Lester Young On Originality.

"Originality's the thing. You can have tone and technique and a lot of other things but without originality you ain't really nowhere. Gotta be original."

Lester Young.

Lester Young is at the heart of all jazz saxophone playing, the original sideman who could support a singer without ever losing his own sound. Brilliant.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

The Mother Of Guitars.

Tonight I will hold the sweet curves of my beaten up old guitar, strum her strings and sing softly of the blues. Perhaps a new song will appear. It's lovely to have a girl to miss, a reason to write a song, someone to impress if a good song appears.

The mother who invented the guitar was the feeling of needing your girl in your arms.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Jack Kerouac On Life.

"Live, travel, adventure, bless, and don't be sorry."   

Jack Kerouac.

It's easy to read a quotation like this and agree, think it sums something up, then forget it. I feel I should tattoo this to my arm so I read it every day and never forget it. On The Road is a book everyone should read a s teenager, then again in  their forties, to be reminded of the essence of life.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Lunch Time.

So I'm on a Melbourne suburban train, a very different vibe from the subterranean inner city service I'm accustomed to in Sydney. Grandma is taking junior into town, a school holidays treat. The sun is shining, red tiled roofs flow by, mile after mile of red tiled roofs.

I'm on my way to lunch with an old school mate, we've come a long way since high school, we are dining at a club my father used to frequent. How strange. I look strange, my Jimmy Page imitator hair looks at home with a denim jacket, less so with my black funeral/wedding suit. I don't think this faux paisley shirt is entirely suitable but it's the only one that will accept a tie. My old friend and I have travelled very different roads, haven't seen each other for twenty years, I'm sure we'll soon be laughing, the teenagers inside the men will shine.

We live on either side of this vast country now, he has kids I've never met, a real job. Don't have kids, and even I don't know what I do for money. It's a sweet feeling, knowing these differences mean nothing, confident the real friendship we shared two decades ago remains intact.

I don't imagine the past will get much of a run over lunch, neither of us are the types for nostalgia. Notes on travels, romance, desires for the future are more our style. I'm excited. A welcome blast from the past but new and shiny.

I'm on the train. Everyone else is on their own mission. I wonder where Grandma will take junior? My mission feels like the most interesting one. I wonder if my old mate still listens to The Clash occasionally? I wonder if he is happy where life has taken him in twenty years? I wonder if I am?

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Stan Getz On Obsession.

"My life is music, and in some vague, mysterious and subconscious way, I have always been driven by a taut inner spring which has propelled me to almost compulsively reach for perfection in music, often - in fact, mostly - at the expense of everything else in my life."   

Stan Getz.

Mr. Getz, you beautiful man, if you hadn't been obsessed with music it would have been at the expense of the rest of us.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Rehearsal Studios Stink.

The carpet smells bad, the soundproofing material smells bad, the toilets smell really bad, even the hairy guy behind the counter smells bad. Everything at the rehearsal studio smells bad. It's mostly a mix of stale sweat and spilled beer, who knows what is going on with the hairy guy behind the counter?

The music business is supposed to be a life of glamour, imagine how glamourous the musicians feel when they hand over money they don't have for the privilege of being locked in a smelly room for a few hours? The funny thing is that many do see these places as exciting, part of the life. Most never make it out of the practise space and onto the stage, they have to like it. Others are upper middle class kids who enjoy stuff that smells bad because it is different to their usual experience.

Success in the music business requires hunger. Being hungry to get away from the bad smelling studio is enough motivation to get out and onto the stage. You'll notice successful bands rent plush houses in the country to rehearse in, they never want to go back to a smelly disused warehouse.

Last night the hairy guy behind the counter smelled like he'd stuck a feral animal under his arm a few weeks ago and forgotten to remove it. The rest of the facility smelled like it had been cuddling the hairy guy. Last night gave me motivation, to give up and get out of the business or get successful, I can't go back to another smelly studio.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Hunter S. Thompson On Solitude.

"We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and -- in spite of True Romance magazines -- we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely -- at least, not all the time -- but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don't see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness." 

Hunter S. Thompson. 

Amongst all the craziness he certainly wrote some beautifully sad truth. Perhaps the craziness helped him find truth, or maybe the truth drove him to craziness.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Art And Desire.

Desire isn't the problem, being honest with ourselves about our desires is the problem. We fear judgement, will other people reject me because I want experiences that don't fit into their idea of normal. This fear is justified, people will judge us, they just do, like any fear the consequences of that judgement are never as bad as we expect them to be, in my culture anyway. In some cultures following your natural desires will get you tortured and killed.

In the arts business following desire honestly is essential, it is the entirety of the job you have undertaken. A doctor desires to cure the ill, without that desire he will be a bad doctor. There is a clear path to becoming a doctor, given the talent and dedication each step is clearly marked. The artist's path is less clear, the desire to create stuff is hardly a detailed map. Desire, the feeling that something wants to be expressed, is the only direction we get.

The old fashioned path of trial and error, eliminating what we don't desire by trying it, is a way to begin, narrow the field of possibilities. Eliminating outside voices, for me this means ignoring the world of pop music and the money it contains, is a step in the right direction. Rejecting the concept of expectation, that any work will follow the path we expect, receive the reaction we expect, fulfill us as we expect, giving up this expectation frees us from outside influences that cloud are feeling for what we really desire.

I believe some people are born with no fear of failure or judgement. The rest of us have to learn how to overcome these fears. Time and maturity are our friends. Each step in the right direction makes us braver. Each small fear conquered whittles away the great big fear.

I still don't know what I truly desire. People say that deep down we all know, I'm not so sure, perhaps this is the true task in this life, certainly in the life of an artist. I do know that when I am striving to find it, with an honest heart, I make beautiful things, when I am just going through the motions I make ordinary things. With each beautiful thing I step closer, with each ordinary thing I get further away. Striving honestly seems to be essential to understanding true desire.

Today I write this messy stream of ideas, tomorrow, or the next day I will refine it into a whimsical parable, over time, if I keep striving, it may become real writing, the poetry or prose that I desire to create. Each step takes me closer to knowing my true desire.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Richard Brautigan On Nightfall.

"Night was coming on in, borrowing the light. It had started out borrowing just a few cents worth of the light, but now it was borrowing thousands of dollars worth of the light every second. The light would soon be gone, the bank closed, the tellers unemployed, the bank president a suicide."   

Richard Brautigan, A Confederate General From Big Sur.

A way with words doesn't cover it. Saying Brautigan had a way with words is like saying Caligula had a way with debauchery.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

My Girl Versus Thor.

The god of thunder likes to visit Melbourne, Australia every Spring. He particularly enjoys the wide flat checked tablecloth of the eastern suburbs, his noisy handiwork bouncing off the quarter acre spaced tiled roofs, he can be heard for minutes rather than seconds here.

Today he has settled in for a long flatulent afternoon, he'll probably stay a few days, he doesn't care that the entire city will suffer the drizzle, the cold gusty winds. Melbourne folks are old fashioned hosts, never complain about their uninvited guest, grin and retrieve their gloves and scarves from the cupboard under the stairs. It is supposed to be Spring, a frail asthmatic has been given the job of inflating the big golden balloon of Summer, it might take a while.

I've just moved back to Melbourne, today I'm wondering why? Soon my girl will arrive home from work, gulp down a mug of hot tea then drive me to my rehearsal. Her car blows warm air on my chilly damp feet, her smile and her kiss warm the rest of me.

My girl will look Thor in the eye, he will blink first, she will keep me warm until the Summer arrives.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com


www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Location:Henry St,Highett,Australia

Richard Brautigan On The Silence Of Yourself.

"Karma Repair Kit Items 1-4.

1.Get enough food to eat,
and eat it.

2.Find a place to sleep where it is quiet,
and sleep there.

3.Reduce intellectual and emotional noise
until you arrive at the silence of yourself,
and listen to it.

4."

Richard Brautigan.

This is why I love Richard Brautigan. Brilliant without needing to be a show off.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

To The Cave.

