Funeral Playlist

So my sister has been WhatsApp-ing me from NYC this morning, convinced she is about to die of botulism. She’s not. I asked her to send me her funeral playlist just in case. Which led me to think about my funeral playlist. I posted a list in 2008 on the original DKG blog and thought I’d revisit and revise. Here’s the 2019 DKG Funeral Playlist.

1) The Guests – if Antony’s version is ever recorded then I want that played first, if not Leonard Cohen’s version will do nicely.

2) Dream a little dream – The Mamas and The Papas (no other version – EVER).

3) Bird on a wire – Perla Batalla’s version from the I’m Your Man CD. (“Like a bird on the wire, Like a drunk in a midnight choir, I have tried in my way to be free.”)

4) Soul to squeeze – Red Hot Chili Peppers off the Coneheads soundtrack. Well, obviously a RHCP song must be played at my funeral. I couldn’t rest in peace otherwise. This song is in some ways the essence of RHCP. It’s perfection.

5) Satisfied Mind – Jeff Buckley from Sketches (For My Sweetheart The Drunk).

6) Enjoy Yourself – The Specials. I cried when they played this at the Enmore in 2009 (how the fuck was it TEN years ago??!!). “Enjoy yourself… it’s later than you think.”

7) If Ever I Stray – Frank Turner. This could be changed/deleted in future but right now it stays. Also it’s my funeral so I can have two FT songs if I want to.

8) Photosynthesis – Frank Turner. Because I’ve never wanted to grow up and I hope I never will. (That’s what I like to tell myself…. is being immature the same as not growing up?)

9) Born With A Tail – Supersuckers. Because FUCK IT!

Captain Marvel Rocks

OH! Spoilers. Blah blah! If you haven’t seen Captain Marvel and want to see it without knowing stuff about it don’t read any more and come back later. Otherwise I guess the headline makes it obvious how I feel about it. Anyway read further at your own risk.

It’s a well covered fact that I think DC should be banned from making movies. Their superhero movies are utter shite. Considerably less entertaining and fulfilling than I imagine a Barnaby Joyce sex tape would be.

If I ever needed any more proof, and I didn’t, I now have Captain Marvel to hold up to Wonder Woman. Everyone knows how much I love WW and how much I was looking forward to the new movie last year… and how bitterly disappointed I was with the end result.

Well I won’t be turning my WW tattoo into a Captain Marvel tattoo any time soon but the movies are like chalk and cheese and CM is a the cheese; a delightful creamy luscious double brie.

I saw it on Saturday afternoon and I was fully expecting to snooze through it because I’d had little proper sleep the night before and I was tired and out of sorts. But I didn’t. I watched every second, alert and certainly alarmed because it was FUCKING AWESOME.

Captain Marvel is everything I wanted Wonder Woman to be. Fun, entertaining and best of all NO FUCKING LOVE INTEREST. Some of you may snigger about me complaining about love interests but they’re not always necessary and unless they’re a good, important part of the story (I give you Deadpool) they are totally unnecessary in a superhero movie because for fuck’s sake, if you’re busy saving the world surely flirting would be low on your list of priorities.

So the no love interest thing is a biggie for me. It’s completely not an issue throughout the entire movie, not a wink, not a single moment of flirtation of any sort. Can you believe it?

I tend to complain about movies over 90 minutes these days because I find too many movies are way too long for no good reason but CM clocks in at 125 minutes and not a minute is wasted and it certainly doesn’t feel too long.

It’s set in the mid 90s so of course the music is kickass. The 90s references are funny for us oldies and baffling for the young uns. The characters are great and there are lots of laughs and the right amount of action. In short it is bloody entertaining. For my money it’s worth the price of admission for the Stan Lee/Kevin Smith cross reference. Everything else is just a bonus really.

So all the thumbs up for this one. Bring on Endgame. Like Big Kev, I’m EXCITED!

Also: Goose the Flerken. Genius!

