#the world is missing out on the cultural marvel that is the song writing capabilities of mr balasevic

[yugocar]

im in a parasocial relationship with the djordje balasevic official youtube channel

[ugdigital]

INTERVIEW: Renn Tyler: Beautiful Chaos

As we work diligently at reintroducing ourselves into the media world, I spend a lot of time critiquing artists, and determining who I would like to feature within our pages. It’s not always an easy decision. Obviously, the industry is flooded with artists, and we have to be sure any artist being considered fits the concept of our pages, and just that it makes sense. In my recent search, I came across Renn Tyler, and I’m beyond impressed. Renn certainly has what it takes to make it in this industry, and it becomes ever-so-clear at the first listen of her music. By look, she’s not what you would necessarily expect, which h is more reason why you should never judge a book by the cover. Sure, we hear that all the time, but there’s much truth to the idea. You would miss out on an amazing artist here if you took the initial look and ran with it in terms of her capability. No question, she’s beautiful by all standards, yet, she doesn’t have the “typical” hip-hop look. She’s authentic in every sense of the word, and you would be doing yourself a disservice by not giving her a listen. So we had the opportunity to catch up with her, and it’s awesome that we were able to get an interview completed. She’s perfect for our rebranding and relaunch, and I’m excited to have connected with her. We’re also her first interview, which is amazing in itself. Check out the feature below, and be sure to give her a listen. We have an artist page for her here at U.G. Digital as well, so you can definitely hit that page up and listen freely to her music. 

U.G. Digital: First and foremost, I want to thank you. It’s huge, first of all, to connect with you. I think you really have something big, especially with the single “Nada”. I liked it immediately. I don’t say that about many today, and I’m in this place where I’m not necessarily the biggest fan anymore. Honestly, I’m stuck in the 90s and early 00s. I drive uber as a side hustle, and many of my passengers marvel at the music I play because it’s often more than 20 years old. It’s a little refreshing that you’ve come along, and have something that I’m eager to play. You sound authentic, and I believe it’s a good look. We’re in a bit of a reinvention stage, even though we’re seven years in, and you’re that perfect look for us. I appreciate that so much.

Renn Tyler: Yes, thank you as well. 

U.G. Digital: So the first thing I want you to do is tell everyone who you are?

Renn Tyler: I am Renn Tyler. I’m a rapper and an artist in so many different areas. I like to dabble in all sorts of things, so whatever I’m into at the moment, I just get it done. I’ve always been unapologetically myself. That’s kinda like my mission. We’re all so unique and powerful on our own. People spend so much time trying to define themselves, and I want to encourage people to do that. 

U. G. Digital: I like what you said. You said you were “unapologetically yourself”. What fans want is somebody that puts out the music they love of course, but more importantly someone they can relate to, whose life resembles theirs, and so on. They have the same ideals, or same principles. In the last few months, I’ve been in this place where it’s like “F” everybody, I’m unapologetically me, and whoever doesn’t like it, whatever. That resonates with people. 

Renn Tyler: Right. 

U.G. Digital: You were a poet before. What took you to rap?

Renn Tyler: I’ve always been a fan. It’s always been there, but I never believed in myself as far as being that artist. I just remember going to a spoken word event, and being completely awe-struck over the spoken word and the ability to communicate through story-telling and put it to a beat. What pushed me over to rap was meeting James and Darren. It was like a snowball effect. 

U.G. Digital: I think I’ve been a huge fan  rap, R&B, soul, rock, alternative, and just a lot of different music for my entire lite. Rap was where it started for me though. I’ve also been into the diversity of hip-hop and the fact that everyone who raps is not black. There’s always this idea of somebody being a culture vulture when visibly they’re not really a part of the culture or when they’re not black, but I really look more at how organic it is though. I would imagine, though, that people judge you just by the look, without even hearing you. What has been the feedback that you get as you go out and you’re introduced to people as a rapper? Do you get the side eyes?

Renn Tyler: Yea, I think it’s still foreign for me to call myself a rapper, and I’m hesitant for that reason. In the end, that is what I’m doing though. I haven’t gotten any crazy looks though. Nothing has been too disheartening. Mostly its people who have heard me or know me already. I’m kinda like a wild card, so no one is surprised that I’m doing it. 

U.G. Digital: As crazy as society can be, I think things are changing slowly. Everyone has their own experience, and many people grow up with rap now. 

Renn Tyler: Right. 

U.G. Digital: Talk about the material you’ve been putting together?

Renn Tyler: We have a couple other songs already recorded. I write everyday. I’m always writing, so there is so much material out there that’s all influenced by my life. I don’t think there’s anything written that is not an honest experience. 

