Spencervision* saw us all reaching spectacular new heights on the peaks of Mt Stupid, but it was also kind of miraculous. I never had any doubt that the idea would work, just about everybody Spencer knows was already itching to write and perform a song about him, which is kind of odd when you think about it. What I didn't know was just how far some people would go, like me for instance.
Thinking it might be best to collaborate with someone I coerced The Walk On By into coming over and working on a song with me. Obviously The Rolling Stones were my first choice but they were all in hospital being reconstructed by German engineers so I settled on The Walk On By who are lovely, despite having an alarming fondness for yelling rude words loudly on stages all over Australia and Europe.
When it came time to actually perform the song I was starting to have a few second thoughts. The other contestants included members of The Holy Soul, The Laurels, Psychonanny and The Babyshakers, Quaoub, Madam Squeeze and about twelve times a crazy amount more. Adalita from Magic Dirt showed up and by that time things were getting a bit wild. Spike performed something he was calling a Mexican Rap entitled Gusolino Got Punched in the Eye-o and the non-Spencer members of The Holy Soul performed something akin to the Wu-Tang Clan, disguised as diamond pandas. Photographer Lyndal Irons installed an astonishing exhibition in the Spencer's lounge room title Spencervision: A photographic exhibition.
The Walk On By and I bravely took our places on the small stage, well I bravely took my place, the others are kind of used to it. The bass player kept pushing the microphone closer to my face which made me unhappy because I was hoping to become not only invisible to the eye but inaudible to the ear. We managed what turned out be an award-winning performance, thanks to Solomon, Leah and Dave being actual musicians despite having me as a temporary imposter in their band.
Spencer drunkenly donned a sombrero for the award ceremony which was just about as shambolic and raucous as an award ceremony can be. I proudly accepted a ballet trophy for coming second, Sol, Leah and Dave were decorated with lovely silver-coloured plastic medals. The overall winner was announced, Madam Squeeze, no surprises there, and then Spencer raised a fist in the air and screamed 'let's get fucked up'. I was deafened by the roar of the crowd, who most diligently and immediately began to follow Spencer's instructions.
The party pressed on into the night with an almost terrifying joyful abandon. Just after midnight there were three of us perched at the top of the stairs, we ventured up to go to the toilet but found ourselves unequal to the task of navigating back down the narrow stairway. Soon enough there were about twelve of us all in the same predicament. It is the first time I have ever waited in an 'after the toilet' line.
Spencer's huge and rambling house was filled to overflowing. Darkness didn't stand a chance against that kind of energetic light. They told themselves they came for all sorts of reasons, to witness the stupid songs, to take a chance to make fun of Spencer in song-form, to drink, dance or just stand in a joyful crowd of friends but I knew why they were there. They came because they love him, in whatever form that takes. Some of us have shared years in his good company, others meet him on King St for coffee every once in a while, some first saw him hollering into a microphone and thought 'who in the hell is that?', but all of us were united by the kind of love usually reserved for funerals. If Spencer ever has any doubts about his place in the world, if he ever catches himself in a moment of unexpected worry about falling into isolation, he can sit down, cross those long legs of his, and remember this night when all of those fears were silenced forever.
*Spencervision: A song for Spencer, you can see already how this might work, just imagine Eurovision on King St Newtown. Spencer decided to celebrate his birthday by judging songs written and performed in his honour. The rules were simple, the song had to be about either Spencer's awesomeness or an awesome Spencer-related topic.
Showing posts with label Spike. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Spike. Show all posts
Basted, wasted and soaked or free things and how I got them all in one Friday night
Free wine:
The Spatula's friend Gior arrived wearing space tights from space, a fancy dress and a trench coat. She was carrying an expensive bottle of wine. I was fortunate enough to be standing in the hallway holding an empty wine glass.
Free dinner:
Torrential was the general consensus so The Spatula and Gior ordered food to be delivered. They asked me to join them but I declined for economic reasons. They ordered extra so that I could eat with them. Lovely girls.
Free joint:
The Spatula laughed as she pressed play on the stereo then passed me a lit joint. Waving smoke away from her face she said 'here have some'.
Free entry to The Holy Soul & Crow!:
Spencer sent me a text message saying 'If you can brave the rain I've put your name on the door list".
Free albums:
I arrived just as Spencer climbed up on to the stage and began one of the best sets I've ever seen him and the band play. When he finished he unplugged his guitar, held it vertically like a vase until he reached his guitar case then stashed it side of stage. He walked down the steps into the crowd and pulled a cd out of his pocket for me. David Thomas Ghost Line Diary and Leonard Cohen 92nd St Ny Feb 1966. Oh yes indeed.
Free beer:
Inside the gig I met the lovely Sonny Day from We Buy Your Kids for the first time. He said "Hey are you Dale Slamma?". I said yes so he bought me a beer.
