CONFIDE IN ME by KYLIE. Poem by Nathan Curnow.
Youāre on the staircase, Kylie, summoning a confessional poem...
Youāre on the staircase, Kylie, summoning a confessional poem...
I sat before the drum kit and just marveled, before playing along to my Blondie 7-inch single Denis as loud as my record player could go.
I blink - and the Badloves disappear. Instead, on the stage, I see a ghost. Not Elvis, no. But a King nonetheless. Heath King.
The guest-house proprietors were an odd, mismatched couple, in their fifties, Iād guess ā he, short, understated, a little creepy; she, a tall matronly type, usually sporting a well-practised smile.
Baldy wished Steve a happy birthday and opened the door of Steve's birthday present, the Chrysler Valiant Baldy had just stolen.Ā Ā
I take off and pedal cross the road. The waa-waa synth-like drop begins, and the drums kick in as I, too, drop onto the Merri Creek path, a petite valley sectioning the northern suburbs of Melbourne.
I watch the funeral on my own, in bed, after recording it. I donāt want to watch it in real time with others around me, the people who donāt understand, who tell me I'm being silly.
Here's a fine piece by Matt Zurbo that coversĀ a lot of ground: work, ambition, festival sabotage, a funeral...
I realised the lounge room had become quiet, like a courtroom waiting for a verdict. As the questions continued the crowd in the room began to swell.
The song, like him, is drenched in space.Ā The unhurried chords set the scene perfectly.Ā Space.