U.G. Digital: I have such an appreciation for the artist that talks about a day job (laughing)

Renn Tyler: Yea, we gotta pay bills too [laughing]

U.G. Digital: Right, but it’s just cool to know that we’re all on the same page. I have many jobs, so I know the whole thing with it (laughing). 

Renn Tyler: Yea, for sure. 

U.G. Digital: I think it’s cool though. I love what you have put out. What do you feel you want to represent as an artist?

Renn Tyler: Like I said, just being unapologetically yourself, but I also want to encourage young women. It’s so hard to be a young girl in this society. I want girls to look at me and say that’s what I had when I was younger. I want to give back in that way. So being who I am, self expression, and communicating through storytelling. Being able to take that to the next level and make music is great. I’m communicating my experience which is therapeutic for me, but they take it in however they do and it becomes therapeutic for them. I love that exchange and it’s the power and importance of life. You’re not alone and other people have gone through what you’re going through. 

U.G. Digital: I love the poetic side of it. When you think of your Jill Scotts, and many others, this is something that’s definitely being done. What are your thoughts on hip hop and its current state when it comes to women? How can you help?

Renn Tyler: I think it’s going in a good direction and I’m excited. Everyone has their own brand and it feels natural. All these dope women are making the music they want, and they can be sexy when they want. I think it’s moving in a cool direction. 

U.G. Digital: That’s dope. I ask that because there’s so many women who are phenomenal, and they struggle so bad to work together. They’ve lost a lot of respect in the industry, and it seems like it’s moving backwards. 

Renn Tyler: I think we’re coming to that place of being organic and genuine. We used to want the larger than life artists, like Brittany Spears, but now we want to know the artist is just like us. Why do you ask? Do you think it’s going backwards?

U.G. Digital: What I think is the respect is gone. You have so many dope women, and they’re constantly at each others’ necks, for wthings that seem ridiculous. It’s changed a lot of the new dynamic that was forming for them in past years. I think you have the Queen Latifahs, and the Monie Loves, and so many other females in rap who have worked so hard to not only make it more inclusive of women, but to build the respect level for women, and you have women today who are so brash, rough, and unapologetic about it, and it’ ruining the work that was done.  I look at the stuff with Nicki and Cardi, and to me, there was no point in it. They have their own styles, and are both dope, but they’re killing the game with their nonsense and it overshadows the music, which truthfully is what fans really want. It makes people pay less attention to the woman herself, and look more at the unnecessary stuff. Like Missy Elliott has this new EP out which is super dope, and I feel like it’s totally being slept on. 

Renn Tyler: That’s so true. That speaks to the nature, like people want information so bad. They don’t respect it as much. I agree as far as the beefing too. Women are so powerful, and when they get together that power is insane. 

U.G. Digital: So what are your plans as far as releasing more material?

Renn Tyler: Yea, we have a remix that is being worked on right now, and I’m excited for that. Then I’ll take care of the music video. 

U.G. Digital: I’m excited for you. I dig that we are your first interview too. I also appreciate how prepared you are today. You sound like a complete natural at interviewing. I think its definitely your time. How can people keep up with you online?

Renn Tyler: On instagram, I’m at @bulletproofteeth. That’s normally what I’m on. I also do fashion design, and hand embroidery. 

U.G. Digital: I think it’s super dope. Thank you so much. Any final comments?

Renn Tyler: My single is out everywhere, buy it on iTunes and all online retailers, including Tidal, Spotify, and so forth. Make some Tik Tok videos to it. I would really appreciate that (laughing). 

[jeff3]

Haiku Birthday

J.D. Hayes-Canell

The girl with eyes akimbo

keeps her face aimed at the floor

Pigeon toed on knocking knees

she crab walks towards the door

2/19/95

The Party’s Over

Pumpkins smashed upside down in a ditch

X-mas trees brown at the end of driveways

Dried turkey skeletons for everyone.

Eggshells dyed in the trash

Crumpled valentines skitter in the wet wind

Past the charred firecracker corpses and sparklers black and barren.

Everyone has gone home

there’s the trash to take out.

3/8/95

Ethereal Espresso

I live vicariously as you, in sweat and heterosex.

Beat ghosts lie upon the pages snapping phantom fingers

chanting “Cool, cool”.

They sip ethereal espresso and groove jazz

while you and Kerouak trade lies in a duel

like sex.

12/23/94

Reptile Season

It’s the night, x-mas time.

The city sheds it drab grey skin 

and breaks out in livid spots.

12/25/94

Warm wind caressing

Brings the scent of coming rain

Robins herald Spring. 

