A great band featuring my friend Don Rooke (of The Henrys and Quiet Industry fame) on lap steel etc for the evening. I sing four songs: four American God, American Way, America Lost, American Love songs. It is a lot of America for this singer. I’m a fairly linear guy and not much of a lyric “interpreter”, so when I sing “I expect to touch His hand”, I know the intention and can’t pretend otherwise. Likewise a bit of a thing to sing any line with the words “our forefathers”. I’m having a good time finding my way through these songs, though, and I know the shows will be great. A ton of talent under the roof.
In a few weeks I leave for a whirlwind run of dates with Stephen in the U.K. This will be third continent to which we’ve been able to bring these unassuming nights of sorrow and wonder. For tickets, go to https://orphanwisdom.com/events/
A few thoughts on the recently completed Nights of Grief & Mystery Oceania Tour 2017.
First off, a flurry of thank you’s to the intrepid people who organized the thing on the ground in Australia and New Zealand. It is no small thing welcoming a small band of tired men into your busy lives for a few days, tending to all the details that need tending to, sending us on our way, and rejoining the regular broadcast that was your life before signing on to promote one of these gigs. It is my hope is that some echo of your efforts comes to your ears every now and again…something good. Things are felt for such a short while it seems these days.
The land was beautiful, there were good people met (there were some challenging folk, too), and there was the rare empty seat in all the halls we played…something astounding to me considering the night can detonate a kind of sorrow that makes ovations unlikely but, still, there were always those who hung back to connect, struggling to find the words to acknowledge the night and our part in it.
Here’s the thing: what I wasn’t prepared for (besides the vicious jet lag on my return home) was feeling like the alien from that postulated theory “what would an alien say if it landed here”. So much of what I saw and heard felt foreign under the skin but nothing more so than the phrase “No worries.” Even typing it gives me the shivers. At one point, I thought my head would explode if I heard those two words together on more time. Mysteriously chosen to replace “you’re welcome” in the English language, the phrase found itself concluding almost every single transaction one might have in Australia. To utter “thank you” guaranteed a “no worries”. Really? None? I gave you $10 for a $4 coffee, you give me $6 change like you are supposed to, I say “thank you”, and you tell me I shouldn’t worry about it. About what, exactly? All the trouble you went to in getting me the correct change or my Long Black (an Americano down there)? The impact on the environment of the cup? The carbon footprint of my plane ride to and from the country and the 10 or so in-country flights we took? The shady trade practices that makes a good cup of coffee so easy to find down here? The exploitation of baristas and the worse treatment of 7-11 employees? The quiet despair that is crushing the developed world? The harsh awakening from the dream that whatever we want we can manifest? No worries about dying, either? Not the after part we aren’t around for, but the actual doing of the thing…no worries about that?
My niece tried to tell me the French (in Canada) have the same kind of phrase with “de rien” which is roughly translated to “it’s nothing”. However, there is also “bienvenue” which is widely and respectfully used and means, quite literally, “welcome”.
Australia, there are worries: small, niggly little worries and HUGE FUCKING BADASS WORRIES that should keep you up nights. You would be well advised to carve out some time to carve some worry sticks because sometimes worrying about something can sometimes lead to some kind of action. I’ll admit I’m being pretty vague there, given the fact that worriers are more likely to be seen as ineffective lumps of worthless worry, but worrying could be the first step in changing something. Your political landscape, for instance.
I think that—without you knowing it—the phrase “No Worries” has become your national motto. Deeper than just a phrase uttered at every cash register in the land, it just might have been spoken aloud soooooo many times that it has become a real cornerstone of the colonial Australian culture. I’d definitely worry about that.
I first met Tina Newlove at this time of the year in 2012 in a factory loft art space (sadly no longer there) in Kitchener, ON. We performed as part of a series that curated a visual artist and a musician for an evening. Not content with just singing in the midst of art hanging on the wall, I thought maybe live painting would be an avenue to look into and Tina had had plenty of experience with painting on stage. Then I thought it would be a lot cooler if somehow the painting and I could interact more, and that’s when I proposed training a video camera on to Tina’s canvas and projecting the feed over me onto a screen behind me. The singer and the song become sort of subservient (nice alliteration) to the “hand of god” and the brush as the audience watches the birth of a painting, the mess of it all, the seeming disorganization and the sometimes horrifying white-ing out of a part of the image that one might have grown attached to…
It. Was. Amazing. The painting sold (you would be advised to bring along a chequebook), the audience was exhausted, and we had done something a little off the beaten path.
We are very excited to try this again in the lovely factory confines of The Pearl Company in Hamilton, Ontario. Please join us.
It started, actually, as a bit of a lark: when you’re travelling alone, how can you make it seem like you’re not? That, indeed, your travelling companion is snapping off intimate shots? In NYC, you can’t point the camera anywhere without the backdrop being amazing (unlike the cities I frequent in Canada). However, selfies are a drag. So, while in NYC, I placed my phone on the ground, set the timer, ran away, and strolled nonchalantly toward it, trying several times. I posted the result, called it “Vain and Alone in NYC?”, describing how the shot was taken. Then I just kept trying to see how far I could push the un-selfie selfie. Each post on Facebook was accompanied by a little anecdote of shooting the thing…you had to at least be able to not be embarrassed being obviously vain. Someone suggested I hash tag the stuff. So, #vainandalone
The first…maybe only?…full length vid from The Henrys’ Quiet Industry.