I can’t find a Frank Turner song for this situation

I met someone.

I actually met him four years ago. I remember that day so clearly. Our eyes met and a bell rang inside me and I didn’t know what it was but I heard it.

Over the next four years I’d see him at the various places where his brisket was legendary and our eyes would meet and the bell would ring…and my life would continue with the memory of his smile and the twinkle of his eyes.

So to find us both single in January, and that he had also noticed our spark from that first meeting, was a little bit rom-com magical.

I felt like I had manifested a list of my perfect man. All the boxes neatly ticked. I could even forgive the RHCP aversion and vice versa. So much happiness.

Except he lives a 90 minute drive away. We both thought it could be managed but the reality is it can’t. Not in the long term. It’ll just get much worse as feelings grow bigger and the distance doesn’t grow smaller.

Walking away is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It’s been a two month bubble of joy and it’s been popped by the harsh needle of reality and it fucking hurts.

Motherforker it really hurts.

Life is a clusterfuck isn’t it? And Frank Turner hasn’t written a song for just this particular set of circumstances which is most shortsighted of him.

This song is going round and round in my head, though I can cry and have a lot. The association with the Supersuckers is obvious but fuck this song rips my heart out.

Throwing in the towel

This week I threw in the towel on something and wow, it feels great. I’ve been wanting to do it for ages but stubbornly I’ve persevered. I’m not saying there isn’t some regret, some measure of guilt but fuck it, it’s worth it.

I’ve been reading Bruce Springsteen’s autobiography Born To Run for approximately 4,000 years (well it feels that way) and I’m only half way through. I had been so looking forward to reading it but it turned out to be a trap…a quicksand trap that sucked me in and then slowly drowned me in tedium.

Look, I assume there was an editor involved but frankly they were asleep at the wheel. This book is sooooo slow and so repetitive and so dullsville I came to the conclusion I would die of old age before I finished it.

For a rockstar autobiography (much like Tex Perkins’ – who at least had the decency to keep his short) there was little sex or drugs and look, if we wanted to know about the music we’d just fucking listen to it. While his life and the music business is relatively interesting it’s not THAT interesting. I want the dirt man…a little dirt…give us something for fuck’s sake.

Maybe I’m just not a big enough fan. I’d classify myself as a middle sized fan. His songs are so evocative of a certain American fantasy. His version of Tom Waits’ Jersey Girl – again a fantasy of some sort of American sad/romantic dream – makes me feel all the feels to the point of pain at times. Fucked if I know why; the feminist in me hates the underlying idea of that song.

Nevertheless I’ve loved seeing him live and his music is smart, heart hurting and often brilliant.

But this book seriously made me lose the will to live. I had thought I’d lost my love of reading. I’d toyed with the idea of just stopping but I hate to give up on something potentially good (I give you three and a half years of torture known as my relationship with The Joker as exhibit A).

This week I finally decided to throw in the towel. Enough is enough is enough. Guess what? It wasn’t me, it was him. I immediately started reading Caitlin Moran’s How To Be A Woman (because fuck knows I need some tips) and I’m flying through it and loving it.

So good to recapture my love of reading. I really thought it’d just be me, Facebook, Netflix and this neverending book forever together from now on. Sorry Bruce, maybe stick to songwriting buddy.

Music is my aeroplane

I’m on the train heading to the city for the Don’t Kill Live Music protest. I’m passionate about live music and doing something to stop the bullshit happening in this city where apparently the rights of developers to build apartments on every square inch of dirt wins over the right of Sydney to be a vibrant city.

It may not be much but I want to lend my voice and my presence to those trying to revitalize, reanimate the live music scene in this city.

Look, in reality, it’s not dead but it’s starting to smell that way and it’s getting harder and harder. Lock out laws and the clamping down on festivals are just some of the ways the live music scene is getting squeezed.

It’s a little poetic that this protest is happening in the week I’ve been to two memorable live gigs; one awesome, one not so much.