201203.07

HAIKU BIRTHDAY

You wake, stretch and yawn

So today is your birthday

Different but the same. 

201203.07

I write without ink on no paper 

I read a book with no pages

I call on a phone with no dial, no buttons. 

What is reality?

3/20/12

Blossom scented breeze

New green of young grass growing

My backyard in Spring. 

4/18/12

Words. Nothing but words

Convey all meaning, mine, yours,

A haiku birthday. 

4/18/12

For Marie, Patricia, Seth and Marci

This spring has come with no green. 

It is barren dust and somber ash watered by a harsh bitter rain. 

Wilted blossoms and rank weeds greet my steps, crows utter curses rough and jagged to my ears. 

5/15/2012. 

Disney Life

I don't lead a Disney life

Filled with twittering birds

And animate inanimate objects. 

I don't have it like Peter Pan

Sitting out adulthood on a whim

Waiting for the tick-tock of adventure to start. 

But I've wished upon a star. 

1/11/13

What We Wanted For You

(For Ryan)

A time ago, when we were young 

We smiled and planned. 

We were going to feed you on laughter

We were going to pour you glasses of knowledge, all that we knew. 

We were children then, 

Knowing only what we knew of life, 

Wanting to give it all to you,

Wanting you to join in the fun that was our world. 

That is what we wanted for you, the madness & the love,

The mayhem & the laughs. 

Only you know if we succeeded. 

1/11/13

Table Exiting the Long Room

You called me one day 

To say you were dying. 

Don't cry, you said

I won't I said. 

I didn't. Not then, not yet. 

I wanted to, but I'm waiting. 

Ray scattered your ashes in

Rockwood. 

I know the place, it's where I plan to cry

It's where I will remember 

your laugh

Your love

Your heart

That crooked smile you had when you were up to something

The look on your face when you would knock on my door

Asking to stay because whatever

Woman you were with had kicked you out again. 

Wish you were still here

so I could say hi just one more time. 

201209.23

Day After

It's the day after Sandy 

New York is powerless

New Jersey is scandalous 

Upstate we're watching the winds feeling the rain 

but the lights are still on. 

Hawaiillusion

Snow piles behind the panes

Kept at bay by walls and propane. 

Rocking sleepy in my chair,

Cat lapped, cozy in my sweater. 

On tv scenes of beach sand 

awash in seawater & weeds

Beside me tropical plants doze in their pots. 

Aloha. 

201212.22

 There are moments in life when we are capable of anything...

The body at the bottom of the stairs. 

201112.22

Death Came Visiting in May. 

Saw some of my friends, 

called on some of my relatives. 

He turned no one down, 

snubbed neither the poor nor middle class,

Grinned as he passed us by to give my brother in law his last ride. 

I hope he goes elsewhere for his summer vacation.

201206.11

Music in my Clothes Seems like Saturday Night.  

I was so possible that I had to be built on incomprehensibility. 

I do not panic...I smile. 

201302.14

Butterfly Storms

My soul is taut, it needs to bend and flow, to expand and contract, to fly free and to rest gently. 

It yearns to skip lightly through the aether, gathering the whims and hopes, the ghosts of dreams unfulfilled 

billowing out, blessing all with peace and love. 

201310.09

Cat hair & Dust bunnies. 

Lying on the valley floor with wheeling stars above

Rain touching feather soft the grass

Tell him I asked, I asked you why

The only answer: the rain. 

201407.03

By The Light Of A Robot's Eyes

I hold a virtual image of you in my mind but it fades, pixel by pixel. my heart yearns to hang on yearns to hold on to wisps, to fog.   

In the silent dusk my mind slowly draws to a close.

201306.30

Always Kiss Me Goodnight

There are times you drive me virtually mad

With all the craziness you do. 

There are times you are so furious you lose control and rant from the insanity of my life. 

But when you're gone. 

When the dust settles. 

When the silence falls. 

And all I've ever wanted was for you to shut up for five minutes!

I miss you more than anyone,

more than anything

and though I know how to live alone

I can't bear it without you.

201311.29

Hotel Kitchen @ One am. 

Ralph Kramden Was a Bus Driver

Thusly we come to know

That some doors remain forever closed 

and we are held bound to our fate 

By chains we forged with pieces of our souls. 

201311.29

Flotsam

I'm just passing through

You're just passing through 

It's how we live

How we are

Passing through time, space the lives of those we meet

The things we think are real are transient 

The things we think are solid are dust.

