A STUDIO IN WEST BRUNSWICK

There is a recording studio in the heart of West Brunswick that sits in the backyard of a man called Lachlan Wooden. It looks, for all intents and purposes, like a single vehicle garage; a clever suburban ruse that hides the treasures that are revealed when you walk through the door.

Lachlan, owner and engineer, has lovingly lined this garage with wood and cloth, built a sound proof booth with salvaged glass and doors from a defunct major recording studio and made and hung purpose built wooden sculptures that make sure everything recorded there sounds kind to the performer.

He has a sophisticated set up of preamps housed in shelves he's made from recycled timber, an old Yamaha mixing desk, and old a tape deck he bought online that warms everything that runs through the leads and preamps to the protools set up on his computer.

He gets hold of good microphones to record the sounds, he makes everyone feel welcome and he's on board from the word go as if he were a committed member of the band or team. He also brews a mean beer that he offers from the taps of his homemade bar. He's also a family man with a gorgeous brood of girls including his warm, friendly wife, Ange. They're currently cooking another kid due in March.

I used to live next door to Lachlan and Ange.

It's been great hanging out in West Brunswick these last three days. It always feels a little bit like visiting a mate's cubby house when I hang out with Lach in his studio. My friends Greg Craske(Double Bass) and Emily Hayes(Backing Vocals) and my daughter, Ella (Backing Vocals) joined Lach and I this weekend just gone to track what is turning out to be a pretty gorgeous album which I can't wait for you to hear.

We've recorded all the ukulele tracks, all of the guitars, all the double bass tracks, and the lead and backing vocals. Only got some overdubbing to do including a few more voices on the chorus of "The West Brunswick Boat" song, a couple of harmonica tracks, some clarinet, my "legitimate" main classical instrument all through high school, glockenspiel, piano and we're thinking about bunging a hammond organ on a track or two as well. Probably another day and a half's worth of recording work.

Then mixing, mastering and printing. I reckon it'll be ready for you at the end of February.

In the meantime, have a sneak listen to a rough mix of the title track, "West Brunswick" and enjoy some pics from our studio sessions on the weekend (I realise I'm not in any of them. Next lot, eh?!) Not the best quality of the photos - not sure why!

A SUBURBAN DREAM

I grew up in Blackburn North in the eastern suburbs of Melbourne. It wasn't one of those privileged suburbs like Camberwell or Hawthorn, although people from Blackburn proper would probably argue otherwise.

It was a suburb where dads went out to work and mums stayed home and looked after their children. It was a suburb where families went to church each Sunday and alcoholics lived in six out of the ten houses in my court.

It was a suburb where children were asked regularly to hop into stranger's cars, eccentrics wandered about the streets shaking their red Shirley Temple curls as they talked to someone only they could see and the occasional flasher unzipped their trousers to unsuspecting high school girls walking along Cootamundra Way on their way home.

It was a suburb where the occasional school boy murdered his father and got away with it until one of his 16 year old accomplices, who helped moved the body from the woodpile when it started to reek, turned himself into the police 15 years later.

It was a regular suburb in the mortgage belt of Melbourne inhabited by a mix of office and factory workers from all over the world living their suburban dream.

I was no different. I also had a suburban dream; to live in Carlton where students were educated enough to have grand thoughts and musicians played in hotels. A place where I too could be a "real" musician.

When I "grew up" I moved to a share house in Lygon street that was owned by the Catholic church. I shared the house with my sister and her partner, a chef and two actors from the VCA. Rent was $30.00 each a week. But we all know what happened to Carlton. The educated students got good jobs and bought the houses they used to rent and gentrified the place which pushed the house prices and rents up and pushed me over to West Brunswick.

Don't kid yourself by thinking West Brunswick was some hip inner city suburb 20 years ago. It wasn't. I was back in the suburbs again a little more west than Blackburn North but in a place where people from all over the world lived, where the neighbours were friendly and sometimes, if you were really lucky, you got to live in a street where you could make an album with your neighbours and fulfil your suburban dream.

My dream becomes a little more real for on December 5th, 6th, 7th and 8, myself and a group of very close mates, including my best friend Emily, my Viking Warrior, my Wangaratta mate Luke, my musical buddy Greg, sound engineer extraordinaire and mate Lachlan and my daughter Ella are going to record a homage to the suburbs, "West Brunswick".

The album will be launched in house concerts in around the Northern Suburbs of Melbourne including West Brunswick, Regional Victoria, ACT and NSW and maybe even QLD.

But first, I'd like to share a Suburban Dream at my house.

If you'd like to share a Suburban Dream at your house, drop me a line at yarrabinrecords@gmail.com, and I'll come and play a West Brunswick house concert for you and your mates.

