Australian Dream

Force Lyrics Pt 5

I took myself down to the Otway’s to do some writing for a weekend in 2021. I felt like a total fuckwit doing it. A bit embarrassed at its perceived or actual self-indulgence. Secretly, it felt pretty good too. I felt like a real life writer. I took some guitars, some whisky, some smokes, some microphones and my laptop down to a place with no reception and a beaut view. I felt like a regular Keroac. Moments of clarity and purpose were undermined by delusions of grandeur the entire time.

I would always clarify my musical pursuits to people even though not so deep down, it was the only thing that mattered to me. Rather than say “I want to be a musician”, and then “I am a musician”, I did a million other things to prove to everyone it was just a hobby and a part of the puzzle rather than the whole thing. I’d tell people I wouldn’t be in a band past 25 and then 27 and then 30 and then I realised it’s was there whether I liked it or not. Maybe it was a fear of failure. Like if I treated it with a surface level indifference and then succeeded, I could act surprised and that would be cool or something. You know, despite the burning desire. Despite knowing that nothing else compared.

It would affect how I released music and how I would interact with bands and things like that. I didn’t want to seem like the desperado I was, so wouldn’t ask people I admired the million questions I had. In the early days there was also level of bravado or machismo around drinking and performing, which of course was all an act. I thought industry things like “single” releases were self indulgent and so we didn’t do them. Just recorded, released and then wondered why it was all over so quickly. Maybe that’s why there were so many records early on. At one point I flew up to Sydney and serviced songs myself to Triple J, but I wasn’t able to harness the same confidence I had in my pre-meeting daydreams. I’d be envious of my contemporaries success. All that shit. A waste of time. It was similar in football. I wanted to be noticed rather than just yelling, “I’m fucking here, ya dogs!”.

I get dirty on myself for not having the balls to follow my instincts from the beginning. At the same time I can see that whatever path I took I am here now, writing music and playing live still, at 35.

I also got sick of everyone saying “there’s no money in music” or variations of that. It is true, there ain’t much for most, but who cares? I was interested in writing and performing music, but that was just my entry point. Following that path I found the Australian pub rock scene from the 70s and 80s and fell in love with it. That interest led me to the Blackfella/Whitefella tour that Warumpi Band and the Oils went on. The culmination of those two interests was the Up The Guts tour, which has been going in various forms since 2016. Guts led me to Bush Music Fund, an org I set up with some core lords working with First Nations muso’s from remote parts of the country. I didn’t see any of that coming. I’m not making my wage by performing, but I’m doing work that I love and that I’m proud of because of it.

So your instincts are good I reckon. Often only you know what they are. They might feel at odds with however you think people perceive you, but they are sound. They are the engine driving you towards contentedness. They give you a good indication of the broad church that will serve you. I’m not saying that in an airy fairy follow your dreams sorta way. I mean I guess I am, but I mean it might not get you on the field, but at least you’ll be in the stadium.

I hadn’t quite accepted that when I went to the Otway’s. I felt like a failure holding on. The boys had punched in their cards and we were planning the Weekend Away launch, which had become the final show. The delusions of grandeur were winning. It felt like an odd time to be writing new music without a vehicle for it anyway. I was inspiration-less. There I was with my whiskey and smokes in an isolated cabin trying to go full Bon Iver and there was nothing a-comin’. Fuckin’ zip. I thought long and hard about going home.

Somehow, amongst the muck and the mire, Australian Dream was born. I found some formless words and started organising them into verses. I remember feeling really excited and also very aware that it was a lot of words - I was looking for a banger to get me out of the doldrums, not an essay. I had to use midi keyboard for all the sounds and whatever drums and percussion I could find in Garageband.

It was all sort of there from the start, but I toiled and toiled over the chorus and the arrangement. I became obsessed with it but didn’t think I’d ever finish it. I didn’t think I could make it interesting enough to justify the length. It became something I’d come back to and tinker with. The way it came to be still makes me smile.

Warren Ellis speaks about ‘showing up.’ I think he talks about it in this podcast with Zan Rowe. You can talk yourself out of anything, but something good always comes from doing the thing. Something will happen. The rehearsal you don’t want to go to, which turns out to be fruitful. The writing session which feels a bit painful but you record some stuff anyway and you hear some magic listening back. The chords or melody which feel tired at the time but have something in them. The lyrics which feel clunky and contrived become meaningful. That extends into most things I reckon. Do the thing.

At the beginning of Littles phase 2, showing up was very important. I was also keen on employing a pragmatism. When you’re younger, the politics of a band is a big part of it; making sure it’s as democratic as possible. It’s a good thing but it can slow you down. This time, at our age, it was deleted from the psyche. If someone can’t make the shoot or the gig or the recording, who cares, we’ll make it work. Just show up and do the thing.

