Just a bit of contrast for you guys in the alternate hemisphere. No white Christmas here. It’s 38C (100F) and the ocean beckons.
But …. to get into the spirit of things, here’s ….
A Christmas song written and performed by a friend many many years ago
In light of recent tragic and shocking events here in Oz I have chosen mainly to remain silent, but this video says what I might say, but far more eloquently.
For no particular reason.
Just trying to get our minds off things – things like Bondi Beach and racism and guns and hate. On a day when nothing makes sense this song doesn’t either.
Maybe it means that there’s no shame in not being heard, that your own truth need only be audible to yourself. No one should have to listen.
***
Achievements? Zero, No-one’s hero
no applause, no fame, no glory,
I walk alone, without a throne, a song without a story.
No magic cape, no great escape
Credits fade to black
No blood’s been bled, just look ahead
No point in looking back
I told the truth, back in my youth,
With no-one there to hear.
Now as a ghost, my only boast,
Is ‘no-one’s lying here’.
No speech, no toast, no lies,
no slender alibis
It comes as no surprise
No-one laughs and no one cries
No cheering crowd, no grand parade,
The shadows fade, no life’s been made
I told the truth, back in my youth,
With no-one there to hear.
Now just a ghost, my only boast,
Is ‘no-one’s lying here’.
I tried to stand, had nothing planned
My only grace, an empty space
Nothing to fear when nothing’s clear
‘Cause no-one’s lying here
***
Track three (recorded only this morning) takes a slightly different direction when dealing with an old seminal work …. this one, I think, another of Alisha’s mad ravings.
A slightly punky rock vibe felt better than the country blues style the band has previously adopted. And my singer went back to rehab, so had to source another.
The less audible the words, the better the song.
**
you can call it privilege
i can call it a curse
this consciousness, this being here
Is getting kinda worse
fighting foreign feelings
stuck inside my head
up and down this see-saw
where angels fear to tread
you call it beauty
I call it hell
The fire burns inside me
But I can’t endure the smell
Inside my head a prison
can’t escape myself
wish I was an object
Just sitting on a shelf
i’d rather be a vegetable
i’d rather be a rock
i’d rather be a glove
i’d rather be a sock
won’t be coming back here
if they offer this again
i’d rather be the words
than the hand that holds the pen
I’m not the girl that he saw
Lying in his bed
I’m not the person you knew
I’m someone else instead
Yes it’s true, I’m feeling blue
In a world that’s turning red
Quite disturbed by what I heard
Or by what i might have said
I’m here again, back on the train
Back into the rut
One day I’m a princess
The next day I’m a slut
I’m coming to the party
I’m in my party frock
I’d like to be your lover
But I’d rather be a sock
i’d rather be a vegetable
i’d rather be a rock
i’d rather be a glove
i’d rather be a sock
won’t be coming back here
if they offer this again
i’d rather be the words
than the hand that holds the pen
consciousness is overrated
being human’s complicated
give me simple, give me dumb
make me thoughtless
make me numb
Richmond Road 