END OF THE DECADE
It’s one minute to midnight
The shutters fracture the light
She sleeps while he gazes on changing times
All he gave her was his emptiness
Flowed into her from his penis
Pain of years with each sweet caress
So now he stands behind the
Blind embarrassed by his nakedness
There’s no more search for truth
The truth is we only want a little comfort
While some profess the opposite
In their sleep they grab for a blanket
It is the end of the decade
Let’s see what progress we’ve made
Tonight pool parties shimmer
Sparking memories years have dimmed
I stood in the shadows and
I watched while she kissed him
Now from my darkened vantage
Point ‘I see the decade’s cleavage
It’s not quite rude and
Not titillating
All it is is so frustrating
It is the end of the decade
Let’s see what progress we’ve made
Pursuing concept chasing swirl
Impeachment mad embracing
Nixon cut to Ford replacing
John Wayne weakens
Weekend chasing
Girls like Trudy
Satin thighs that grip
He sensed it in her sighs
The thing that he feels behind the curtain
How long they shut out the certain?
And is there some relation
Sticky thighs to God’s creation?
Have we taken what we’ve paid for?
Must we pay for what we’ve taken?
It is the end of the decade
Let’s see what progress we’ve made
It’s five minutes to midnight
The car horns fracture the insight
I held it for a minute but it hurt
So I let it slip
All I gave her was my emptiness
Flowed into her from my penis
Pain of years until each sweet caress
So now I stand behind the blind
Embarrassed by my nakedness
There’s no more search for truth
The truth is we only want a little comfort
While some profess the opposite
In their sleep they grab for a blanket
It is the end of the decade
Let’s see what progress we’ve made.
I wrote this song to mark the end of the seventies and look back over that decade. It would be wrong, as with most of my stuff to assume it is autobiographical but there’s plenty of me in it. I recorded it but it didn’t make it onto the album and I don’t remember why, think it was a bit underdone. Somewhere there’s a recorded version kicking around. I recall playing this at Gil Fraser Reserve North Fremantle as the clock struck midnight to end the 70s. We staged a concert with a number of bands, the original Roadband I seem to recall among them. We drew a big crowd but half of them got in by jumping the fence so made no money. Somebody used Dave Zampatti’s car as a trampoline and the old gold Commodore was dented forever after. What does the song speak of? Regret? Shame? Honesty? Missed opportunity I think. Anyway, reading the lyrics back, I have to say I like End of the Decade a lot. I think I’ll have to re-record it.
WIMBLEDON
I’ve packed my bags and I’ve sold the amp
I’m moving out of rock
I’ve got the makings of a tennis champ
And so I’m bound for Wimbledon
All this decay is stifling me
Too much drugs and booze
And so I’m bound for Wimbledon
Where I cannot lose
The backhand volley and the forehand smash
The lovely ladies and the prize in cash
Rock is dying but I’m going to live
It’s not taking me down with it
The basic thing that appeals to me
The racquet doesn’t lie
Unlike this racket called an industry
Cause it makes stars like Wimbledon
But half the stars are charlatans
Most of the rest are dead
And so I’m bound for Wimbledon
To grace the net in – stead
Bjorn Borg and Vitas Gerulaitis
Don’t come down with serum hepatitis
And if in health I’ll win cause I’m Australian
And we do well at Wimbledon
I’ll have to practice every day and night
No time for writing songs
The only singles that I want to make
Is centre court, Wimbledon
The backhand volley and the forehand smash
The lovely ladies and the prize in cash
Rock is dying but I’m going to live
It’s not taking me down with it
Bjorn Borg and Vitas Gerulaitis
Don’t come down with serum hepatitis
And if in health I’ll win cause I’m Australian
And we do well at Wimbledon
I can’t tell you how many people have me told their favourite lyric of mine if not of anybody’s is rhyming Gerulaitis with hepatitis so thank you, it’s nice to bring a smile to people’s lips. I really like this song which is couched as a “new wave” pop song but is really about the corruption (then probably more so now) of the rock “industry.” It clearly speaks of frustration at not getting more airplay, more fame, more money, at there not being an objective standard by which popular music could be judged in the way tennis was. At the time I was very into tennis and still think it reached its pinnacle in Borg, McEnroe et al.