Many cafes here in Melbourne have portable windbreaks set up around their outside tables, canvass or plastic stretched over a frame, flat metal feet held down by sandbags. They are really advertising banners for coffee companies, not good for much else, certainly no good for holding the wind at bay. In fact when it gets too windy the cafe waiters come scurrying out to drag the windbreaks inside before they tip over and crash a table.

Advertising is a funny business. Any free space where people gather is seen as an advertising opportunity, the product the sign is printed on doesn't have to work, just look like it works. Any pen with a brand name printed on it is bound to fail when you need it most, guaranteed.

We are now at a point where most of the open space is occupied, advertisers are turning to silence, open silence, anywhere they can plug a loud message. There is a long tradition of Australian Rules Football in this town, tens of thousands pack the stadiums every week. That crowd is now bombarded with loud ads, the time between play when we used to chat with the seat next to us is now filled up. I can't go to the football any more.

The wind is blowing up here today, soon I'll have to move out of the way whilst busy waiters scurry away with the windbreaks. Another triumph of form over content in a commercial world. Soon I will go to live in that cave I've been dreaming of, me and a few goats for company, and no advertising.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Roy Batty On Desire.

"I want more life, fucker."

Roy Batty, Blade Runner.

The key to the story.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

A Lawyer For Lucifer Is Just Another Lawyer.

During the process of canonizing a saint one lucky bastard is appointed to be the advocate of the devil, to argue against the candidate. What fun! Those god bothering, superstitious costume queens sure know how to have a good time, imagine getting paid to don a funny hat and play at being a lawyer for Lucifer? I want that gig.

Many years ago a friend attended a notoriously left wing university. The student union would supply funds for any group with enough members, from Trotsky to chocolate, if there were a group of people into it the union would fund activities. My friend became involved with The Viking Men's Drinking Club, collected enough members, the union was begrudgingly compelled to pay up, fund their kegs of beer so they could enjoy their favoured activity. That group received more attention than any other, mostly negative attention, but attention.

Walking the same path as those who have come before makes life easy, easy and dull. Dressing up in different clothes, playing a role that clashes with the norm, it's so much fun. That fun is addictive, becomes a habit, it is just as much a reaction to the norm as walking the line is. Both paths are part of the orthodox, need each other, both lack authenticity. To take on either role requires belief in the institution, rejecting the institution altogether is the key to knowledge.

It's fun to step out, play up, advocate for the devil, every young student should try it. It is practical to toe the line, join the party. Both stances are part of the same church. It takes courage and independence to reject the entire notion of sainted academia, to think and argue for yourself.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Jim Rockford On Shades Of Grey.

"Hey, I'm sorry Dad, you just caught me at a bad time. Reading that detective fiction doesn't help. I mean things aren't like that you know? They're not black and white. They're aren't any heroes left, they die young. (pointing to a book cover) His gun is deadly? Mine's in a cookie jar."

Jim Rockford, The Rockford Files.

The Rockford Files was a deceptively clever show, some moments were brilliant. Jim was a hero fighting the odds no matter how hard he tried to be an anti hero. Classic 1970's, classic California, classic television.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

The Tightarse Cookbook Revisited.

Yesterday I posted a piece about the ways we get by with next to no money, The Tightarse Cookbook. It appears to have raised some interest, I'm thinking that rather than becoming an actual cookbook I might post people's ideas, recipes and stories here.

I'm interested in the ways people get by, scrounge a living so they can dedicate their lives to their art or study. I'm also interested in the ways people make their lives beautiful without purchasing beauty. The essentials like food, clothing and shelter, how we can make them a celebration of our lives, how we can manage this on the income of a medieval serf.

I lived, for far too long, in a dodgy hotel in Kings Cross, Sydney. In the bathroom was what is known as a "sharps" bin, a nasty yellow canister designed to accept the used syringes of junkies, to be opened and emptied without risk to the cleaner. Every morning I would see this yellow ugliness beside my toilet, it made me feel like I was part of that junkie life. My local fruit and vegetable shop sold cut flowers on the weekend, I could stop by at closing time and pick up a bunch of daffodils for a dollar. In the middle of my breakfast table the yellow sharps bin, thoroughly cleaned by the way, lid removed, became a delightfully ironic vase, a statement that I was not part of that junkie life, the only thing I had in common with them was an income.

So, my e mail address is at the top of the page, recipes, ideas, stories, send 'em in, I'll collect and publish them here as a series, with appropriate attribution, perhaps we'll make a collective e book over time?

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Base Camp.

Many believe that an assault on Everest begins at Base Camp, it begins with the dream and desire of a child. We all saw the great mountain on television when we were children, a handful out of every million kids decided they had to go there, one out of that handful tried.

Getting to Base Camp in the first place takes years of diligent and dedicated application. The word "years" rolls off easily enough, it is years of training mind and body, gaining experience, raising money, organizing a team, transport, supplies. All this while maintaining a life, a home, like everybody else. Getting to Base Camp is a victory.

The day the climber completes a final medical check and steps out, up, is the day, the moment, the test. No one knows how far they will get, the combination of physical torture and old fashioned random luck is by definition an unknown. How would any of us cope? It is there, the attempt must be made, the climber has no choice. The years of preparation are honed down to a few hours of reality.

I feel like I've arrived at a personal Base Camp. All the years of work, gaining experience, are about to be tested. I still have the dream and desire of a child, I don't care if I fail or succeed, that isn't the point and never was. The unknown awaits, I'm ready to step out, up.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Brian Griffin On Celebrity.

"I just spent all morning watching a VH1 special on Gwen Stefani. I don't know what a Hollaback girl is. All I know is that I want her dead."

Brian Griffin.

Brian, you are my soul brother, right down to your substance abuse and unwritten novel.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

The Tightarse Cookbook.

A friend, an unemployed poet (is there any other kind?) and I were discussing our culinary feats the other day, ways we'd made something out of apparently nothing when finances compelled us to. I'd recently whipped up a minced beef stroganoff, I was picking up some cash the next day and did what I could with what remained in my fridge and freezer. As far as minced beef stroganoffs go it was the best I've tasted, but what to compare it to?

This ability to get by is often the difference between those who stick at their chosen art and those that feel forced to give up and get a day job. Noel Coward spoke of staying power being more important than talent, perhaps some talent for being a tightarse is essential too? Finding ways to make less than average accommodation feel like a home, saving a bus fare by walking, getting to the produce market at the end of the day to buy the "dollar a box" specials, keeping an ear to the ground where other cheapskates have walked before us, learning all the tricks, this is how artists survive, keep doing what they do.

There is a difference between being poor and living an impoverished life. If you can't afford fresh cut flowers twice a week you can always take a cutting from a friend's herb garden and grow something beautiful, delicious, healthy and sweet smelling, when there is more potato than meat in the stew those herbs are a blessing. Onion soup is a simple, cheap peasant dish celebrated worldwide, it's hard to feel poor when your belly is full and your tastebuds are singing. Another day of pushing it uphill with a teaspoon feels possible when a man is well fed.

So you can't take that girl to dinner in a flash restaurant, so what? You know that the right girl won't care. If you can present tinned sardines and toast beautifully, if your chicken noodle soup is well made and warming on a cold night, the right girl will notice. No artist wants a girl who needs to be bought anyway, the businessmen can have those ones, for their sins.

My poet friend and I discussed creating a cookbook for our fellow tightarses. We decided that those who are meant to survive, those with staying power, will find their own way, as we have, and they will eat well for another day, keep on creating for one more day.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

J. D. Salinger On Girls.

"That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they're not much to look at, or even if they're sort of stupid, you fall in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. Girls. Jesus Christ. They can drive you crazy. They really can."

J.D. Salinger, The Catcher In The Rye.

Holden Caulfield said so many things that so many men have thought. A girl doing something pretty is one of the purest joys in life, being able to enjoy those moments without losing one's head is part of the process of becoming a man.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Sugar, Lemons, Life, Lemonade.