Saturday Arvo Rewrite

Today was my first Saturday home in weeks. I ordered myself a day in bed to recuperate from the weeks of work and travel. Being innately anti-authoritarian, I decided not to listen and got up instead and had a morning of emotional housekeeping; clearing, cleaning and sorting 'til I got hungry.

After lunch, I found myself with headphones on sorting through arrangements for "West Brunswick". I spent time with my best mate last night, talking about, among other things, the progress of the album. And, although we didn't say anything significant, I did admit that I was struggling to find the sound for the album, she just sympathised and nodded her approval when I said, "I spose I should just keep it simple".  Well that fairly innocuous conversation triggered a major shift because today I know exactly what to do with the sound and arrangements.

With that sorted, it was time to tackle a rewrite on The West Brunswick Wedding Song, which only a couple of close friends have heard. It was the weakest song for all sorts of reasons so today I sat down and rewrote the whole damn thing. It's now leaner and richer than it was with a clearer emotional centre. I'm pretty pleased with the result. I hope you like it too. So here's another dodgy recording for your listening pleasure. I hope you like it Allie and Adrian.

Here are the words in case you can't understand them;

When love came to Yarrabin Street
The April sun shone
Warmed as we stood on our wedding soled feet
With our best clothes on
Adrian gave Alice a ring
And Alice promised Adrian the splendid things
Of Life and loss and smooth and rough
And sure and tough and songs of love, love

And Buddy Holly sang x3
Its alright x2

When love came to Yarrabin Street
It closed down the road
And gathered outside for a Tom Waits song
And an Irish brogue
Now with each break in the traffic their voices still ring
As they married us all to the splendid things

Of Life and loss and smooth and rough

And sure and tough and songs of love, love

And Buddy Holly sang x3

Its alright x4

When love came to Yarrabin Street
West Brunswick shone.

Here's the audio:

House Concert Hosting

Last Saturday evening, I hosted a house concert at my place. As I am planning to tour "West Brunswick" to houses and tiny venues, I thought I should host a concert myself to see what my hosts may experience and to find out if there are any drawbacks or inconveniences to hosting. One of my biggest fears is to be an inconvenience or a nuisance so to ask people to host my latest work is accompanied by deep fear as well as great hope. Best to face some of those fears head on to clear the path.

So this is how my house concert unfolded:

I invited Luke R Davies to come and play a couple of sets at my house and we set a date.

I sent two emails, a facebook event invitation and one reminder and I had a full house. Easy!

Everyone prepaid which meant they turned up on the night and Luke got paid well. I kept a list of audience members so I knew who had paid. Easy!

Because it was so easy, I really looked forward to the evening and having all my mates over to share what I believed would be a lovely experience.

The day came, Luke, his partner Cassie and all the instruments arrived from Wangaratta. While they popped out to do a little sightseeing, James and I set up the loungeroom as a theatre - it looked brilliant -  some guests remarked that it looked a little like The Butterfly Club, nice one!

My gorgeous friend, Jeff, called in the afternoon and offered to help with catering. He picked up the delicious turkish breads and sweets from a local Sydney Road bakery that I had planned to serve. He also accommodated my mum who'd come down from Warburton as a surprise guest.

As guests began to arrive, James sat in the kitchen picking tunes on the banjo, he was joined by Silas Palmer, Chloe Hall's partner, who plays stellar violin. The fellas ripped out some classic Australian folk tunes while guests mingled, cracked open the drinks they'd brought and found their seats. It was a welcoming, wonderful way to begin the evening.

Guests seated,  Luke entertained for the next two hours (with a break in between to refresh drinks and eat) with his mix of classic old time country blues tunes, his original Wangaratta songs, played on both standard and homemade instruments. Each of the homemade jobs came with a story.

In the kitchen, James danced with Rose Turtle Ertler  and my mum to the more foot stomping tunes and Silas joined Luke on stage to add some amazing jazz fiddle to some of the songs.

It was such a great night I'm going to host again in a couple of months.

And now I feel very comfortable asking people to host a house concert for my "West Brunswick" tour. I reckon the hosts of "West Brunswick" will enjoy their experience every bit as much as I did mine.

There is something magical about having a performer come and enchant the house and its guests for an evening.

A letterbox drop

This morning, I walked round to Lachlan's house and popped the rough musical sketches of West Brunswick (The album), the one's you've been listening to, into his letterbox. Nine songs that in a few weeks will be ready to record. Nine songs? There are some I haven't shown you. I thought I'd leave them for a surprise when you finally hear the finished album.