Free tequila:
Squeezing into the crowd to watch Crow I wound up standing next to Spike. He asked me what I had been up to lately. I said nothing at all. He leant down and dragged me over to him by gently draping one of his enormous arms around my shoulder. He yelled "I don't believe you", then made me to talk properly to him and explain every little thing. He said "that deserves a shot", pointed at a chair for me to sit on then bought me tequila.
Free ride:
Spencer drove me home through the pouring rain. I was drunk, happy and at ease. We drank cups of tea, ate chocolate and talked until 3am.
Free happiness:
I dont' think it was because of the free things but I was most definitely happy. Good food, friends and music. The universe poured small kindnesses and cheer, measure for measure with the torrents of rain, upon my own small head. For this and the sight of Crow on stage I am truly grateful.
The Spatula's friend Gior arrived wearing space tights from space, a fancy dress and a trench coat. She was carrying an expensive bottle of wine. I was fortunate enough to be standing in the hallway holding an empty wine glass.
Free dinner:
Torrential was the general consensus so The Spatula and Gior ordered food to be delivered. They asked me to join them but I declined for economic reasons. They ordered extra so that I could eat with them. Lovely girls.
Free joint:
The Spatula laughed as she pressed play on the stereo then passed me a lit joint. Waving smoke away from her face she said 'here have some'.
Free entry to The Holy Soul & Crow!:
Spencer sent me a text message saying 'If you can brave the rain I've put your name on the door list".
Free albums:
I arrived just as Spencer climbed up on to the stage and began one of the best sets I've ever seen him and the band play. When he finished he unplugged his guitar, held it vertically like a vase until he reached his guitar case then stashed it side of stage. He walked down the steps into the crowd and pulled a cd out of his pocket for me. David Thomas Ghost Line Diary and Leonard Cohen 92nd St Ny Feb 1966. Oh yes indeed.
Free beer:
Inside the gig I met the lovely Sonny Day from We Buy Your Kids for the first time. He said "Hey are you Dale Slamma?". I said yes so he bought me a beer.
Free tequila:
Squeezing into the crowd to watch Crow I wound up standing next to Spike. He asked me what I had been up to lately. I said nothing at all. He leant down and dragged me over to him by gently draping one of his enormous arms around my shoulder. He yelled "I don't believe you", then made me to talk properly to him and explain every little thing. He said "that deserves a shot", pointed at a chair for me to sit on then bought me tequila.
Free ride:
Spencer drove me home through the pouring rain. I was drunk, happy and at ease. We drank cups of tea, ate chocolate and talked until 3am.
Free happiness:
I dont' think it was because of the free things but I was most definitely happy. Good food, friends and music. The universe poured small kindnesses and cheer, measure for measure with the torrents of rain, upon my own small head. For this and the sight of Crow on stage I am truly grateful.
Drone and spike
I'm reviewing The Drones for Liveguide this weekend. I used to be excited about it but something has happened. Something very important has happened. My hair has ceased to cooperate with me. I used to scoff at women who worried more about their appearance than anything else but that was before my hair went psycho. I have half a mind to give myself my very first spray tan just to see if my orangeness will distract people from my hair.
My hair has betrayed me before. When I went to visit Gemma in Melbourne and one year at This Is Not Art. Both times I forgave my hair and blamed the unfamiliar water but not this time. Oh no. It is most definitely a full scale hair mutiny rendering me incapable of leaving the house without a hat. My hair might be laughing now but just wait til it sees the scissors.
I've been thinking about a man named Spike. He's the answer to the Who Am I question. I don't know him very well yet but he seems to have a beautiful way of thinking about things. He radiates simplicity. He seems open, uncomplicated and fair. He was telling me about how he found a band to drum with. He replied to advertisements and went along to auditions. He said most of the time he was just doing it for joy of meeting someone new and experiencing their music from the inside. He is joyful and kind and generous. He makes paint splattered shorts and a bandana seem like a good fashion decision. I have decided that if one day I am struck by a sudden bolt of magic and become a man that I would like to be just like Spike.
My hair has betrayed me before. When I went to visit Gemma in Melbourne and one year at This Is Not Art. Both times I forgave my hair and blamed the unfamiliar water but not this time. Oh no. It is most definitely a full scale hair mutiny rendering me incapable of leaving the house without a hat. My hair might be laughing now but just wait til it sees the scissors.
I've been thinking about a man named Spike. He's the answer to the Who Am I question. I don't know him very well yet but he seems to have a beautiful way of thinking about things. He radiates simplicity. He seems open, uncomplicated and fair. He was telling me about how he found a band to drum with. He replied to advertisements and went along to auditions. He said most of the time he was just doing it for joy of meeting someone new and experiencing their music from the inside. He is joyful and kind and generous. He makes paint splattered shorts and a bandana seem like a good fashion decision. I have decided that if one day I am struck by a sudden bolt of magic and become a man that I would like to be just like Spike.
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