When life gives you the correct balance of sugar and lemons, then make lemonade, not a moment before. Some folks will tell you to make lemonade when life gives you lemons. Those folks are talking crap, they presume you have sugar, something sweet in your life, the resources to purchase sugar. Sometimes there is just lemons, bitter lemon juice is the only possible product.

Trite answers to other people's problems are wonderful for self help book covers, morning television show presenters, inspirational speakers. If life is giving you lemons take a moment to squeeze some lemon juice into the eye of anyone who tells you to make lemonade.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Stewie Griffin On Alienation.

"Let me guess, you picked out yet another colorful box with a crank that I'm expected to turn and turn until OOP! big shock, a jack pops out and you laugh and the kids laugh and the dog laughs and I die a little inside."

Stewie Griffin.

Oh Stewie, it's like you're inside my head sometimes. Call me world weary and jaded, but I can't feign amusement with the inane as I used to.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

In Transit.

The kentparkstreetblog will be off the air for a day or two while I move cities. I'm sure there will be stories to tell as I rediscover my home town of Melbourne. My first gig is already booked, a new life has already begun.

Catch y'all in a couple of days.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Jazzhead Time Machine.

I should have been playing flute in the 1960's, when cool jazz flute had a home. Today it is homeless, a bum living on the street, a forgotten period piece. Even psychedelic rock acts employ robot flute players now, sampled Herbie Mann, the living breathing contemporary flute player is surplus to requirements.

As one of a handful of contemporary flute players in Australia I may as well be a steam train driver, a washboard salesman. It's an odd feeling, being an anachronism. Given a time machine I would go back, be born around 1945, in San Francisco, ready to hit it hard around 1965.

Of course every performer has to make their own scene, not go searching for some fantasy scene that can never happen. I wonder how this can be done. An improvised modal jazz act, try selling that to the people. In the absence of a time machine I guess all I can do is try to emulate the state of mind of a 1960's jazzhead, carry that time and place around in my head, create that atmosphere for the audience and fellow band members.

Instead of hoping for the impossible, waiting for a change, the answer is to take it to the people and let them decide. If you see a trippy flute based jazz act, feel like being carried away to another time and place, come up and say hi.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Ernest Hemingway On Thinking Too Much.

"Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know."

Ernest Hemingway.

Yup.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Twenty Four Little Hours.

I'm in an unfamiliar situation. I'm accustomed to being the guy who wants to go back a day and fix what I screwed up, to grasp the opportunity I let slip. Tonight I want to go forward twenty four hours to when my girl arrives here in Sydney.

She is driving up from Melbourne with a mutual friend, these two lovely women will drive me and my worldly possessions back to Melbourne with them. Andrea and I have been together for nearly three months, we've spent less than two weeks in the same place at the same time. I'm a wanderer, I don't miss people, I run into them again when I do. I've missed Andrea.

This shift, from the negative looking back to the positive looking forward is largely down to Andrea, she woke me up to all the possibilities the future holds. I feel if I am myself I will never have to apologize, wish I could go back and retract, try another approach. She makes me feel that what I do will be fine if it is coming from my heart. Living purely, from the heart, that's the sort of demand from a girlfriend that I can live with.

So in a day she will be here, I will be here, we will travel together, be around each other from then on. Twenty four little hours.

I'm looking forward to it.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

James Brown On Education.

"I only got seventh-grade education, but I have a doctorate in funk, and I like to put that to good use."

James Brown.




We all gotta' get schooled, we can pick our own classroom. Education for it's own sake is masturbation, we have to lay down the funk in one way or another.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

The Last Suppers.

The last of everything. The last chat with an old mate who has talked me through some serious shit. My last schnitzel with roesti from Maggie's restaurant. My last Sydney gig. My last wandering around this crazy island of reality known as Kings Cross.

I've been in Sydney for most of the last nine years, I've probably seen one percent of this vast metropolis. Kings Cross and the harbour, the rest of the city can sink into the Pacific for all I care. I'll miss the Cross, the people, the energy, the history, nearly every Australian worth speaking of has had a Kings Cross address at some stage.

That I'm leaving feels like a reality today, this feeling of doing everything for the last time, I have to confess I'm a little sad. I'm going because I want to, because there is a new and different life beckoning elsewhere, I'm joyous, allowing myself a small wallow in what will soon be the past.

The last time doesn't make anything more valuable, weighty, it's all in my perception. The schnitzel I eat tonight won't be any tastier than usual, it will just seem tastier, seasoned with melancholy. It's a cliche, live every day as if it's your last, the cliche has some merit. Perhaps living that day as if it's your first is a better idea? Everything and everyone fresh and new, free of expectation? Maybe a grown up like me can find a balance between the two, let each day die, let each day reincarnate with me in it?

Smile and enjoy these last two days. I've contributed my verse to the ongoing play that is Kings Cross, Kings Cross has made a man out of me. Tomorrow night I'll sleep here for the last time, awake to my old friend the Hume Highway, reincarnate in St. Kilda, the rest of Melbourne can sink into the Southern Ocean as far as I'm concerned. Some things stay the same.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

The Manah Manah Guy On Freedom Of Expression.

"Manah manah."

Manah Manah Guy, Sesame Street.

Doot doo di doo doot.

I'm with the Manah Manah Guy, sometimes a man should be free to sing from the heart.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

J.D. On Insecurity.

"Do you remember when Star Wars came out and everyone lined up and then it wasn't very good in bed?"

J.D., Scrubs.

Even when we are at the top of our game we all have these moments.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Kent's Arty Bent, #1, Elizabeth Geyer.

This is the first in a series, a collection of art stuff from folks I've met along the way, here on the blog and in real life. Elizabeth Geyer is a Sydney based artist, flugelhorn player, singer, pianist, songwriter. She was the lady who kicked me in the arse and told me to start blogging, direct your complaints to her, so it's fitting she is first to be featured here. Elizabeth and I share the common interests of dogs, pizza and coffee, oh, and music.

I'll let her music speak for itself. I do enjoy her natural accent and style, refreshing, like Elizabeth herself. You can hear and see more of her at www.reverbnation.com/elizabethgeyer , I recommend you do.

I'll be posting something along these lines every week or so, I like the idea of spreading the good word to people all over, passing on work from other places. If you have quality photography of your work any sort of work, feel free to send it on, my e mail address is at the top of the page.

Post Script: By chance I ran into Elizabeth the night after I posted this, she was playing downstairs where I was playing downstairs. She sang and played keyboard, then played flugelhorn whilst comping on keyboard, particularly annoying considering these instruments are in different keys. Clever, talented lady she is.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Dr. Who Script On Sadness.

"Kathy Nightingale: What's good about sad?

Sally Sparrow: It's happy for deep people."

Dr. Who.

There are some golden moments in every episode of Dr. Who, just good writing. There is a beauty in sadness, the girl with the sad eyes is always beautiful, happiness isn't always the most beautiful girl in town.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

The Music Trade.

Next time you are negotiating with the booker at a venue ask him to call a plumbing contractor, obtain a quote on getting five plumbers out on a Saturday night, tell that booker you'll do the gig for half of whatever that quote is. Of course he will be proposing to pay you less than the call out fee for five plumbers. If he had to call out five plumbers to fix a leak that was flooding his bar on a Saturday night he would do it, and pay the bill, but the idea that he should pay the guys who bring the drinkers into his bar eludes him completely.

Many ask why musicians should get paid for having fun, they never ask this question of a mechanic who enjoys working on cars. Appearing to have fun is part of the musician's trade, an essential skill. After you've scrapped to fix the price of a cab fare home, lugged the gear in, chatted cheerfully with the drunk who used to play guitar back in the day, appearing to have fun can be harder than it looks.

The good players move on, go to cities where music is loved and respected, sometimes even supported financially. The lesser players remain, the scene dies, the venue bookers wonder why they are out of a job? If plumbers weren't being paid they'd move on too, and fair enough, why would they work for nothing? If there were a leak, the bar flooded, why would a plumber come to fix it if he wasn't paid last time he came to that venue?