Lachlan is a great sound engineer who co-produced The Bride. He used to be my next door neighbour. I hope he likes the tracks. I felt quite self conscious handing over my inferior recording attempts to an expert, but he's a good fella and won't really care one bit. We've talked about recording the songs straight to tape, like we used to before the advent of digital technology. I like old school ways, they're more familiar. Analogue creates a warmer tone and has some really interesting limitations that I quite like.  It is better suited to a musician that plays the whole song from beginning to end without dropping in than to a musician that likes digital recording because of it allows one to stop and start throughout the song.

The whole idea of recording to tape reconnects me with my younger self going to Bakehouse studios in Richmond in the mid 80's before it was Bakehouse. I recorded a demo of songs straight to tape  One or two takes for each song. 6-10 songs in one session including a mix down. Simple! I like that. I don't know whatever became of the demo. I do know I had no idea what to do with it after I made it.

This was before community radio had really taken a foothold so there weren't a lot of places to send demos to other than 3XY or Michael Gudinski and I didn't believe I was pretty enough or skinny enough to even get a look in. So for a shy, suburban girl like me, it was never going to be sent to anyone, I was too afraid of some sort of perceived cruel rejection. Truth be told, I just didn't have the guts.

So, my adult life has been as much about getting up the guts to do what that 18 year old could'n't.  West Brunswick is the next step along the way. It is as much for that shy girl of 18, who hoped for something wonderful but had no idea where that something wonderful was, as it is for the suburb and my friends who live there. I hope they all like it. Mostly, I hope that by the end of the process, I still do.

Onward and upward as Mr Lewis said.

Two Ukes, One Song and no rain today....

A Sunday song for you. Originally written for Carl Punnuzzo and performed and recorded by Carl Panuzzo and Penny Larkins.  When I first heard them sing this song, I thought my heart was going to grow so big that it would fall out of my chest and my soul felt like it was actually being sucked out into the universe. Was I experiencing what Mr W. at confirmation class suggested would happen at the second coming when the chosen souls would become light and spirit, enraptured forever? (Mr W. was into end times stuff - if you didn't go to church when you were a kid and you don't know what the hell I'm talking about, ask someone that did)

Not to be. That glimpse of heaven finished with the song. I was still in the pub, the beer was still in my hand and the Gods of Singing, I mean Carl and Penny, were still on stage. Bloody hell!

Well, this mortal, with flawed voice and two ukuleles and a touch of hubris, has had a crack at covering the song that I wrote - can you do that- aiming to pop it on the upcoming album? It's the exception to the "West Brunswick" album rule. Only Albion Street is mentioned, not the suburb.

I hope you like it, Carl and Penny, even though I reckon your version is the definitive one, I kinda like this one too.

The Ukulele Rain Song - Draft Copy
Recorded Sunday Afternoon in my lounge room on garageband.

The business of the build.....

Have you heard of that personality test where you find out if you're a builder or a director or an explorer. Well, turns out I'm more your explorer type, which is great news for a creative type. However, I'd quite like to be a bit more of a builder. Builders make structures that last, that you can live in and touch and walk around.

Being an explorer is a constant frustration to the more practical, builderly types in my life. All I can say in my defence is that I take after my father. Our family would all take a deep breath whenever he promised to fix or build something and prayed that he wouldn't take the end of his thumb off again. My dad was a great thinker and a fiend at cryptic crosswords, he was a brilliant community minded fella and a fine host who loved jazz and red wine. He just couldn't build or fix stuff although he'd sometimes have a crack. However, what was in his head just never quite materialised.

I can't really build stuff either unless you call stacking two desk drawers on top of each other to create a bookshelf, building. I find it hard enough letting my landlord know if there's a problem with my house. The thought of actually owning a house or worse, building a house, sends me running to the kitchen to shove my hyperventilating head into the paper bag I keep in the bottom drawer for just such moments.

It once took me two years to tell a landlord about the blocked shower head. While I was happy enough to "explore" other ways to shower, guests, and my daughter, got a bit pissed off when presented with the bath or bucket option.

At the moment, I am facing the task of building a website. A completely perplexing task that will require a tradesperson of some patience who can not only build the thing, but build it so I can use it without breaking it.

This Website will be an archive, a showcase, a repository, a gallery, a storybook, an album and a movie theatre. An artists space. So I place my ad:

WANTED

Patient, efficient, creative website builder.

Willing to work with a songwriter.

You will be greatly admired for your builder's skills

as you construct a user friendly artist's webspace. 

Must know what you're doing.

 She hasn't got a bloody clue.

 Though, she is pretty good with a blog. 

Website to be up by end of September.

Here's a song from the forthcoming album which is scheduled for recording in September, to whet your whistle while you think about whether you want the job. A taster of an arrangement for the title song, "West Brunswick" featuring ukulele and guitar, recorded on garageband in my lounge room.