On Sunday I went to Frankie’s Pizza in Hunter Street in the city (not an area you’d think would host such a cool live venue) to see the Supersuckers. Man, I’ve been waiting many fucking years to see these guys. For one reason or another I’ve always missed them when they’ve been here before.

(Amusingly last time they played here was at Hughes BBQ and considering my current situation with Mr Hughes…well a story for another day.)

It was such a brilliant night. Firstly Frankie’s is an awesome little venue (reminiscent of Cherry Bar in Melbs). Entry was free. Yep FREE. So the whole evening cost me the price of two G&Ts. No fucking kidding. Oh and some street parking.

The unexpected added bonus was the two support bands. Linking back to my comments about live music…it’s not dead and young people are still making kickass rock&roll (not just that tepid nonsense I catch on Nova occasionally).

The first band Fox Company were brilliant. Really great…and I always have a soft spot for a bass player with rock moves.

Then came Eightball Junkies and wow, the singer takes his job seriously. Sort of a ranga metal Jim Morrison. I didn’t even mind getting covered in beer during one of his performance pieces. (Not overly impressed with the baby groupies flashing their tits at him in front of me.)

Then came the Supersuckers and it was worth the wait. This was their 30th anniversary tour and really they should be much bigger than they are. A serious back catalogue of awesome music ranging from twangy country to full on rock&roll with a few softer detours along the way.

Eddie writes a fucking brilliant song and they are just terribly undervalued imho.

Unhonourable mention to the chick who just had to elbow her way in front of me for Pretty Fucked Up (obviously her theme song)….and then again for Born With A Tail. Then go on to kiss Eddie’s hand at the end. Sigh.

As I walked back to my car at 1:00am through the dark, quiet city streets I thought about how wonderful it was to have seen three such great bands. I felt alive, tingly with excitement, adrenalin, life. If live, hot, sweaty, loud rock&roll isn’t life affirming I don’t know what is.

Hang on a minute. It isn’t life affirming when it’s guys who’ve lost their zing. That’s how I felt on Tuesday night when I rocked up to a much bigger venue (and certainly far from free) to see my beloved Red Hot Chili Peppers.

It’s been a love affair over close to thirty years and I fear this concert may have marked the final chapter. At least of seeing them live.

I don’t want to rip it to shreds but it made me sad. The song list was bland. The stage chemistry flat. I felt nothing and in comparison to how much I felt on Sunday night it was a huge let down.

I have so many great memories of seeing them live…of listening to their music. The disappointment of Tuesday night doesn’t take away from our many years of history.

So here I am on the train. To support the music I love…to defend it in my tiny little way. In the end there’s not many things in life that I love more.

Music, it’s my substitute for love

The words from the song that made me lose my tiny little mind about Frank Turner. Fuck me but did “Substitute” send my life into a headspin…sitting on a ratty sofa in Blacktown all those years ago. Some moments stick with you forever.

Life is a bit swirly right now. Can’t explain because if you knew I’d have to kill you. Also trying to explain is like trying to hold smoke…not very do-able.

But music IS my substitute for love and for a lot of other things and today, when I woke up feeling a little out of focus, this is the song that floated up for me.

I was discussing the other day how much I love Leonard Cohen’s words but his voice and delivery make his songs unpalatable for me a lot of the time. Seeing him live was truly amazing but I just can’t listen to him in the recorded form.

So I turn to others to translate the words into songs of beauty. This Teddy Thompson version of this song rips me to shreds every time but it’s where I’m at today.

Cryptic Posts

I HATE cryptic posts. You know when people write “Worst day ever” or some such shit on their Facebook. Tell us a story, even a tiny story, or fuck off. Don’t fish for comments and concern.

So I’ll just say you never, ever know what’s around the corner. Sometimes stuff happens that even baffles a cranky old cynic like me.

Something that makes me think “really life, really…you had this up your sleeve? you cheeky minx”.

Don’t ask. You’ll be the first to know.

As you were.