I’d booked time with Greg in the studio in 2023 and crossed my fingers the boys would be around. I wanted to do Nothing To Do. We hadn’t jammed on it and it was barely finished but fuck it, there’s studio time and something was gonna happen. As the date neared the boys weren’t sure they could make it. JP was flying in from a holiday in New York and Sam and Liam were going to be fresh from a big wedding. We also hadn’t recorded anything for TPL together yet, so we didn’t know how it would go or how to approach it. There were a few reasons to pull the plug but I felt bad cancelling on Greg and I never really had an intention to anyway. I told him I had an acoustic song we could do (I didn’t). That left me with 4 weeks to find something. I decided on Australian Dream which felt no closer to finished than 3 years earlier.

I approached it with a new sense of urgency. Somehow, some fucking how, a chorus showed up. The “peace and prosperity” bit, previously a verse, became it’s own sort of chorus and the night before recording it was finished.

Greg and I got started on it the next day. Out of the blue, Sam and Liam showed up. Listening back to what we’d done, one of them heard drums and bass. A fever took hold. It’s hard to define. It’s like a beautiful collective energy all pulling in the same direction. We quickly worked out dynamics which might make sense. Liam recorded beautiful swelling guitar. Fresh off the plane from America, JP decided to come in. We mic’d up the drums and hearing the song for the first time he started learning and navigating the length and choruses which grow by at least one bar each time (It’s also pretty unconventional to record the drums at that point). There were moments of intense frustration and growing jet lag, but he got parts down. Encouraged by the jet lag, the hangovers showed up and Sam was reluctant to put a bass track down, it was getting late on a Sunday at that point. At the last moment he conceded - I think we told him it would be good to listen back even if it was just a guide track. We all knew it was becoming something special. We never changed a thing. Greg knocked the production out of the park.

Aye Warren, we showed up, brother!

I’m still in awe of how it came to be.

How its connected is something else entirely. To hear people yelling out every word to an 8 minute song may never get old.

I really can’t thank you enough for that.

Australian Dream

Here’s a version of the Australian dream
Some outer suburb in the 1950s
Exchanging pleasantries like a sport+
Keep it polite, keep it short
Firm handshakes
Have a nice day,
Ah gee, would you look at that?
Might be rain.

They had a few kids
Frank had a good job, they looked the part
Not a doctor or a lawyer but not far off.
Church on Sunday The kids were bright enough
Nothing for the neighbours to talk about

But then Dot changed after the last child came along
Her behaviour became erratic
In her brain was some static
She gave the neighbours something to talk about
Eyebrows started raising over cuppas
Scones and raisins
Just a few bad days, they’d say.
She’ll be right as rain.

Spooked like a horse in a passing storm
Look away, be the loveable larrikin
Look away like we did from the beginning
I’m sleepwalking through your australian dream

The old holden started to shake until the wheels fell off
Something wasn’t right, the numbers weren’t stacking up
There’s post traumatic stresses and financial pressures
And all those kids howling for attention
All the things that people couldn't mention+
Weak, soft as butter, stop seeking attention
Two world wars fought and won, the dark days over
All those boys died so we could live in peace and prosperity

Everything’s a blessing for you and me
All those aches and pains
They’re just tricks of the mind, theyre Illusions,
A waste of time.

I’m sleeping walking through your Australian

They put Dot in a home,
Sent her off to the funny farm
Her problems couldn’t be fixed
With a walk around the block,
They found her in the middle of the street
Crying out aren’t we lucky? Aint life sweet?

Frank couldn’t deal with the mess
The kids were sent away with the shame of it.
One of them was orphaned
The youngest with Mrs Gordon around the corner
The eldest, he was 6
Stayed at home Looking around
Wondering where everyone had fuckin gone.

Spooked like a horse in a passing storm
Look away, be the loveable larrikin
Look away like we did from the beginning
I’m sleepwalking through your Australian dream
The mirage at the bottom of all your talking.

After a few years things became stable
It was put as a suburban bad dream
In some outer suburb in the 50s
A speed hump, an anomaly
A strange turn in the quest for normality
In the end they achieved their goal
Everyone including the neighbours stopped talking about the entire episode

But what of the hangover,
The dodgy foundations supporting the next generation,
All those things not mentioned, mis-remembered, too embarrassed to admit,
Too committed to a concept to express doubt in it.
And anyway we got all those photos hanging on the wall
But dont the eyes say it all
Dont the eyes say more than the smiles ever could?

Spooked like a horse in a passing storm
Look away, be the loveable larrikin
Look away like we did from the beginning
Sleep walking through your australian dream
The mirage at the bottom of all your talking.
How do you fix something so broken?
And what of the giant when he’s woken?