SONG 7: A KITCHEN SINK LIFE

One of my brothers has a wife and three kids. Around the time he married, he uttered a profundity that went something like, love means doing the dishes together. It struck me as a great example of what it means to commit your life to a person. It's in the everyday mundanities that love is found. The rosy bits are nice too but as special treats along the way.

My parents did the dishes together every night after dinner. It was one of their relationship rituals along with closing their bedroom door to their four kids each night when dad got home from work so they could catch up for some uninterrupted adult conversation before the family dinner and bedtime work began.

They strengthened their relationship through their kitchen conversations, daily midday lunchtime check-ins and evening gossip sessions in the sanctuary of their room. They had met at a ball and never stopped dancing together. They also shared a love of entertaining and hospitality that gave them a reputation amongst my friends as hosting the best parties in Blackburn, which are spoken of to this day.

All that ended earlier this year. My dad died suddenly in February and my family are still working through our grief at his passing and trying to adjust to life without him. It's bloody tough. As an adult child I've found that there's an expectation that I'll just get on with things as if it was sad but over and done with now and I'm supposedly old enough to not really let it affect me that much and that I should be o.k. six months down the track.

To that I say, bullshit! Doesn't matter how old you are, losing a parent is terribly painful and I'm not o.k. about it at all. It has been the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Losing one of the people that not only helped bring me into the world but knew me like no other and loved me like no other is devastating.

My mum has lost her partner of 47 years and watching the pain she is enduring at losing a loving relationship makes for a double whammy of grief;  I have a deep feeling of powerlessness at not being able to offer her solace in the same way as the one person that could - Dad. I know many of you know what I'm talking about.

But, Song 7 is as much a celebration of a good, committed relationship as it is about loss. Inspired by taking a break from writing those "10 songs in 6 hours" to do the dishes. If there was one song out of the ten I would spend some time editing, it is probably this one. It took 40 minutes to write and needs quite a lot of work, but it's one that I reckon really deserves more time and a good edit.

CHORDS: A repeated chord progression with a descending bass line.

LYRICS:

Washed the pots and the pans
The plates that we ate from last night
There's no-one to dry up
So I leave them to drain on the sink

When I was a kid
And the table was cleared after dinner
Mum would fill up the sink
Dad would pick up a tea towel

He would stand and dry
As she cleared all the dirt form the dinner plates
They would take their time
Husband and wife
In their kitchen sink life

I'm waiting for James
To come home from another day working
I've been sitting all day
Fiddling about on guitar

When dad would come home
He'd go straight to his bedroom and change
As he hung up his clothes
Mum would lie on the bed and listen to his AMP tales

He would close the door
Lock out four children and speak like two adults
They would share the floor
Husband and wife
In their kitchen sink life

My mum called on Friday
She said, "I've had another hard week.
I know it's only been five months
But Helen, I miss him more than I can speak
I"ve washed the pots and the pans
The plates that I ate from last night
But there's no one to dry up
So I'll leave them to drain at the end of our kitchen sink life"

He would stand and dry

As she cleared all the dirt form the dinner plates

They would take their time

Husband and wife

In their kitchen sink life

RECORDING:

TOMORROW: I SONG ABOUT NEEDING A CUPPA TEA AFTER WRITING SONG 7

I HAVE AN EATING DISORDER

Those of you that know me, also know that I have always grappled with fluctuating weight. I have been 30 kilos heavier and 15 kilos lighter than I am now. The primary reason is that I eat to comfort myself. When I feel anxious or sad or excited, eating evens me out, so I eat what I need to stay alive and then I keep eating what I need to feel calm and counter whatever heightened state I'm in.

I ate too much the day I wrote those 10 songs in 6 hours. Well, on the binge eating scale it wasn't that bad; only one big packet of chips, I didn't succumb to following it with lollies, maybe a whole cake and possibly a pack of biscuits.

In the past, I would've eaten a family block of cadbury's, a large packet of chips, and whipped down the street for a souvlaki or hamburger and back for ice-cream and possibly a little more chocolate or a packet of timtams. I stopped eating chocolate five years ago when my cholesterol started creeping up.

Now, I can't eat like that, my body won't take it. I even lost an organ as a result of my lifetime of bingeing. I still miss my gall bladder.

I know many women and men who eat for comfort and that's why I thought I'd share this song with you. I haven't managed to completely modify my eating behaviour but I'm getting a bit better than I have been in the past and writing a song about over eating kinda helped too.


CHORDS - It's a three chord pop/rock song. A little bit ROCK in the USA I reckon.