There is an acceptance, that musician's, apart from the lucky few, should be poor, it's seen as part of the mystique, the nature of the trade. This is fine in cultures where musicians are looked after in other ways. In many European cities it is difficult for a player to pay for a drink or a coffee, he is fed and invited and encouraged and valued, the other half of the tradition of poverty that is conveniently forgotten.

I'm a big fan of what plumbers do, I've lived in enough shabby rentals to appreciate the value of their work. They should be paid for their expertise, training, time, the expense of their tools. So should I.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Ted On Divorce.

"Since my wife left me, when I look at a woman I can't see past the evil."

Ted, Scrubs.

Ted is a perfectly defeated man, that he gets out of bed and goes to work each day is a victory.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

The City And Me.

It feels like the city is presenting every face I've met over the last nine years, a series of coincidental meetings, like flipping through a real life photograph album. An old landlord, the guy from the Turkish take away shop, another guy I didn't really want to see but who reminded me that I've met some A grade knobs here too. I'm enjoying the trip, friends, acquaintances, musical allies, an archeological dig, the layers of a time of my life.

Being a gentleman doesn't always pay off, gentle folk are often walked over in a big city. This week I'm seeing that over time it does pay off, that many people have appreciated my courtesy over the years, just had no reason to say so. I've received genuine wishes for good luck and happy days ahead from those I never thought even noticed me. I have to say I'm feeling loved and respected and I'm liking it.



I wonder if people and their city interact on levels neither understand? Does the city know I'm leaving? Is it reminding me of the good times and bad times, an elaborate slide show, so I won't forget? Cities are just a group of people living together, I guess there must be some sort of tribal compatibility over time?

I'm off for coffee with a mate I've worked with, become close with over the years. We'll chat about the future, what happens next, the wonder of it all. We are both creatures of the city, I'll ask him what he thinks about this city relationship idea. I'm pretty sure I know what he'll say. I can almost guarantee we'll run into an unexpected face during our coffee and chat, the city ramming the point home.

Thinking this way, that a city is a home full of people I've chosen to live with, that we are all connected, is a fine way to begin in anew city when I move. I'm looking forward to finding out if this awareness changes the relationship? I'm pretty sure I know how the next city will respond to this question.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Loudon Wainwright On Age Difference.

"Chronologically I know you're young, But when you kissed me in the club you bit my tongue."

Loudon Wainwright, Motel Blues.



Age is in the mind, usually in the dirty part of the mind.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Everybody's Talking At Me.

So I'm sitting alone at Cafe Hernandez in Kings Cross Sydney, a warm night, a few folks around. The cab driver behind me is bitching about his relief driver, if he'd brought in more cash he could have backed in Man U with more cash, even when he wins he isn't happy. The couple to my right have discussed the quality of the t bone steak at dinner, have moved onto their share portfolios. The Columbian waitress with the best breasts that money can buy doesn't cease chatting in Spanish on her cell phone as she serves me, rolls her eyes when I ask her for another coffee. There's a whole lot of talking going on. I guess everyone is enjoying themselves, I'm not sure they are. It's like they are filling up the silence of the night so they don't feel so alone.

I like being alone, especially at night, a warm Sydney night with just enough breeze. Nothing needs to be said on a night like this. It is one of the last times I'll sit at this cafe alone, I have a bunch of farewell coffee engagements to fill my last week here in Sydney. Tonight I am saying goodbye to myself, to this part of my life, I don't need to hear myself say anything.

This week will rush by, a torrent of conversation, questions, answers, the call and response motif of friendship. Next week I'll be with a girl who gets it, who I can sit with on a warm evening with just enough breeze and let the night do all the talking.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Ron White On Stupidity.

"You can't fix stupid."

Ron White.



No matter how many times he says it these words never become less true.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Moving Out Chilli.

Over the years I've moved home enough times to develop a tradition, the moving out chilli. A few days before moving I take just about everything out of the fridge, freezer and cupboard and stir up a pot of barbaric chilli. Usually I have beans, tomatoes, meat, some sort of chilli sauce, the rest is pot luck. I do believe tonight's moving chilli was the best ever. I'm taking this as a good omen for the move.



In my fridge I discovered half a bottle of real maple syrup. Real maple syrup is an expensive luxury on this side of the planet, I've no idea how I forgot it was there. I couldn't bring myself to stir it into the chilli with everything else, instead I've invented a new moving tradition. Now all I have to do is walk down the road to purchase ice cream so the moving ice cream and maple syrup tradition can begin. What could be better after chilli, the combination is perfect.

Next time I move I may dispose with the chilli tradition altogether, considering the random ingredients it never really tastes so good anyway, I won't be embarrassed to share moving out ice cream with friends. The chilli ingredients can go into a plastic bag, into a dumpster, where they rightfully belong.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Gypsies, Thieves And The Gas Company.

"You want what? A moving out fee?"

The same gas company that charged me a fee to begin an account, a fee for the privilege of paying for their service, is now charging me another fee for closing my account,for the privilege of no longer paying for their service. The guy on the phone informed me as if it were a matter of course, when I questioned it he told me that everyone pays it.

"I'm not paying it."

"You have to sir."

"Get fucked, I'm not paying it."

Tired of being pushed around by bureaucrats I hung up the phone. They can pursue me for the money, call me, charge me, do what they will, I will not pay a fee to cease using gas, I won't. In the past three years my gas bill has nearly doubled, they've done alright out of me.

All of us need to stand up to these creeps, these huge corporations, these thieves who think they can get away with adding nonsense fees onto anything that catches their eye. "We nail 'em moving in, why not nail 'em moving out too?" We have to stand up and say, "no, hell no, get fucked, I'm not paying."

I won't pay it. I won't.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Tony Soprano On Psychiatry.

"This psychiatry shit, apparently what you're feeling is not what you're feeling and what you're not feeling is your real agenda."

Tony Soprano.





Again I say Tony Soprano is a poet, and now a brilliant social commentator.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

The Spirit Of Adventure.

Yesterday I ran into a guy I've known for years, one of those "around the traps" guys, a friend but on a bump into basis. He looked different, possibly even happy. He was pretty pleased when I asked why he was looking so good, turns out he had just completed a journey around Australia, in a twelve foot dinghy.

That's right, all the way around this giant island, three blokes, two tiny boats, two tiny outboard motors between tourism and disaster. It was one of those charity fundraising nonsenses that never raises any money, really just an excuse for some boys to go on an adventure. This sort of thing makes me wonder whatever happened to adventure for the sake of adventure, why boys can't pack up and go on adventures without needing an excuse? Giving money to charity is a great thing to do in some cases, why can't folks just do that and skip all the silly world record attempts and personal abuse in between?

The spirit that a journey begins with prevails throughout, to depart with a foolhardy glint and a what the hell gait is essential to any adventure, stepping out feeling earnest can only lead to an earnest journey. My friend went along as a paid professional, I'm sure he captured some wonderful footage, his motivation seems real and honest to me. As a bonus his name will appear in next year's Guinness Book Of World Records, no one has ever included Tasmania in their dinghy circumnavigation. He feels he has achieved something, an experience, no doubt he has and it will please him until the day he dies, that should be enough reason to do something that crazy.

I'm excited for my friend, inspired, he is a couple of years older than me, if he can do it and all that. That's what adventure is really for, to discover what is possible, to inspire others to discover what is possible for them. All you boys and girls, don't make excuses, if you desire to go, just go. if you desire to live, just live. Step out in the spirit you intend to continue, leave the reasons and excuses at home.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Tony Soprano On Ennui.

"Every day is a gift, it just, doesn't have to be a pair of socks."

Tony Soprano.

Tony Soprano is a poet. His ability to get to the heart of everything makes him a successful criminal, and a poet.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

The Celebrity Scam.

