Tuesday, April 09, 2013

A ten tonne catastrophe on a 60 lb chain...

Had the remarkable good luck to see Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds this past weekend.  This is one of those moments when you thank whatever cosmic alignment was necessary to bring them to town, and to have them play my current fave venue, the Vogue.

I could go on and on about the reverence I have for Nick Cave.  Don't worry, I won't.  But I will say that the man has an amazing brain - and he is probably one of the strongest lyricists around.  Heck, arguably one of the strongest writers, based on his film work and other writing.  The best singer in the world? Probably not - but his voice is perfectly suited to the material, and he can sell a song like no one else.

A couple of fine examples from two ends of the Bad Seeds spectrum, c/o my frere and his superior videoing skills - first, the lovely Into My Arms (I challenge any other lyricist to work in "interventionist God":

And the EPIC Stagger Lee:

We were so lucky. SO lucky. And really, there isn't much else to say.

Saturday, April 06, 2013

Endings and beginnings

Spring is finally here.  Really here - with cherry trees in bloom and spring bulbs brightening up the garden as everything goes through its annual rebirth.  Life is happening again. For once, I've been feeling that way too.  Optimistic.   Mixed with a surprising level of contentment...all marked with that vibrating, spring-y promise of things to come.  Not really sure what is causing me to feel this way, but I will hang on to it for as long as it lasts - and I'm old enough to know it probably won't be all that long.  

Speaking of rebirth, we finally scattered Dad's ashes today - along with those of two of his canine companions, Chobe and Chaka.   The timing was right - Mum has had his ashes for a couple of years now, and she was ready to let him mix with the water and go back to the earth.

We aren't a family that does well with formal ceremony.  For other families, this could have been grave and solemn.  And to be honest, if Dad had been on the shore scattering one of us, it probably would have been more formal - his upbringing was such that ceremony brought him comfort.  Instead, the ashes were carried down to the beach at Whytecliff Park in a British Butcher Shop bag - something that seemed appropriate to us (after all, you can get Murray Mints at the British Butcher).   The dogs went first, followed by Dad.  As the ashes were scattered, and we watched the grey clouds of ash being mixed and spread by the tide, chased by tulips, the sun started to peek through the grey skies.

It was right.  And a lovely way to say goodbye - again.

(Goodbye that is to all but the layer of Dad that blew back onto Mike's legs - which to be honest, felt right too)