LYRICS:

I have an eating disorder
I'm a disorderly eater
I"m not thin I'm not fat
But I prefer the taste of this to that
As long as I feel happy at the point of no return

I can scoff a pack of biscuits
But turn my back on chocolate
And if I walk for an hour
I am likely to devour
A big fat slab of hummingbird cake
And a bag of chips
And that batch of cookies I just baked

I eat a eat a healthy breakfast
Then if I get a little anxious
Or I'm bored
Or I'm sad
there's a milk bar and a cafe
Where they keep my happy happys
That I swallow quickly quickly
Before you all find out

I have an eating disorder
I have an eating disorder

RECORDING:



TOMORROW: SONG 7 IS ABOUT LOVE AND DOING THE DISHES

Lullaby Afternoon

As I write this, it's getting close to the afternoon slump when the whole of Spain take a nap, when the teacher's voice becomes a soporific drone and when I've almost inappropriately dropped off to sleep while teaching someone the C chord.

At the moment, the heater fan is whirring, the traffic has got lazier and a miner bird's whistle punctuates a lull in the afternoon. Song 5, "Lullaby Afternoon", is a quiet song written at 2.40pm on Wednesday 4th July.

If you notice, even this blog entry has a little afternoon laziness about it.


CHORDS: Another song that repeats a 4 chord pattern through the song.

LYRICS:
The neighbours home
I'd like to sleep
Play quietly
She won't hear a peep outta me

She's whistling
A cheerful song
Calls her cat
In a voice all honey seeded mustard warm

In our lullaby afternoon
Our lullaby afternoon

It's 20 to 3
Can I lay on the chair
And watch T.V
Or just sit and stare at the fishtank

Listen to Nth Richmond
The calls of native birds
And quiet housebound people
Who don't like to disturb the neighbours

In our lullaby afternoon

Our lullaby afternoon

RECORDING:

TOMORROW'S SONG IS ABOUT EATING DISORDERS - I WAS HUNGRY!

From Brunswick West to Kurrajong

I've never lived outside of Melbourne, except for 9 months spent in Fiji in another life. I was so homesick for the first three months that I cried nearly everyday and had a pretty rotten time of it. Once I was over that bit, I had a pretty good time. Upon my return to Melbourne all those years ago, I stayed  and other than moving suburbs, have never ventured far from this comfortable city except for holidays and band tours. But, over the last few years I've had a growing desire to leave this comfort of the familiar to experience other places and people on a more permanent basis.

At the moment, I'm thinking of doing the unthinkable, from a Melburnians point of view, and leaving my hometown for Sydney. Of course, the thought brings with it a myriad of anxieties and concerns. From, where will I work and how will I earn money? To, can I really handle the relentless traffic and harder edges of this glittering city? From, where the hell am I going to live? To, how can I leave my daughter? Even though she no longer lives at home, I'm still her mother so shouldn't I at least live in the same state as her?

But there's this insistent call of love and music coming from the north and that road to Sydney is only a few blocks from where I live.

Song 4 is about the call of the road.  The chord progression is unashamedly ripped off from another song but given that I don't mean to profit from the work, and will never release it commercially as it's only part of a writing exercise written in about 36 minutes, I don't much care.

CHORDS: A cliched progression of G D Em C cycled through the entire song.

LYRICS:
In six months time
I'm heading up the Hume
I need a new adventure
Need to fly a little closer to you

Melbourne's been my home
For all my little life
I"m growing tired of it's story
Growing tired of my southbound bass strait eyes

Oh the road leads me on
From Brunswick West to Kurrajong
To your mountain home and your bushman's song
Oh that road leads me on

Could I stay in Bondi Beach?
Afford a harbour view?
Get a houseboat on the Hawkesbury?
Or a chalet in the blue blue mountains?

Will the rentals be too high
The roads always be this clogged
Will I find the perfect house
Will I find another job in Sydney?

Oh the road leads me on

From Brunswick West to Kurrajong

To your mountain home and your bushman's song

Oh that road leads me on

RECORDING

TOMORROW: THE SOUND WORLD OF THE 3PM SLUMP IN NTH RICHMOND, SYDNEY

SONG 3 The Banjo Borrower

I reckon that if you're going to use someone's instrument, you should ask first. It's the polite thing to do.

The day I chose to do the "10 songs in 6 hours" exercise, my Viking Warrior was out working hard. But he'd left his banjo lying in my sightline.

It's not any old banjo either, it's a Gibson RB4 with a walnut resonator which he bought in Nashville at the legendary Gruen's Guitars when we were there last year. I helped choose it, along with the aid of an over the phone consultation to my mate, Adam, back in Australia.

My little let'snotworryaboutyourselfrighteousmoralcode voice suggested I open the case and have a bit of play without asking him. I halfheartedly resisted, but ended up making a hypocrite of myself when temptation got the better of me. As I opened the case, I justified borrowing the instrument by telling myself that I'd been there when he bought the banjo and he was my boyfriend so all share in love and war (hang on that's not right!).  And so, without asking, I got it out of the case and went for it.