Around this time I was constantly sick from the cigarette smoke in the gigs, sore throats from touring etc – so I was over it all, the touring, the smelly rehearsal studios, band in-fighting. The actual recording on the Correct Weight album, disappointed me. It wasn’t the fault of the producers or musicians but I just hadn’t got the sound in my head out as I wanted to hear it. Had I played it live fifty or sixty times before going to the studio I would have wound up with the arrangement I now use and that I hope to record in the near future. We’ll be doing this at the live gigs 2013 so you’ll see what I mean, it gives the song the rolling dynamics I felt in my gut when I sat down at the keyboard and wrote it. What is funny is that despite the 30 odd years that has passed the relevance remains. Despite Bob Dylan labelling me as his favourite Australian songwriter, or the Runways covering “Suburban Girl” none of my songs made it onto a recent list of the top 50 songs by WA artists. On top of the slap in the face that ensued from my omission in Something in the Water, it proves Pop History is created and maintained by fuckwits. Frank Zappa once said rock journalism is for people who can’t read by people who can’t write. Bless him.
SPOOKS IN THE DARK
I’m watch watching stop hopping
Running up the street my car has stalled
Pushing past the geriatrics gotta make it
To my house before night falls
Last week I locked my key inside
I had to spend the night a sleeping in the park
I awoke when someone spoke
They’re out to get me
They’re the spooks in the dark
It started when I charted
All the critics said I was a different man
At number 10 my girlfriend slept with other men
And left me on my own again
I been fretting I been sweating
I had dreams I been taken by a shark
And there’s just no escaping from a raping
By these spooks in the dark
I wish there was some way
I could get away
But they win if I leave
And drive me nuts if I decide to stay
God help me
I had a bright idea to make these spooks disappear
In a moment when my head was clear
I knew it would work I knew I would smile again
I had an operation
Attenuation to my hearing
It stopped the spook sensation
But now I cannot wear an earring
And my fans loved the new record
Though I’m sure I’m heading for a fall
‘Cause the other night I woke in fright
I swear I saw a shadow on the wall
Well I had to fix it quick
So I got the doc to cauterize my eyes
It gave me some relief from the belief
I was the one they all despised
Well I’ve given up my hearing
And now I’ve gone and given up my sight
But there’s still no escaping from a raping
By these spooks in the night.
This is one of my favourite songs on Correct Weight. Pretty obviously it’s about paranoia. At the time I wrote it the band was at the height of popularity, but I sensed my demise was imminent. In those days if you were what is now called “alternate” or outspoken, and I was both, your original followers could ditch you very quickly at the first smell of commercial success. That was okay if you made the transition to full radio airplay because you picked up a host of new fans. Unfortunately I didn’t. Prescient or self-fulfilling prophecy? What I also like about this is the metaphor of the songwriter who destroys his senses one by one but still feels no relief from the “spooks”. As a writer you don’t have a choice, however uncool, you have to say what you feel and if you stop doing that you’re dead.
JOEY BLACK
My name is Joey Black
I grew up by the dock
Never had good school reports
Fighting was my only sport
But lately times have changed
Everything’s been rearranged
Now I find I don’t belong
On the streets that I once roamed
These streets aren’t safe for violence any more
All the trendies do’s restore restore restore
And that’s a boor
They ride their bicycles
Where we raced our cars
They take the billiard rooms
And turn them into flash wine bars
They talk about equality
But the chicks don’t talk to me
I tell you that these streets
Aren’t what they used to be
These streets aren’t safe for violence any more
They stink of lawyers’ dope
That’s hidden in the floor
These streets aren’t safe for violence any more
All I ever wanted was to own the family house
But I can’t afford it
So I’m moving further out
They’ll take their photographs and write their poetry
About the emptiness of the new life that I lead
They’ll try to keep me out by changing all the rules
They’ll drink their funny tea
Say money is for fools
Well I tell you I want all the money I can get
‘Cause that’s the only way
A guy like me can get ahead
And when I’m rich enough I’ll bring back all my friends
And these streets will ring
To violence once again.
Joey Black has been a perennial live favourite. Hard-core pumping riffs, true Aussie punk. The sentiment is worn on its sleeve, the gentrification of places like Port Melbourne, Port Adelaide and Fremantle, the hypocrisy of the new residents, their lack of understanding of the heart of the working class and those they claim to embrace, the easy condemnation of the pursuit of wealth by those born with it. Lyrically some of my favourite stuff ever. “These streets aren’t safe for violence any more They stink of lawyers’ dope that’s hidden in the floor.” That sums up the song.
dave in relation to “as with most of my stuff to assume it is autobiographical but there’s plenty of me in it”. it was Rimbaud whom stated “i is someone else’ so that was an out for every song writer, author et al from the moment one becomes aware of it.
The general Fritze of the ’70’s too, is a completely different person now, few more oak leaves & bars on the badge but the man is changed, as would be everyone from those times, thanks for the insights though, & the tip to zappa cannot be overstated.