Liquid flows

Time flows

And we are fascinated by the firelight shadows on the cavern's wall.   201404.13

MAYA

A clear voice that sprung from silence sorrow shame

A voice which gave hope love and peace to many

A voice which encouraged never scorned

A voice of freedom and compassion

A voice as clear as hope

A voice as strong as love

Has drifted softly into silence once more. 

201405.28

First Day

Summer wind paper napkin plastic bag dance swirling pirouettes about each other, about the sidewalk, about my feet. 

Walking down the hill I join the dance. 

201406.23

Dance of the Lightening Bugs

It's no secret

How the universe turns

It's no marvel to me why life must spin

and spin and spin

Rumpelstiltskin super novas blossom as they whirl and I, 

I long to cry. 

201407.03

Where Did The Words Go

Out of mouths through the ears and away

We wasted time wasted breath wasted life with words

Let them twist us turn us scorch us burn us

Let them touch us bathe us help us save us

Life and time molded distance carved caverns

Perhaps they fled there. 

201407.04

Staying Strangers

Alone together

How we travel through our lives cocooned in iPads iPods 

Idontwanttoknow, selfmusic 

selfmovies selfphones selfish 

Insulated from the now

From each other 

from life. 

Thrown together by happenstance 

By circumstance by chance

We retreat hibernate

Back away from all of us

And into ourselves. 

It will come to no good. 

201407.19

Watching Shakespeare on TV

The commons chatter aimlessly 

While culture and wisdom play before them content in its own self showing no ego in its teaching, ever teaching by its own example

And still the hairless monkeys jabber. 

201407.20 

Soft Dog

When I die 

all the things that I have gathered

Will be scattered to the winds

All the kisses I have known 

Will blow away Never to return

And all that I have said or done 

Shall pass into memories

Held in a drawer

Or a book. 

When you die

All the things that you have gathered 

Will scatter

And no one will ever know

How you felt today. 

201408.04

Tender is the time

  We spend just lying side by side

Nowhere to go, no place to be     

  But where we are. 

Softly our two hearts

  Beating in time to the song of our souls

Open to each other, and we smile

  Because we are one. 

Soon our time is spent

  We slip apart, away and back to normal

A small ache for the parting hour

And our tender times. 

201408.07

Summer thunder crashes taking the ears by storm hissing cats and dogs fall pouncing on the ground making puddles lightening squalls across the sky black cloudy growls slowly fade and soon the mice come out to play. 

201408.17

My new shoes feel good 

I like how they hold my feet.

A year from now they’ll be old shoes,

And I will have forgotten

How they felt

In the days of the old shoes

201403.16

Way back when I used to wake up early mornings 

When weekends were like Christmas and summer lasted forever

When we were good guys or bad guys and our heroes were on tv

When problems were small things that grown-ups could solve

And kisses made it all better.

When did those days slip into greater worries, into times of grey

With nothing clear or sure.

No going back, no returns, no panacea for the soul

Just a voice, a fading echo which claims “You’re it.”

201807.07

My soul longs for the peace of a monastery 

The whispers of the hermit’s cave.

It calls out in silent plea for solace from the din, parting from the throng.

But I don’t know where to turn, how to take that step

And I’m afraid to be alone.

201807.07

Things his mother made;

Christmas things made by a loving hand for her son.

She’s long since passed away but he held those memories close.

Now he is gone as well, unexpectedly pulled from my life and all I have are memories

And these things his mother made

3/11/2019

I’m tired of the sorrow and the sadness

The explosive burst of tears and the creeping clutch of emptiness.

I don’t know why you had to go,

I will never know

You were always full of love and I was not

I never stopped guarding my heart against this very thing

I never stopped building walls against this very day 

And when it happened

When the end for you came

The barriers melted, the walls crumbled 

and all they kept out was you

3/11/2019

I was looking at our garden today.

I know its winter and everything is brown.

But between the deer and the rabbits

They killed the growing dreams we had; the roses, the willow tree.

I laughed when you brought it home

“We live on a sand dune” I said, “A willow won’t grow here.”

But it did, for the whole of spring and summer it survived.

But not this winter, very little survived this winter.

3/11/2019 

[lindoig]

Days 51 to 55 - Borroloola Eastward

Friday was mainly spent in and around the caravan, working on our blogs and photos, a bit of cooking, paying bills, reading (yes, in the daytime) – and I wrote a bit more of my diatribe about Australia’s non-democracy.  It still needs some editing and I’m not sure what to do with it even when finished, but at least I feel a little ‘purged’ for having written down some of the things that have exercised my frustration over many years.  I have a list of topics that I would like to write about at some time, but it takes discipline and I am feeling that my current level of personal freedom doesn’t lend itself so easily to that much discipline.