It's a classic confidence trick. By making us believe that the lives of celebrities are big and that our lives are small they can sell us mass media content, sell advertising around it. What do celebrities do that you've never done? Romance, divorce, infidelity, kinky sex, drugs, alcohol, illness, all quite suburban and common to all humans. If you've been through divorce tell me how a celebrity divorce could be more devastating than yours, how can a spouse cheating on you be any more painful because the people are famous? The people are prettier, the finances are higher, not much else is different.

Every time we buy into the celebrity myth we raise them up, lower ourselves. This scam only works if we believe our lives are less beautiful and interesting than other people's. It is in the interests of mass media purveyors to convince us that our lives are crap, as soon as we begin valuing ourselves the entire celebrity industry collapses.

The celebrity fairy dies when we cease clapping our hands.

It's a lovely thought, that every time we feel our lives are wondrous, exciting events we put a mass media whore down, condemn them to poverty. That alone is enough to make me feel good.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Samuel Beckett On What Art Is Not.

"Art has nothing to do with clarity, does not dabble in the clear and does not make clear"

Samuel Beckett.




Enough said, I can't add anything to this one. Perfect.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Eat, Make Love, Sleep, Repeat.

Eat, make love, sleep, eat, make love, sleep, eat, make love, sleep, eat, make love, sleep, eat, make love, sleep, eat, make love, sleep, eat, make love, sleep, eat, make love, sleep, eat, make love, sleep, eat, make love, sleep, eat, make love, sleep.

Eat with friends to ensure a well rounded social life, make love, sleep.

Eat, make love, sleep, repeat.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Samuel Beckett On Being Alive.

"ESTRAGON: I can't go on like this.
VLADIMIR: That's what you think."   

Samuel Beckett, Waiting For Godot.

I believe many think Waiting For Godot to be comical. It's often funny, but not comical. It's dark.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Boots And Shorts And Simple Folk.

Boots and shorts, shorts and boots, taut calf, firm thigh, tight enough to attract the eye, loose enough those shorts could come off over those boots and those boots could be left on while we did the funky thang, heel marks on my back.

She is with her boyfriend, I have a girlfriend, ain't nothin' gonna' happen, she finds her bus and disappears, boots and shorts just a memory, shorts and boots.

My bus arrives, scaling the stairs before me, boots and tight blue jeans and dyed blonde hair, dyed blonde hair, tight blue jeans and boots. She could kick those boots, undo the buttons on those jeans, let that dyed blonde hair down, shake it out. She sits a few seats away, we arrive, she disappears, a memory of boots and jeans and hair.

Us men are simple folk.

I wonder who will be beside me on the plane?

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

J. D. Salinger On Personal Hell.

"This fall I think you're riding for—it's a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. The man falling isn't permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. The whole arrangement's designed for men who, at some time or other in their lives, were looking for something their own environment couldn't supply them with. Or they thought their own environment couldn't supply them with. So they gave up looking. They gave it up before they ever really even got started."

J.D. Salimger, The Catcher In The Rye.

Salinger speaks to me. I think I'll download everything he wrote on audio books and listen to them instead of music from now on.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Shedding A Skin.

Who'd have thought it possible, that at my age I'd turn into a big old sook? We walked to the station together and a train arrived a moment later, I wanted just five more minutes. City trains stop and run, no time to wave goodbye, the doors close and she is gone, I am gone, we are gone.

This time it is only one week, we've done eight times that and survived. It's been a handful of hours and I'm already feeling it. The closer we get the closer I need to be. Big old sook, wimp, pathetic romantic that I've become.

I spent a decade building an image, the lonesome wanderer, she shattered it with one kiss. I guess I can shed that skin, it served me well, grow a new, softer one for a season of loving that begins again in one week.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

J. D. Salinger On Getting Along In The World.

"Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them—if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry."

J.D. Salinger. The Catcher In The Rye.




It's history, it's poetry, it's the comfort that all of us who have struggled to deal with the real world need.

Thank you Mr. Salinger.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Stagecraft Blues.

So the band is rocking away on Messing With The Kid, a little too fast for my taste but that's o.k. The band leader, and I employ the term loosely, throws to the bass player, without notice, the drummer saves the day by beating out the rhythm of the riff, gives the young bassist time to start at the top. A young, enthusiastic, pretty damned good bass solo ensues, in the third twelve he is about to hit his climax when the band leader starts shouting into the microphone, exclaiming what a fine bass player he is, drowning out the fine bass playing.

The obvious way to handle this situation was to let the bass solo conclude, use the next twelve bars to extemporize on the qualities of the solo and the young player, the obvious angle being to call him The Kid, use the lyric to make it entertaining. Of course that would make it all about the bass player, not the band leader, and that wasn't on the cards. The band leader wanted in to show off his skills, to compete, he couldn't wait twelve bars, didn't possess the good taste.

There are some very fine players here in Australia, they are rarely presented in a flattering light, constantly fighting the "she'll be right" mediocrity that pervades all the arts here. The incident I'm reporting occurred at a blues jam, it wasn't a big deal, but this is where young players cut their teeth, learn what to expect, the older players and leaders are handing down the same crap they received.

A performance, a real performance, happens all too rarely in Australia. Visiting bands show us how it is done, musicians who have travelled try to bring some professionalism back with the them, often give up and return to Europe or the U.S. Recently returned from America myself I wonder how I will slot back into this happy go lucky music scene? I will try to resist anger, accept that most know no different, try to teach some young guys the basics, at the same time try to improve my own skills and knowledge, not let it slide.

Stagecraft is as much a part of a good show as musical talent. I've had to learn it the slow and painful way. If the Australian scene is going to take the next leap forward it is something we'll all have to consider.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Morse On Sex.

"Sex is never simple. First there's pleasure, then payment, retribution."

Inspector Morse.




Morse, you morose, miserable, accurate bastard.

Of course Morse would be disappointed by the title of this blog, it should be Parkstreet Quotations, sadly the word quotes is what folks search for. Not that Morse would ever be searching the net. (This post was originally from a site titled Parkstreet Quotes.)

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Missing My Baby.

My tenor saxophone is sitting lonely and sad beside my bed, I wonder if it is resenting my absence, my neglect? We went everywhere together for seven weeks in Portland Oregon, suddenly I'm off with a woman and leaving my faithful horn to it's own devices. If the roles were reversed I'd be resentful.

A musical instrument is just a tool, a bunch of materials stuck together to serve a purpose, a wonder of physics and engineering but just an object. Somehow we become attached to these objects, more they become attached to us, like an old denim jacket stretches to fit perfectly over time, the way we handle and play them becomes part of the machinery.





I can pick up another Temby saxophone, exactly the same as mine, it will play beautifully, it won't be my Temby saxophone. Mine responds to my touch, plays as I expect it to, feels natural in my hands. The callous on my thumb where I hold it up fits snugly into to the thumb hook, it has taken on exactly the right angle, or I have. We have changed each other over the seven weeks we spent away from home.

My style with the saxophone is still evolving, we are evolving, always will. My heart is growing fonder each day I am away from my baby. The woman I am here with knows and understands, we are evolving in the same way as we get to know each other.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Location:Henry St,Highett,Australia

P.G. Wodehouse On, Well, Just Being A Damned Good Writer.

"Mike nodded. A sombre nod. The nod Napoleon might have given if somebody had met him in 1812 and said, "So, you're back from Moscow, eh?"

P.G. Wodehouse.




Man, could this guy turn a phrase.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Love And Lust And Luna Park.

In St. Kilda, the area I call home in Melbourne, there is an old amusement park, Luna Park, a piece of local history and a landmark for directions. Built in the 1920's it is well out of date, the one timber and one steel roller coasters don't soar to any great heights, certainly no loops or high speeds, the other rides and sideshow games can be found in any small town in the world. The merry go round, The Grand Carousel, was restored by enthusiasts, the distorting mirrors in the Giggle Palace have made children laugh for nearly a century.




A mate recently asked me what I thought is the difference between love and lust? For me lust is flying to the Gold Coast, buying a three day ticket for the three huge fun parks there, riding all the latest and greatest and whiz bangiest, then flying home, the desire for thrills sated for a time. Love is soaking in the atmosphere of Luna Park in my hometown, enjoying the spirit of fun and life that created it, seeing myself in the distorted mirror that tells me I belong, that my kids will come here, ride the same rides, knowing it doesn't matter how scary The Big Dipper is or isn't, that it's who holds my hand as I ride it that matters.