Now, my Viking Warrior is a very laid back fellow and wouldn't have minded at all, but I bloody well minded as I indulged in my guilty pleasure.

The song suggests the trouble I should've got into (but didn't) if my fella was a hard arse like me, except I'm not really either, thus the banjo borrowing.

Bloody hell, I'll stop digging now. Here's the rather silly banjo song re-recorded on my rather crap banjo back in Melbourne.

THE BANJO BORROWER
Chords: Just a straight  I IV V combination. Very stock standard and predictable.

Lyrics:
I took his banjo out of it's case
I sat his banjo on my knee
While he's been out working
I've been picking at those strings
Lord, he's gonna crucify me.

I sat at the table and wrote him a song
To sing to him when he comes home
When he pulls up in his tyre fitters truck
I'll sing, "Babe, can't leave your banjo alone"

I took his banjo out of it's case

I sat his banjo on my knee

While he's been out working

I've been picking at those strings

Lord, he's gonna crucify me.

I put his banjo back into his case
Hoping that he'd never guess
But my baby has a way of knowing where I've been
He's so good I may as well confess that

I took his banjo out of it's case

I sat his banjo on my knee

While he's been out working

I've been picking at those strings

Lord, he's gonna crucify me.

RECORDING:

TOMORROW'S SONG IS ABOUT AN INTERSTATE MOVE!

Song 2: The Music Box that Sings When We're Apart

The Sydney 10 songs in 6 hours "Album", is ready for curious listeners. Over the next 9 days I'll pop up a song a day, just so you don't get too overwhelmed. It will give you an idea of what kind of songs came out every 40 minutes over the course of the song writing exercise. They haven't been edited, just rerecorded so you can hear them a bit better.

I've decided Song 1 and 2  are not for public consumption because of personal content I"m not comfortable sharing.  Some songs are like that.


TOMORROW'S SONG IS ABOUT ILLICIT BANJO PLAYING!

Take 1 Writers Block, 2 Instruments, 6 Hours, 10 Songs and a Computer.

I'm having a holiday this week from my normal work teaching music and working at a homelessness service.

I've been looking forward to the free time so I could finish those last three songs for the West Brunswick album. Write them out of my system and move on to recording them was the plan. Well, the best laid plans eh?!

When I came to sit down and write I was so anxious; about finishing which is caused by the ridiculously high expectations I have for myself and my work, about there being no more songs left, and about falling short of what everyone may be expecting from my efforts. Typical songwriterly preoccupations, really.  I was so preoccupied with fear that nothing came out or if it did, I believed it was no good! What to do?

Well, I've been writing long enough to know that these irrational creative fears need to be dealt with immediately so that I can get to the songs sitting behind the anxiety and I have just the antidote. A few years ago, I came across two books. "The Artists Way", written for everyone who wants to live a more creative life and  "The Frustrated Songwriters Handbook", written for blocked songwriters.

In "The Artists Way" the author, Julia Cameron, talks about creative blocks being the product of too many ideas not too few, which made, and still makes, sense to me. "The Frustrated Songwriters Handbook" has exactly the right exercise to shift the block. It throws out a simple challenge to write 20 songs in 12 hours.

I did the exercise a few years ago, albeit in a slightly modified version, and it worked a treat. So I decided to do it again. I set myself a challenge of writing 10 songs in 6 hours. That's an album's worth in one sitting. I found that completing songs 8, 9 and 10 became the most important part of the exercise as this is where I've got stuck with the "West Brunswick" songs.  So on Wednesday at 11am, I sat down and started.

What I did was write the first thing that came into my head over the first chords that arrived under my fingers. One song every 36 minutes. Some are hilarious, some are really poignant, some are mean, some sound like other songs, one is really dirty and one made me cry.

Once each song was finished, I did a rough recording and moved on.

I listened to my "album" at the end of the session. It was great! I felt a real sense of accomplishment, the anxiety was released and I finished feeling lighter and brighter and confident that I can finish those West Brunswick songs now. I might even borrow a mates West Brunswick bungalow for inspiration as I now live in Coburg and do the exercise again next week - what do ya reckon Allie and Adrian?

Stay tuned for the "10 Sydney Songs in a Day Album" on this blog soon - roughly recorded by me on my computer complete with computer noise and dodgy mixing!

Try the challenge yourself and let's do a gig together that showcases our songs.

Helen x

The task at hand........