In the evening, we went to the Malandarri aboriginal festival at the Borroloola Showgrounds. It was a real family event and whities were very welcome too. We watched quite a few groups of aboriginal women and girls (no males at all) doing some traditional dances – and there were also performances by an Indian and an Islander woman that were very different from the aboriginal dances. There were several food stalls there – a couple of BBQ places and cakes and drinks – as well as some art and craft stalls.  There were probably 50 or 60 whites there and maybe 4 or 5 times that many aboriginals and it was all a lot of fun.  The kids (scads of them) were running around and having a ball, all very excited and enjoying the dances with the rest of us – especially the more athletic and colourfully-costumed Indian and Islander ones.  I think the Islander woman may have been one of their teachers and they all adored her and everyone danced together at the end of the night.  It was only 8.30 when it finished, but until we got there, we didn’t realise that the main event was actually scheduled for Saturday afternoon and evening so we decided to stay on for another day so we could enjoy the additional celebration.  The food was pretty normal western stuff, but there was supposed to be a variety of bush tucker and traditional fare available on Saturday and we wanted to sample that too.

The gates opened for the festival at 2pm on Saturday so we went down there a bit after 3pm only to find nothing happening.  We ended up sitting in the car reading for a couple of hours before people started arriving so we went in and still stood around for over an hour before anything looked like getting under way.  I got our chairs out of the car and we set ourselves up in a good possy so we could see everything.  People then set up in front of us, so we moved in front of them and so it went.  In the end, there seemed always to be kids and/or people with cameras in front of us so if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.  We sat for a few minutes, then jumped up to take some photos, retreated to our chairs and did it all again.

There were traditional aboriginal dances from each of the four clans/language groups as well as the extremely energetic Indian and Islander dancers from the night before.  They each performed two or three times during the evening as well as dancing with a large group of kids that they had apparently been workshopping with in the previous few days.  There was also a Fijian group that did a very impressive traditional war dance and this time, some of aboriginal groups included some men whose dancing were more active and vigorous, but it was the aboriginal women dancing that really puzzled me. There were quite a lot of dancers in eachgroup, but they seemed to my uneducated eye to be almost identical and with no apparent objective.  Each group consisted of a line of women, it looked like the oldest first down to quite young girls, some needing some help from an older sister or mother.  When the music/singer started, they seemed to do little more than shuffle along in single file for perhaps 30 seconds, then stop and have a chat or a giggle - and after a while the music would begin again and after further discussion (almost seemed like an argument at times), off they would go again - and this process was repeated 4 or 5 times for each 'dance'.  For most of them, all the dancers held a white ribbon or scarf at 45 degrees to the vertical (and 45 degrees to the horizontal, both at the same time!!)  To me, all the music/chanting also sounded the same, but I am sure it meant something special in the local languages.  There was no explanation for those of us who were uninitiated (both figuratively and literally) and although their families seemed hugely impressed by each dance, I was left wondering what in the world it was all about.

Things moved along reasonably quickly with lots of group, each performing up to about 6 or 7 dances interspersed with the Indian, Islander and Fijian group doing their Bollywood, Hula Hula and War Dance to liven things up. All in all, it was an experience that I would not have missed, even if I came away more mystified than ever about what dance is all about.  Most people love to dance and some form of dance seems to be part of every culture.  Alas, I just don’t understand why.

I am not a dancer.  In primary school, we were compelled to learn some dancing of which I now have virtually no recollection beyond that of horror.  It was embarrassing, we had to touch the hands of girls (probably worse, boys too, but I can't remember), and I hated every dreadful second with a passion. Once I got a LOT older, I didn't mind touching girls' hands but I still can't jive, do the waltz, the tango, the twist or any of the other dances people seem to enjoy.  My mind can hold the tune (if there is one) and sometimes the beat, but my body is simply not capable of complying with the requirements of whatever the music suggests to other people. After a few whiskeys, if the hour is late and music is slow enough, I can almost manage the Clutch and Stagger or the Grope and Grind, but that is my absolute limit.

Having said that, dance fascinates me in a somewhat scientific way, at least some forms of dance, specifically ballet and modern dance.  I marvel at the performers who seem to defy the laws of physics - and I am invariably nonplussed by how they do it.  They perform an axel or a pirouette or a cabriole and hang in the air for much longer than seems consistent with my understanding of gravity.  They leap and traverse heights and distances that must surely break Olympic records. They move at speeds and contort into shapes that are clearly non-human, almost mystical, quite beyond anything that fits within my sense of feasibility.  Bodies curl and straighten in ways that seem possible only if the dancers’ bones were completely flexible.  I see it with my own eyes, but still find it hard to believe.  It is beautiful, elegant, graceful – and baffling. I enjoy watching dance, but it is more an exercise for my mind than something I could use to exercise my body.