Love and lust are often mixed up, both contain elements of each other, from the outside look a little similar. There is nothing wrong with either, mixing them up will always lead to disappointed expectations.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Kurt Vonnegut On Risk.

"We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down."

Kurt Vonnegut.

I like this acceptance of risk, the assumption that this is how it is. Once accepted the occasional crashing to the ground doesn't hurt so much, we know what to expect.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Chopped Liver.

So I'm at a Greek restaurant in a relatively posh part of town, the girl has entered before me so she asks for a table for two. The waitress doesn't acknowledge my existence, leads us to a table in the back window. She comes to take our order, we've sorted out a bunch of plates to share, I'm about to explain it, notice I'm not in focus, she is expecting Andrea to order for us. That's fine, it doesn't matter who orders. Plates arrive, the "more bread?" is again posed to Andrea, I want some but she doesn't, the waitress only agrees to bring more after Andrea has confirmed the order. More plates, more being completely ignored, it has become funny now. Finally, after everything has been cleared, the waitress turns to me,"you better hang onto this one, she's lovely, not like most of the snobs I deal with here". The one sentence she has uttered to me all night is about Andrea, paying her a compliment. I begin to reply that I agree, she is worth hanging onto, consider throwing in my "not playing hard to get, playing hard to get rid of" joke, but she is already talking over the top of me, I've ceased to exist, a shadow in Andrea's apparently glorious light.

I wonder how many times I've hogged the stage, stood on the spot where the spotlight is brightest, how my female companion felt when she was part of the chorus and my name was on the marquee? I wonder if this form of sexism, when a man is considered the only authority, the only person of interest, is what female friends have been talking about over the years? It's not a concrete thing, the right to vote, it's an assumption, a way of thinking. To have it reversed, to be chopped liver for an entire evening, something of an education.



I'm still laughing about it now, teasing Andrea about it, but maybe I accidentally learned something too.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Miles Davis On Politics.

"Philly Joe was a bitch. If he'd been a lawyer and white, he would have been president of the United States, because in order to get there you gotta talk fast and carry a lot of bullshit with you; Philly had it all and a lot to spare."

Miles Davis, from his autobiography.

This is the only autobiography I've read, I'm usually only interested in the work, not the man. Miles was different. He nonchalantly hit nails on heads, possessed an innate understanding of people and politics.

If Miles Davis had been made president the world would be a cooler place right now.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Dishonesty Is The Second Best Policy.

If honesty is the best policy dishonesty must, by definition, be the second best policy. There are only two options, honest or dishonest. I accept second best on a daily basis, I believe my ability to accept second best is one of my finest qualities, it makes me a most amiable fellow. If second best is good enough for my efforts in cleaning my home surely second best is good enough for my policy on honesty?

I often buy the best steak I can afford, the best olive oil, the best Parmesan, then do without other things to make these luxuries possible. I strive for the best in one area, accept less in another. I can't see how this can work when it comes to honesty. Can it? Can I be completely honest with a select group of people then lie like a politician to everyone else? Can I find a certain level of honesty with everyone, speak the truth about select subjects but speak bullshit on others? Does my arse look fat in this? Surely a girlfriend is a person worthy of the truth, surely that question is one worth lying in response to?

Lying outright about absolutely everything seems a very good idea. I often have to write band blurbs, the bigger the lies the more successful those documents are, the recipients don't actually want the truth. This band is pretty good and costs less than the bands that are really good, no one wants to hear that, true or not. Of course the lamb is organic, yes the coffee is fair trade, that dress takes years off you, we all enjoy a good lie. Good lies make us feel good. Perhaps dishonesty is the best policy, honesty the second best?

It takes courage to be completely honest with all people on every subject. Such a policy may not lead to much in the way of worldly success. Being completely honest with ourselves can just be a bitch, who really wants to look themselves in the eye, naked, love handles and all?

There is only honesty and dishonesty. One form of lie bleeds into another form of truth, for me this is one of the few ideas that is concrete, absolute. Any degree of dishonesty becomes complete dishonesty eventually. Complete honesty is a high and lonely road, I'm yet to reach it, that road doesn't lead to anywhere in this culture of second best.

Writing a policy is one thing, living up to it is another. Establishing which is the best policy is just the first step in living an honest life.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Jeeves On The Trombone.

"It has well been said, Sir, that the trombone is not an instrument for a gentleman."

Jeeves, Bertie Wooster's Valet.

I'm sure the trombone has it's place, I hope it finds it.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Suburban Bliss.

There is a blackboard breakfast menu here at this suburban cafe. Of course I can't see it properly, I can't even see which blackboard is lunch, which one breakfast. I explain to the lady, she takes this information in her charmingly middle class stride, speaks a little slower and louder because I don't see well, lists the menu without haste. I feel welcome.

Outside on the street, the old fashioned suburban main street shopping strip that wears the same name as the suburb, I hear the bells from the suburban railway crossing tolling politely, weather chatter from passing old ladies, young mothers talking pilates. A couple of musician types approach, they must be visiting their Mum to do laundry, they don't belong here, they smile and nod as they pass, fellow inner city ex pats.

This street has hardly changed in thirty years, the sign painting on the shop windows is terrible but nobody notices. The pizza shop across the road has it's name written like the headline on a primary school project, bright blue letters shaded with white. The cheap and cheerful Chinese restaurant could be anywhere in any suburb in the world, they all look the same to me, black and red with gold lettering. I guess the ATM's weren't here thirty years ago, the arty shop offering Reiki and psychic readings, and the one flash cafe that serves Eggs Benedict, the rest is in quiet repose, happily refusing the decades.

The coffee is fine, I'm in Melbourne after all. After football coffee is the second faith of this nation city, bad coffee is considered heresy. Everything is relatively cheap and everyone is relatively friendly, I can see the attraction. If one desires a quiet life one has arrived.

I like that the lady in this cafe has time to read me a menu, cheerfully, and that nothing is too perfect, polished. I could happily spend some time here in this time capsule, a childhood revisited. I've lived in neon lit Kings Cross for a decade now, a year or so of being a gentleman bluesman from the suburbs might just be in order.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

William Shakespeare On Mortality.

"There's nothing serious in mortality.
All is but toys; renown and grace is dead,
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees
Is left this vault to brag of."

William Shakespeare.

I'm not entirely sure I agree, but who am I to disagree? I believe that every tiny act of compassion and beauty adds to the universal grace and renown of the humans, that we are able to evolve in the direction we choose, that we should choose to evolve beautifully even if we won't be around to see the results.

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

To Do List.

Today's To Do List:

1. Splice the genes of a pig and an avocado tree to create a bacon tree.

2. Plant a bacon tree.

3. Stand back and admire bacon tree knowing it is both unholy and great.

4. Play with GarageBand and call it work.

5. Drink coffee.

6. Write a blog post in the form of a to do list in an attempt to disguise the lack of ideas that often coincides with bliss.

7. Splice the genes of the goji berry and a tobacco plant to create the healthy cigarette.

8. Make love.

9. Lie back and smoke a healthy cigarette.

10. Feign being busy to justify not facing the cold and looking for work.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Napoleon Bonaparte On Coffee.

"Strong coffee, much strong coffee, is what awakens me. Coffee gives me
warmth, waking, an unusual force and a pain that is not without very
great pleasure."

Napoleon Bonaparte.

I don't get out of bed for a day that doesn't promise good coffee.

http://www.kentparkstreetblog.com/

Plans And Time.

The days roll by, we make plans, they come to fruition or they don't, the days roll on just the same. Time doesn't care about our plans. Without plans we'd still be living in caves, time rolled by for cavemen exactly the same way it does for us modern sophisticates. Time simply doesn't care.

