Multiple Choice: Steve Kilbey

Toasty is listening to Priest = Aura late at night and remembering how much she admires Steve Kilbey. She's disappointed she isn't seeing The Church on Sunday night, mostly because she's crap at going to gigs by herself. She's about 95% sure she'd meet people she knows (hello Seancers, I miss you) if she goes and stands up the front, but Toasty ain't so good at that any more.




Toasty admires Steve Kilbey because he's:

A) An amazing poet with depth and delicious irreverence.
B) A vastly underrated bassist of the funkiest degree.
C) Still a big spunk.

Of course the answer is:

D) Yes yes yes, alright, it's all of the above.


The Church sound more and more beautiful as the albums go by... It's so hard to pin down favourites. Well, okay, I can probably narrow it down to about five. It depends on if you want crisp jangle or introverted, layered rhythms...


So anyway, Priest = Aura. Amazing album, sort of conceptual, except there's not really a concept. It just sort of... hangs all together. The band were going through a shitty time and broke up for a while after they toured this album... the tour itself was astounding, though, if you put aside the hissyfits. They came on, they played the album non-stop, full-stop. Fwoar.

Fark! I was just looking at Fipster's gig list. I haven't seen the boys live for about 5 years. I guess that's what having a shitty relationship with an alcoholic ex-junkie and then the sweet Toddler Toasty (the good bit) does for you.

Makes me feel a bit sad and wistful though. I miss my giggy friends. After that relationship I shut myself off from a lot of music, because beauty is too painful. Not because of any particular memories (indeed, it's easy to avoid the music the Millstone liked, because I couldn't STAND a lot of it), more because of raw emotions that music provokes. It just sorta pops out at you, and the next minute you've got a little tear about the loveliness of (for example) a bit of Holst or Wagner or even bleeding Stephane Grappelli noodling around with Don Burrows. And live music! Even more provocative and uncontrollable. Getting over it now, which is great, because I miss the joy of the music I love.

Listening to P=A... all the good times come back...

... Although I think my all-time high for a Church gig was watching them at the Metro touring Hologram of Bal and A Box of Birds. Lawks a Lordy, what a tour. For one night, I dropped a small amount of a mind-altering substance, which isn't my usual state of being for gigs (I prefer these things at a home/party). But I knew I'd be with a top group of people.

It. Was. So. Cool. The boys wore all white and had gels of rainbow colours wheeling and turning behind them. Imagine a fuzzy, bright stained-glass window or squinting into a giant kaleidoscope, guitars chiming, jangling, distorting into a dreamy Wall Of Noise. Fortunately one of the Seance crew took photos from the balconey, which confirmed all this, or I really wouldn't have believed it... Oh my. And the set list was fabulous... they really delivered with Tantalised, which is The. Best. Live. Song. Ever. Except if you're an epileptic. Over ten minutes of high-speed jangle and strobe. Oh baby.

But I digress. This was all about P=A. If you're really lucky, I'll drone on more about The Church again some time. Meanwhile, I'll leave you with some lyrics from P=A... do you know how hard it is to stop at one song? It was going to be Ripple, then the title track (which has one of the sexiest, unrelenting bass lines evah. Good Snogging Music), or Feel, or Mistress, or indeed Paradox, but I just heard Kings, with it's dreamy sweetness and pretty jangle, and couldn't resist.



Kings

See history fade, it's crystal clear
Aurora what you doing here?
Buttering the mouths of thieves
Shutter speed it bleeding leaves

In gardens in the orient
Likelihood is good and spent
Herod nods beneath the palms
Holds poor baby in his arms

Tunis and Sardinia
The ocean growing hungrier
Beneath these walls we'll sleep tonight
Beneath this sky we'll glide so bright

And kings will come, years will pass
Stars burn cold beneath the glass
And days will glow in distant times
In distorted haze the zebras graze

In deserts where the dust storm blows
And lush black swamps where mandrake grows
We're marching laughing to the drum
Waiting for those kings to come

An infant with the voice of a crone
In Nebuchanezzar's parking zone
Calls out my lord your end is nigh
I didn't mean to make you cry

The circus sun in Nero eyes
The lions and the Christians rise
Software sings and hardware hears
We're destined babe to live these years


Live these years indeed. Thanks for all the beautiful noise, boys. I think I better go and join the mailing list again.