Back to the festival, the night ended with four different local indigenous bands playing a bracket of songs, mostly original compositions, some a bit political, but much more western in style.  We stayed for the first two bands, but left about 10pm so I imagine it would have been a pretty late night for some people.

Sunday, we packed up and went to Hell.  Well, not quite, but we got as far as the Gate – and stayed overnight.  Hells Gate is a roadhouse about 300km east of Borroloola, just inside Queensland.  We approached it with a little trepidation on two accounts.  We had been warned how badly the road deteriorated once we crossed the border – and it did, but not that much – and a good bit of the road was bitumen anyway.  And I imagined the roadhouse to be dry and desolate like Nullarbor or Caiguna. Instead, it was a lush green oasis, everything damp from the automatic sprinklers scattered around the extensive lawn area, good amenities, clean with plenty of good water: not at all Hells Gate-ish!  And the birds – everywhere!  From Borroloola, we had seen very few birds until we got to about 10 clicks short of the border and from then on, we have seen thousands. We even clicked over the 200 mark on our trip-count. It is currently 204 species, including 35 new ticks for us since leaving home.  One species we haven’t seen a lot of was the grey-crowned babblers, but there was a group of them at Hells Gate.  They are always in groups, maybe 6 to 12 or 15 when we have seen them, and there were 8 in the family at HG.  They are extremely gregarious, always busy, chattering constantly to each other, chasing and scratching and staying closely in touch with the group. There was a mirror on the wall outside the ablutions and a couple of the babblers saw two intruders to their group in the mirror and immediately flew up and made a huge racket, pecking and babbling and trying to get to know (or chase off) the two strangers.  They gave up after a while, but returned to the fray 2 or 3 times before we finished packing up and leaving.  It was highly comical and it got us wondering about what was happening in their bird-brains.

We had particularly wanted to do the trip out east because it would enable us to have travelled the entire length of the Savannah Way from Cairns to Broome by the time we get to the west coast.  We have done Burketown to Cairns a couple of times before, but it is an iconic Aussie road-trip and we wanted to do all 3699km of it.  A lot of what we have travelled so far has been true savannah country, metre high grassland with sparsely distributed trees and little or no scrub.  Along this part of the track, there were some pretty impressive rocky outcrops, flat ridges with a tumble of giant stones down the slopes, mainly in vivid reds and oranges, but nearly always being swallowed up in the grass at the foot of the ranges.

The drive through to Burketown was uneventful although I had woken with a sore throat that got worse as we went along and was joined by a headache later in the day.  We set up in the caravan park early in the afternoon and went exploring.  There is not a lot to see, but we drove 6km out to the Albert River and found about a dozen caravans set up out there for the fishing.  It was a bit like we expected HG to be – hot, dry and desolate, eroded salt-flats along the bank and prominent threats of crocs posted, but the hardy fisherpeople were poised waiting for conditions to be just right for them to cast a line and hope for another barra.  (Burketown is touted as the Barra Capital of Queensland.)

We retreated to our happy hour and the comfort of our air conditioner and waited for the hotel kitchen to open to go and enjoy a hearty pub meal.  When walking through the bar, I got button-holed by an aboriginal guy, mildly tipsy I suspect, who asked quite a few questions about us and then ask if he could record me. ��He is apparently involved with the local ABC radio and wanted to do a programme including an interview with one of the southerners who was visiting town.  I managed to dodge the issue by emphasising the urgency with which I needed the Cowboys Corral and that my wife and meal were waiting for my return to the dining room.

We frequently change our plans as we go along and this time has been no exception.  We had expected to stay overnight in Burketown then return on the same route until somewhere past Cape Crawford, but during the day, we decided to head south to Camooweal and back along the Barkley Highway for a few hundred clicks.  Unfortunately, that plan failed too because I am still feeling pretty rotten and Heather woke up with some of the same symptoms this morning so we have decided to have a very easy day in the hope of a quick recovery.  I am spending the day in bed – not easy for me – and Heather is taking it a bit easy, but still up and doing a little bit of hand washing and cleaning, etc.  Hopefully, Heather will be fine and I will be feeling better tomorrow and we will be on our way again, albeit initially 300+km south before turning west as originally planned for today.

[ton-coconutfrost]

What It Means Like To Love A Musician.