Today:

• Applied for Uranquinty folk festival. This is the short West Brunswick bio I sent em as part of the application:

"This year, Helen Begley, releases her latest album, “West Brunswick” to Australian audiences. Set in West Brunswick, the album pays homage to 20 years spent living and working in Melbourne’s inner north. “West Brunswick” will be presented in intimate suburban spaces and concert settings and performances will be predominately unplugged. The songs on the album are set to understated arrangements that allow the poeticism of the lyrics to breath as they wrap themselves around the listener like a Northern Suburbs lullaby. As well as songs, Helen will share stories and poems inspired by West Brunswick.  Her partner in crime James Norton, makes a guest appearance during the set when harmonica playing and banjo pickin’ is required."

• Accepted the invitation to play at the Darebin Feast as part of Mrs Hemingway, a trio of us songwriters made up of me, Rose Turtle Ertler and Carolyn Connors

• Worked on a funding application for the project after West Brunswick - have to think so far ahead these days!

• Sent a nice email to the people that have so far offered to host a West Brunswick album launch tour house concert.

• Had the usual wrestle with "Self Doubt" this morning. These daily tussles keep me fighting fit for duty.

• Wrote this blog.

West Brunswick's Starry Starry nights.

Allie and I became good mates when we met as neighbours in our West Brunswick street. One afternoon, she rolled up in her car, as she was going to collect her son from school, and enquired about guitar lessons. She'd heard from another neighbour that I taught guitar. We arranged some lessons and our friendship was sealed. We got to know each other through these lessons. She'd often turn up with a "mixed tape" she'd thoughtfully put together for me. These musical treats introduced me to a lot of wonderful music that I had never heard before.

Our friendship graduated from music lessons to regular breakfasts at local cafes, and this year she invited me to sing at her and her lovely partner, Adrian's, wedding. Both she and Adrian have been great supporters of the music I write and perform. They show up for gigs, they listen carefully to rough drafts and give invaluable feedback and they encourage and believe in me and my work. Adrian even designed the gorgeous album cover for my last album, The Bride.

Allie is also a mother of a West Brunswick kid. When she read the "West Brunswick Star" blog entry the other day, she wrote this story:

"One beautiful winter day like today, I covered the ceiling of my lovers room with fluorescent stars. I stuck one up there for my lover, and for me. When I finished I sat and cut another one out, and stuck it among all those stars... And that is the afternoon I believe Otis landed in me... With his own little star winking at me while I slept. It was his star!"

Perhaps, all the kids in West Brunswick come from the stars. Perhaps, all the stars in our kids come from  West Brunswick. 

Behold, the West Brunswick Star

As some of you might know, earlier this year my father died. My family and I are still making sense of his sudden departure. Dad was a quiet man, he didn't talk a lot and chose to express the way he felt in practical rather than verbal ways. So, there are things I don't know about him and now never will, things that I didn't like to ask or didn't think to ask.  I assumed that he'd be around longer. I don't want my daughter not to know things when i'm gone. She will never know everything, of course. She knows this story, and now you do too.

When I was giving birth to Ella, I had a lot of visions. And before you ask, it was a drug free birth. In one of the visions, which felt real, I found myself transported to the edge of the universe. The universe is a silent place and I felt utterly alone in its vastness, even when I called into the stars, there was a benign indifference, or so I thought. For when I came back from the edge, I had given birth to my baby girl.

For many years after that, I was troubled by the experience. I couldn't make sense of it and didn't understand what it meant. I tended not to share it either, fearing people would think me a little unhinged. Until, one evening,when I mentioned this to a midwife who was learning guitar from me at the time. We were talking about birthing experiences and I decided to share mine. She smiled and told me that there is an old birth story that tells of women having to go and collect their babies from the stars and, it seems, this is what I had done. What a bloody relief. I was just out there collecting Ella.

Ever since I learned of this story, I've been trying to write a song that talks about the experience in a simple way. I hope this song may have done it.

It's a dodgy recording, I need a preamp and a decent microphone, but for the purpose of the arrangement exercise, what I've got suffices. It will appear in more palatable form on the West Brunswick Album later this year. I hope you can get past the hum of the computer and hear the song. (Just click on the play button and away you go - it' sounds better through head phones.)

So, about selling products and branding my hair.

Back in the 80's, I had a very odd, circular conversation about marketting music with a friend who was in first year marketting at Swinburne. He was trying to explain to me what a brand was. Admittedly, we were drinking brandy and dry at the time - I know, it was the drink of choice of the comfortable middle class, middle age, eastern suburbs liberal voter (none of which I ever was) but what else would you drink when your talking about brands but brandy?  With all that booze being throw down my recall is a little hazy, but I don't believe we ever settled on what a brand was with regards to music. We couldn't decide whether it was the performer, the performance, the album or other bits of merchandise. I still don't know, but suspect a brand is some sort of instantly recognisable selling point rather than the stuff.

