit the Winnellie Hotel, have a beer at Bojangles, climb Billy Goat Hill, enjoy a Pale Ale at the Katherine Hotel, and enjoy a shared bathroom facility in my Darwin digs. Oh, the glamour!

Eighteen onboard performances later, I emerged back in wintry Adelaide, needing a few days sleep.

www.bleakumbrella.com

Drunken Poet

Last week I was in Melbourne for a couple of days, exchanging one cities' bleak, cold weather for another's. On Wednesday night I went down to the Drunken Poet in West Melbourne for a pint or two. Its unassuming doorway is on Peel Street, just across from the Vic Markets. Like The Phoenix in Canberra, this is a pub with more than a whiff of the Emerald Isle about it, but hasn't stooped to the level of embarrassing cliche as typified by franchise "Irish" pubs. This is probably about as real as it gets, outside of Ireland. Along with The Phoenix, of course...

Unlike the raucous, vibrant Phoenix, the Poet is well-ordered and quiet. It turns out to be a great place to sit and catch up with a mate, Guinness in hand. The live music isn't overbearing, so shouting at each other isn't necessary. Unless we fancy an argument. The service is friendly and easygoing, and the patrons are happy just to be there, leaving the outside world at the door. And why not?

First time there, definitely not the last...

www.bleakumbrella.com

Car crash

I'm walking home, enjoying the pale winter sunshine. Headphones on, enjoying the latest ECB podcast. I cross King William Street at the usual spot and proceed up to the Gilbert Street corner, just across from the old Brecknock (lying, soulless bastards).
Parklands, suburbs, home. Not long now.
I punch the pedestrian button and then look east to see if I can go early. No chance, there's a shiny white car hurtling towards me. I look back south towards where I am headed. What's this, another car entering the intersection? A shiny BMW. One of these two drivers has obviously not seen the red light. Oh dear. Immediately I am awake to the situation - an imminent vehicular altercation - but providence will play a greater role than anticipation & agility here.
The cars collide at speed. As luck would have it, both cars turn my way once they have smashed into each other, perhaps looking for a genuine kill. This is what I get for swearing so much. Should I have worn my brown trousers?
I'm standing there, looking, ready to leap into the air to avoid being offed. Just like Bruce Lee would. The white car smashes into the pedestrian light eight feet away from me and it pole-axes the innocent structure into the ground. The Beemer comes to rest about six feet in front of me. There's petrol, coolant, and bits of car everywhere.
The area is suddenly filled with people. People wanting to help, those who are curious, and a gaggle of cocksure boys with terrible hair and poorly-fitting suits wanting to take iPhone snaps. I just stand there. I eventually help one of the drivers to a safe spot and then stand there, again. What the f*ck just happened?
Normality slowly resumes, as people ask me if I'm OK, and I ask the same of myself. Not dead. Good, then. I wait around for about three-quarters of an hour, give the police my number and a quick statement and then head home.
I am still tingling as I ring Lynn and tell her that dinner might be a little later than expected.

www.bleakumbrella.com

Journal extract.

...A thin band of orange creeps across the horizon. The day comes. Venus and Jupiter, the two brilliant planets in the eastern sky, begin to fade. Their time has come and gone.
I am already showered, shaved and dressed. I slept OK, but rose early.
In the red lounge car, it's just me and one other. Everyone else is clambering for heart-starting coffee in the next carriage.
I say "hello" as I pass my fellow traveller and he replies with an eastern European-flavoured salutation. He begins to cough. And cough. The sort of cough you are rewarded with after smoking a packet a day for fifty years. I think he might be about to die, but he just keeps coughing instead. The coughing only stops once he's used the communal sink in the refreshment spot as a spittoon. Nice.
Three shows yesterday; pretty much three and a half hours back-to-back. Rock and roll.
And the world races by...

www.bleakumbrella.com

All manner of things...

It's been a busy few weeks for this ol' boy. A few gigs here and there, with most going well. Writing, recording, playing, composing, admin (oh the admin!) - there just aren't enough hours in the day.

The first train trip worked out fine, and I am off again tomorrow for another Cody Pomeray-style jaunt to Sydney and back on the Indian Pacific. Well, at least that's how I like to think of it...

Last Monday I finished my recording of Wish I Was You for the next SCALA CD. I recorded it at Rob Pippan's studio and it has come up a treat. A nice heavy sound, without being too big; a bit of a departure from most of my recent studio efforts. I hope listeners enjoy it.

I've been tidying up my own home studio; my dream is to turn it into a small space that I can spend hours in, immersed in good vibes. Shabby Road Studios, the place I wanna be.

I haven't been to too many gigs, but I did get to see Steve Poltz for a second time. Shame it was the same night as Ralph McTell's last-ever Adelaide concert but I'd already organised the Poltz gig. I did pick up some Ralph McTell vinyl the other day though, as a sort of compensation. Three albums, all mint condition, $3.95 each. Plus I bought The Runaways' Queen's of Noise vinyl through eBay.

I had a poem published in Spur Magazine, and have been entertaining notions of self-publishing a book of poetry. Vanity, anyone? Perhaps that will have to wait for a little while. My write-a-song-each-month challenge is going OK, but I need to do some more work there.

This weekend I have a gig at the Daniel O'Connell in North Adelaide and I am also part of a Battle of the Bands judging panel. But I'll get the train ride out of the way first...

www.bleakumbrella.com