“Without music, life would be a mistake.” ~ Friedrich Nietzsche When you fall in love with a musician, it will wash over your insides like a force you’ve never known. You will marvel at its impact and find yourself changed in its wake. What was that? you’ll ask, and there he’ll be: your very own, bonafide music-maker. You’ll fall for his presence, his charisma and confidence. You’ll feel powerful and sensual and creative when he’s near, like glitter has been embedded into everything in your waking consciousness—quite suddenly, you will see the world how it was meant to be seen. For if ever there was a connection to the ethereal, therein music lies the conduit. A musician doesn’t leave music on the stage, that’s his special power: it pumps through miles of veins. Stretched end to end, his veins and arteries can wrap the globe, so it’s no wonder that his very pulse stirs you so. As he moves through rooms, it fills the space around him. As he sits still, it buzzes over skin. Music is in his heart, his speech, his gait and his smile. That’s what you’ll fall for. And if you’re lucky enough to find a music-maker who is kind and intelligent and witty beyond his charm, you’ll hold onto him. You’ll wonder where he came from and why the universe chose you of all people to be his. You are the musician’s wife—you are as backstage as it gets. You’ll bear witness to madness and magic. The life of a musician is a many-fabled thing. He spends more time driving, handling gear and waiting than he does playing, partying or tending to fans. Fettered by a battered van, stretches of highway and rest stop after florescent-lit rest stop, the musician knows boredom as intimately as adventure. But to see him off on these experiences—tedious or incredible as they may be—will weigh heavily on your heart. You will say goodbye to him again and again; at first, it will seem easy, and soon after, impossible. Your heart will tighten days before his departure, protesting as forcefully as she can. You’ll face resentment and a fear you didn’t know you could harbor. You will feel stupid for being so sad and despise yourself for not being stronger—but gone is gone, no matter how many miles separate you, and you prefer him here. You will learn though, that you don’t have to fear the road. Anticipation will outweigh the absence. You’ll feel the distances extend and recoil as he weaves across the country—that’s how connected to his heart you will be. So to love a musician, you must learn to be alone. You’ll be the man of the house in his leave. You’ll take out the trash. You’ll fix things, you’ll cook, you’ll clean. This will be necessary. When he’s on the road, you will attend soccer games, run school drop-offs and pick-ups, read bedtime stories and do nighttime tuck-ins alone. You won’t stop from the moment you wake up to the moment you sleep. You’ll wonder how much you are capable of handling, then realize it doesn’t matter much because these things have to be done. This is what it takes to love a musician—these are the ways you support a dream. You’ll hoard moments to share. You’ll be prepared when you receive that quick-phone call; but when the moment comes, you’ll feel rushed and silly and ill-equipped to make him understand that life at home is wonderful, but he is conspicuously absent. You’ll choose words delicately—he needs to know he’s missed without arousing guilt. You’ll stumble a bit when you follow his tour narratives with domestic odds and ends that feel small and unimportant in comparison. But you’ll understand over time: there is no such thing as unimportant. Tour will exhaust him and he’ll forget what normal feels like. You are his normal, and he needs to be reminded of you. After a few dozen farewells, you’ll begin to appreciate it more: the quiet, the freedom to watch as many old movies as you and your cat can stay awake for. You’ll use sleepless hours to write and sip tea and think about the future you’re making with your music-maker. When your eyelids grow heavy in the earliest hours of the morning, you’ll button up the house—checking and double checking that you and your children are safe for this night. You’ll retire to a big, empty bed with cool sheets. You’ll sleep a little closer to his side. You’ll imagine crawling into his shirt pocket and you’ll button yourself up, close to his heart. Your own heart will unfold like truth while you dream; she’ll speak to the stars on your behalf, asking them to erase the miles between you. And when he returns home from the road, you’ll follow him around the house like you haven’t seen him in years. Like you’re sure that at any moment he might disappear before your eyes. You’ll appreciate all over again what the house feels like when it’s infused with his music. You’ll notice details: the way he stands, the way he positions his body while he cooks—always weighted a little more to the left. You’ll notice the way he smiles when he talks about band pranks, great rooms and memorable fans. It means late nights—impossibly late nights. But when he’s home, late nights mean hours of laughter—to the point of tears—and intense conversation. You’ll solve problems big and small. You’ll talk about your kids, about human nature, about culture and science. You’ll make connections between his knowledge of music and your knowledge of literature. You’ll talk about his career—you’ll know his thoughts and options so intimately, you’ll treasure them as your own. You’ll know not to base successful nights on money-earned, but on attendance, reception, on how the room felt. Because it is the craft that matters. Hone the craft and the rest will follow. You must trust the process—more fervently than even him. Love a musician and love the unpredictable, the