I'm in the process of moving cities, beginning a new life. My little brain has been running plans, variations on plans to suit changing circumstances, alternate plans to replace those that don't work. This planning will prove useful, to some degree, I need to remember to enjoy the time passing as these plans do or don't work. What's the point in a new life if I don't take time to breathe, sniff the rose of each moment?

Even if the plan is to wander aimlessly we need some plan, to turn left or right when we step out the door? My plan is to walk hand in hand with time, feel each moment, allow time to present opportunity, trust my judgement to grab the opportunities that I feel are right for me. Time will roll on no matter how firm my plan, how flimsy, time just doesn't care. One step, a ten thousand mile journey, none of us know where we will end up, more profoundly when we will end up, plans can only set us off in a direction before real life blows us in another.

Time and I will travel together, all my serious planning will help me see opportunity, possibly direct my steps in a happier direction. There is no plan for reaching a destination, the days will continue to roll on by long after I cease planning.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Jim Henson On Tolerance.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye."

Jim Henson.

The idea of Jim Henson punching someone makes me smile. I'd like to watch that. I wonder if I'd hear a comical sound effect as his punch landed?

http://www.kentparkstreetblog.com/

What Is Good Faustus?

So I'm sitting at a cafe in a groovy laneway near my home, in the last two years a dozen or so restaurants, cafes and wine bars have popped up here. A couple of local movers and shakers are discussing methods to promote this place as what they call a "destination". In unison they turn to me and ask what I think about live music as a draw?

"If you line up one hundred people and ask them what they think is good music you'll receive one hundred different answers, booking live music is never as easy as it appears."

Such positive folks, they are concerned for my welfare, firmly believe I have become jaded, that I'm displaying a very negative attitude towards live music. They are both quite certain they know what good music is, that the answer is simple, that I'm creating a problem where there isn't one. I enjoy listening to them go on and disagree about what is good music, then employ their positive attitude to gloss over their disproven argument.

The way they see it the main problem is an economic one. How to pay for good acts to draw people into this precinct? They actually call this laneway a precinct. I can't help but suggest that the money shouldn't be an issue if they are so positive they can select music that will draw people in, the vastly increased custom will surely pay for the acts. They are pleased that I'm being so positive.

I can't take any more, begin to make my excuses to depart. The question I've been dreading rears it's intrusive head.

"So what sort of music do you think is good?"

Winston Marsarlis said there are two types of music, the good kind, and the other kind. I think of offering this quotation but know it won't satisfy them. I can't help myself, feel compelled to make my reply as positively negative as I can.

"It's all just music man, the problem isn't the sort of music, or the guys playing it, the problem is that people's minds are closed, they've already decided what is good music before they've heard it, they look at new music like it might give them cancer, their taste was established when they were teenagers, the taste of our entire culture is decided by teenagers, there's no point asking a musician what he thinks is good music any more, he'll just shrug and walk away."

I shrug and walk away.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Albert Einstein On Imagination.

"I am enough of an artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world."

Albert Einstein.

This dude just said so many cool things. I love him. I really love him.

http://www.kentparkstreetblog.com/

Vacation?

This is the first time in a decade I have travelled without an instrument tucked under one arm. How easy is this? Pack a bag full of clothes, pack some more because I have room, a shirt in case I get invited somewhere swank, then just walk onto a plane without preparing for the usual stoush about where my guitar will fit.

I must be getting soft with age, I don't care if an opportunity passes me by on this trip, I'm leaving the incessant mind chatter of music behind for an entire week. This week is about love and time and food and love.

Well, I might drop in on a couple of venues, have a chat with a couple of players, check out the scene a little. I should be able to pass that stuff off as a night out, a recreational activity. Other folks go out to hear bands, why not me?

Alright, I confess, leaving my saxophone at home is freaking me out.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Elie Wiesel On Indifference.

"The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference."

Elie Wiesel.
 
Australia is the home of indifference, this country risks becoming loveless, artless, faithless and lifeless. Then Kentless.

There is also a hangover from the New Age fad, the idea of detachment. Detachment is a crock. Do you reckon Beethoven was detached? Without passion we are nothing.
 
http://www.kentparkstreetblog.com/

Erwin Schrodinger On God And Science.

"I shall quite briefly mention here the notorious atheism of science. The theists reproach it for this again and again. Unjustly. A personal God can not be encountered in a world picture that becomes accessible only at the price that everything personal is excluded from it.

We know that whenever God is experienced, it is an experience exactly as real as a direct sense impression, as real as one’s own personality. As such He must be missing from the space-time picture. ‘I do not meet with God in space and time’, so says the honest scientific thinker, and for that reason he is reproached by those in whose catechism it is nevertheless stated: ‘God is Spirit’."




Erwin Schrodinger.

This puts to bed all the god and science nonsense.

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www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Doesn't Matter, What The Weather.

So long sunny Sydney climate, I'm heading south to face the southern ocean like a man. I can say this without fear, today I realized that cool nights are ideal for snuggling with the one you love. Bring on the ice cold winds, drive her into my arms, wind chill factors are now my friends and allies, angels of love.

Come on Melbourne weather, do your worst.













Parkstreet..
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Philip K. Dick On Working Class Heroism.

"This, to me, is the ultimately heroic trait of ordinary people; they say no to the tyrant and they calmly take the consequences of this resistance."

Philip K.Dick.



Our heroic trait and our duty.

http://www.kentparkstreetblog.com/

21st Century Heathen.

"Heathenism is a state of mind. You can take it that I’m referring to one who does not see his world. He has no mental light. He destroys almost unwittingly. He cannot feel any Gods presence in his life. He is the 21st century man." 

David Bowie.

Anyone who reads here regularly knows I'm not an overly religious fellow, that I don't believe in much at all. I'm not a joiner, I don't join clubs or faiths or schools or social groups, most beliefs and creeds are about joining other people, being a part of something. I want nothing to do with all that nonsense. So I wonder why this quotation from Mr. Bowie speaks to me?

Soul is the essence of music, without it we are just playing the correct notes in the correct places. Soul is the essence of living, without it we are just saying the correct words, taking the correct actions in the correct places. Without soul there is no point taking a stage, no point getting out of bed each day.

When religion was king, actually took the place of god in many cultures, the rules of soul were written, established, a heathen was one who rejected those rules. Today we know better, we are free to find our own interpretation of soul, without those rules many are lost, they have become strangers to the whole notion of soul. Listen to the music that is most popular then argue with me, I dare you. Witness how folks spend their precious living days, then tell me I'm wrong.

The 21st century man is obsessed with the false idols of wealth and status, as expressed through the deities of celebrity. In the age of the individual the individual soul is ignored, we express ourselves by docking an iPod and saying,"listen to this". The individual light of each mind has been dimmed, become a receiver, a channel for the cheap fluorescence that is sold to them, not a source, a genuine glow from the soul.

There is no definition of heathen now, this quotation is the closest I've come across. With no overbearing power to compel people to consider soul most never do, there is no orthodox to be estranged from. These unaware humans consume then die, they are estranged from their own soul. They are heathen, estranged from themselves.

This century is young, there is time to wake up, to make the 21st century man free from doctrine and open to his own soul. The correct notes in the correct places, the correct words and actions, a soulless life, why? The great men are timeless, live outside their century, this interpretation of heathen describes the majority of this century.

I don't want any part of that nonsense.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com  

Philip K. Dick On Company.

"Certainly it constitutes bad news when the people who agree with you are buggier than batshit."

Philip K. Dick.

It's an old fashioned notion, thinking about the company one keeps. It's important.

http://www.kentparkstreetblog.com/

Everything Must Go.

So all around my apartment there are small piles of stuff, in groups of three, throw out, keep, throw out if I can't find a new home for. Heaps of my past life, swept up and left to ponder, three and a half years of detritus about to be washed away.

Tonight the first of the Spring rains are coming through, folks in Sydney are always surprised, but these cool showery nights and days come through every year. Weeks of dust are being washed away, cleaning up before the Summer, the first hint of humidity that will fill the air for the next six months.