chaotic and the untraditional. Loving a musician means loving his work, even when it’s inconvenient, even when it isn’t lucrative, even when it seems crazy, illogical, impractical. Understand that without the art he is not whole. Abandoning the craft would be abandoning a very piece of himself—the most honest piece he has. Offering your heart to this man means knowing that the 30 minutes of practice, the 15 minutes of Youtube research, the not-talking during the four-minute song he chose for the car ride, these minutes matter. They’re the meditation, the grounding, the breath required to sustain a healthy sense of connection. Time changes; you must accept open-ended timelines and an inability to commit to long-off engagements. Appointment times, lunch times, meet-for-coffee times are soft suggestions when you’re running on musician time. Love doesn’t necessarily translate to traditions like marriage and honeymoons, because ‘tradition’ will take second seat to exploration and expansion. If this isn’t a deal-breaker, you’ll have a wild, beautiful, intense romance with your music man. You’ll celebrate each other without ceremony (again and again and again). You’ll experience passion and spontaneity alongside depression and heavy contemplation. The art will abuse you as it abuses him, but then he’ll be rewarded with a breakthrough of any degree and you’ll both forget that anything was difficult. Ever. To love a musician, you must share him. You must share him with the brothers he call bandmates. These brothers are undeniable family—family that loves, family that bickers—and you’ll take comfort that they’re on the road together. You must share your musician with total strangers too. This can be difficult, but hold it in your heart that he returns to this home, always. And the time you invested in having the space he returns to tidy won’t go unnoticed. When he drops his travel bags to the floor for the cat to investigate, when he removes his shoes with animated grunts and sits on the couch you’ve watched a million movies together on, he’ll sigh deep from his belly and you’ll know he has been waiting for this moment since the minute he left. He’ll be home and you’ll smile and laugh and kiss that kind of over-the-moon, I-can’t-get-enough-of-your-taste kind of kiss. You’ll laugh and say, that was crazy, right? But you made it. This life is crazy, but you’d hate to know crazy with anyone but him, even on the worst days. Because he makes your crazy seem less crazy—somehow tolerable, or normal, or incredible. And you’ll look in his eyes and say, I love your crazy and miss it when you’re gone. He’s here and you both made it. Just like you made the last run work, the last few years, the growing pains, the sadness, the tired days and nights. Just like you made it through the band changes, the band break-ups, the sacrifices required for success. drummer, music, manAnd when he plays close to your home, it will be essential to get out to see him. This might seem silly, as it’s part of the reason you fell in love with him after all. As years pass, you’ll accept that you can’t make it to every show, and you’ll grow comfortable in your routine. You must make the effort; you must always make the effort to go out and see the magic—the gold he spins from simple wool. While you watch, you’ll fall in love again. You’ll feel so much pride that your rib cage will splinter trying to contain it. You’ll be so in love with him that you’ll hardly be able to wait to get him home that night, where you’ll stop sharing and selfishly devour him instead. After the load-out is complete, and you make the sleepy drive home, you’ll realize you aren’t so worried about sex after all. All that matters is that this man, your man, is lying next to you. The man that crowd watched is home safe and he’s drifting as you drift to that heart space between waking hours. The next morning, you’ll go about your day. You’ll sip coffee and write a little. You’ll listen for the sound of his footsteps on your bedroom floor, but they won’t come. Loving a musician means falling in love with morning hours because those will be yours—for a musician will chase sleep as fiercely as he chases success. He won’t know it, but you’ll watch him sleep. You’ll smile as he turns over and you’ll listen to the cadence in his breath. In his lifetime, there will be good shows and there will be bad shows. Just like you’ll have happy-lover days and bad-lover days. So long as you remember that you love each other, so long as you remind him that he loves to play, all will be right in due time. You’ll find excitement like you’ve never known and frustration like you’ve never felt. You will experience life in neon. You’ll hate everything about this life, only to contradict yourself a moment later with crippling gratitude because you’re so in love with this man and the life he’s brought with him. When you love him, impossibilities and all, you are an unsung hero. You will not be cheered on by the throngs of fans, but you and he will know how you salvaged his career, just by being there. And when foundations crumble, you will save him again. And when spirits wane, you will save him again. You are the clean-up crew, the architect, the engineer, the muse. You are the partner of a musician, a sometimes-preposterous feat. You will—through loving him—know an unshakeable love. And on the good days, your happiness will permeate the darkest crevices of this insane life. Your ability to celebrate one another will explode any doubt you’ve ever had and you’ll dance together as the smithereens fall around you like confetti. This is love, you will exclaim to the world—and anyone who looks in on you will know it is so. Relephant reads: Sara Crolick