Soon I will pack the small keep piles and take my fresh new Summer life to another city. For me it's an old city, my hometown, new again after a decade. The new girl is an old friend rediscovered after a decade and a half. My old guitar will come with me, part of me, old bones. My old wardrobe too, to be replaced as work allows. The rest is to be distributed between the rubbish chute and charity shops. Everything must go.

Sweep away, wash away the old, keep what is part of me, what I can't do without. Swing past, carry away anything you want or need from the appropriate pile. Bring on the Spring rains, cool nights, cool nights to sleep, awake to a new Summer life.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Philip K. Dick On Reality.

"The basic tool for the manipulation of reality is the manipulation of words. If you can control the meaning of words, you can control the people who must use them."

Philip K. Dick.



If you haven't read a Philip K. Dick book you've seen a screenplay based on one, the most famous being Blade Runner. He used science fiction to view reality without prejudice which is what science fiction is for.

This idea that our relationship with language affects our view of reality, not just the way we express it, comes up in quote after quote from great writers. I think there must be something in it.

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Technology And Me And Vodaphone.

So today I wrote about how excited I was to be connecting my iPad to the cell network, how the only things holding us back from brilliant uses of technology are imagination and bureaucracy. So I went to the glitzy store where my phone company lives, their bureaucracy wouldn't allow me to connect the iPad and my laptop to the same account. Why not? Just because, no reason, just because I can't. Of course the folks at the call centre told me I could.

In the overall scheme of life these petty bureaucratic setbacks mean nothing, I'll work out a way around it, but how annoying are these people? How much daily frustration do folks need before they boil over? I'm an even tempered kind of guy, many aren't, and many cop this sort of nonsense several times a day, day after day.

The problem is that we accept it. Day after day we put up with crap from companies we give money to. Australian phone companies are already robbing us without insulting us, yet we walk away without a word. If I'd stood in that phone store and demanded they find someone senior to explain why they couldn't service my needs I would have been seen as mad. I was expected to accept "just because" and I did.

After the excitement of expectation this bureaucratic cold shower was disappointing. Expectation and hope are always thin ice. Like politicians, these companies are no longer afraid of us, they have conditioned us to put up with their crap, they know they have. We need to find a way to make them afraid. I will start by taking my business away from Vodaphone.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Kurt Vonnegut On The Self.

"We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be."

Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night.

I've known many who have taken on a role on stage, the role has taken over their lives. Be yourself, no matter what they say.

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Technology And Me.

So today I'm heading off into the future, I'll connect my iPad to the cell network, be able to work anywhere in Australia. I can record, mix and publish music, write, make telephone calls, everything I need to do, from one tiny device. If you'd told me I'd be able to do this twenty five years ago I would have believed you, I would have wondered why it would take so long.

Today we are only limited by imagination, and bureaucracy. In about a year from now someone will take a cell from my body, grow me a new cornea and stitch it in for me and I'll take a taxi home the same day. There is very little we can't do. How I use that cornea, how my life changes because of it is up to me.

Most of us are employing the technology available to us to say hi to friends and to access porn more readily. That I don't need an office, a studio, a phone line is a series of blessings, but how do I plan to honour those blessings? I've always had marvelous excuses for not getting things done, the money excuse being foremost, now I can do anything what am I going to do?

We all complain that things ain't what they used to be, mercy mercy me. I'm so pleased they ain't. I no longer need the man, his power is now mine, as is his responsibility to get the job done. I have a lot to learn, how to shoot and edit cover art, that sort of thing, every piece of information I need is now, literally, at my fingertips.

Today I connect, what will I have done in one year from today?

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

J.M. Barrie On Self Knowledge.

The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it."

J.M. Barrie.



This quote hurts. It's an honest bitch of a quote. I don't want to think about it, but I will.

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Get Up, Stand Up.

So I might have consumed a beer or two, the Marley tracks this bar is playing may have mellowed my usual critical standards, when Get Up, Stand Up comes on I open my big mouth and exclaim what a great tune it is. I realize my mistake immediately, can almost lip sync my pedantic friend's response.

"Great? I'm not so sure it is great. What makes it great?"

We've been hanging in this bar for three hours, it's the first opening I've left for this awful kind of literal behaviour. He's a sweet guy but he never could get the idea of hanging out in a bar.

My dozy brain tries to list the qualities of the song Get Up, Stand Up. Some works aren't supposed to be analysed. I know what he means, it ain't no Beethoven, the lyric is simple, no great poetry here. The lyric is simple because it is written for the common man, a call to arms a cry of "let freedom reign". It speaks of a time and place, at the same time speaks to every time and place where one group of people is overwhelming another. The vocal is passionate, I believe it, he means it. None of this is going to satisfy my utterly middle class mate. I can only think of one response.

"I'll meet you in this bar in one year from today, if, in that time, you have recorded a groove half as cool as this one, I will give you ten thousand dollars."

Sometimes one has to stand up for oneself.


Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Errol Flynn On Self Knowledge.

"I allow myself to be understood as a colorful fragment in a drab world."

Errol Flynn.



Mr. Flynn knew himself and his place in the world. He was extraordinarily cool too.

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The Ghost Of Captain James Cook.

So I'm standing on the corner of Pacific Ocean and Sydney Harbour, looking out to sea. The ghost of Captain James Cook is whispering in my ear. He wants to know what we have made of this point of land and sea that he charted over two centuries ago?

I'm feeling smug, a beautiful woman has just taken me to lunch, seafood and sunshine at a harbour beach restaurant, my life is lush. I'm thinking Captain Cook will be impressed, pleased with the heights of sophistication we have reached. He smiles, he knows the joy of being loved by a good woman, a good meal, time to enjoy the pleasures of a big city, he knew these things in between his sailing adventures. He smiles because he knows that I know better, that these luxuries aren't what he was asking about.

The ghost of Captain James Cook looks back up the harbour that he claimed for the British crown, wondering if he did the right thing? He knows that it would have been someone else if it wasn't him, that his genius just speeded up the process. He looks back out to sea, towards the south, where he held wooden boats and crews together with his own will, where the strain broke his health and finally his judgement, wonders if choosing a comfortable life at home with his wife and children might have been wiser? Did he suffer so much so smug Australians could live in luxury?

It's my turn to smile at him, this ghost of a great man. He knows better, that it is in his nature to sail to the end of the world, to fulfill duty, to strive for excellence.

Suddenly he is gone. He didn't even need to ask me the question. What is in my nature, what do I have to do? On this corner of ocean and harbour, where do I want to be? Where must I be? Can I balance a life between the two?




Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Lao Tzu On Self Knowledge.

"At the center of your being you have the answer; you know who you are and you know what you want.”
Lao Tzu.

Easy, huh? Now, when did I last see the center of my being? Maybe in the cupboard under the stairs.

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The Sweeney.

They don't write opening themes like this any more. They don't make shows like The Sweeney any more. Great acting, writing, soundtrack, direction, and a feel, a common feel throughout every episode, like it was a work in its own right as well as a part of the entire body of work. The leads were honourable men, a forgotten concept. They gave up everything for the job they loved. They relied on courage, wits, toughness to "nick villains", old fashioned heroes. I looked up to Jack and George, the television medium doesn't contain many men to look up to.

The Sweeney has popped up on late night television here in Sydney, a lighthouse on the edge of a gloomy sea.

Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

A. A. Milne On Zen.

"Don't underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering."

A.A. Milne.



Oh to go back in time and tell my Year Nine English teacher this.

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The Princess And The Pee.

The Princess of Drunk is on the phone,
Speaking fluent Drunkenese.
In any state she is royalty,
I'm on one bended knee.
"What's your pleasure, Princess mine,
It's my pleasure to please."
"That's great my Prince, not right now,
I gotta' go, I gotta' pee."




Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com

Robert Anton Wilson On Reality.

"We're trapped in linguistic constructs... all that is is metaphor."

Robert Anton Wilson.



Language is the way we understand the world but also the way we express ourselves. We are told that machines will take over our lives but language already has.

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