Recently another friend, who's an ace publicist, suggested I may have a branding issue, well, of course I do. I still don't know which bit of me is the brand. But, if I take the definition of a brand as being the instantly recognisable selling point, then I'm going to suggest my brand is my leonine mane! So, how do you market a head of hair, and what's it got to do with music?

In an attempt to try and sort this out, I've started to create a bit of a business plan (Are you yawning already? Well, it is important if you're a musician and you are creating products). I've jotted down a few overall aims and objectives and thought I'd share em with you.

I still have shitloads of work to do to nail down some budgets, and work out how to brand my hair, but here's a copy of the first bit of the marketting/business plan for my latest products. It gives you an idea of what you can expect from me and my hair in the next little while and it shows you that musicians are a bit more pragmatic than we let on.

O.K., I'm off to wash my hair, I feel a bit dirty all of a sudden!

WEST BRUNSWICK - PLAN

AIM:

Create marketable products (sounds pretty cold, but let's be honest, that's what I'm doing) that fondly represent my experience of living in West Brunswick.

OBJECTIVES:

• ·      Produce an album of 10 original songs
• ·      Produce 20 page booklets of lyrics, poems, flash fiction and photos
• ·      Produce one hour live performance based on book and album

1.    PRODUCE ALBUM 10 ORIGINAL SONGS

      The album will reflect the relationship between West Brunswick and the songwriter. It will render the suburbs character through a landscape used as metaphor, thematic material and setting for the songwriters personal experience of living in West Brunswick.

      The sound of the album will be warm and close. The use of parlor instruments and live recorded sound will create an experience for the listener that places them in the sound world of the songwriter. This sound world will recreate an evening in a warmly lit comfortable lounge room in West Brunswick with mugs of tea or wine (or even brandy and dry) and acoustic songs that describe what has happened in and around that space. When the listener leaves the space they may still see the suburb through the songwriters eyes.

2.    PRODUCE 20 PAGE BOOKLET OF LYRICS, POEMS, FLASH FICTION & PHOTOS

The booklet is a keepsake of lyrics and written impressions of West Brunswick accompanied by some photos.  The additional forms of poetry, fiction and photography extend the songwriter’s capacity to respond to West Brunswick and it's inhabitants and gives people something to read on the tram. 

3.    PRODUCE ONE HOUR LIVE PERFORMANCE BASED ON BOOK AND ALBUM

In keeping with the idea of the album’s aims, the performance will be presented in small personal spaces such as people’s lounge rooms, and small, intimate venues. It will seek to recreate the album’s sound and intimate feel. The performance will use storytelling, songs and visual representations of West Brunswick, possibly including a shadow box and slide show. The performance will use acoustic instruments and be presented unplugged. It may require two or three performers to present the work. 

A Yackandandah Performance

Well, I'm thinking at the moment while I work, and work, and work, at my paid jobs. Yep, the life of a musician is a tricky one. On the one hand I'd like to write and think and sing and play everyday, all day. On the other hand, I gotta make a buck. Still haven't worked out a balance yet and have never found the courage to let go and write and think and sing and play, forsaking all paid employment except for writing,  thinking, singing and playing. Business versus creativity is very tricky stuff.

You see, for me, creativity is slow moving, and doesn't work to a timeline, unlike the business of music. See why I need to work at a job! Unless, of course, there's a very indulgent benefactor out there who wants to plonk me in one of their spare houses, preferably in the NSW highlands or the Blue Mountains or possibly the Victorian High Country, pay the bills, and feed me good food while I slow cook some songs, I guess song number 9 will just have to wait 'til next week when I have a little more time.

In the meanwhile, here's a song I'm thinking of reprising as the secret track (never could keep my mouth shut) on the West Brunswick album, so that my ukulele and guitar students can join me for a good old fashioned singalong, like the Yackandandah folk festival audience does in this video.  Thanks to Mr Happy (that really is his last name) for recording this for me.

The Song That Took Two Years

I finished the song that has taken two years to write, today! It's song number 7.

It was a song I started under the apple tree of my last West Brunswick house. It was summer and it started on the banjo with a set of quite dramatic chords with a G followed by a B7 - think Ray Charles, "Georgia" or Peter Allen's "Still call Australia Home" sort of and countless other songs including West Brunswick's Song Number 7.

One of the first lines was "West Brunswick's got a road to Sydney."

It's a love song that shows how my heart has been torn between West Brunswick, where, until recently my daughter and I lived, and Sydney, where my Viking Warrior resides.

It's been a bloody hard song to get to work. Holding the intention of the song, without being too introspective and indulgent took a lot of drafts. And using those chords in an understated way in the chorus. I don't know whether I actually achieved it, but here's a draft recording.

I'm losing my voice and haven't quite got the guitar part together but when you hear the album, you'll remember where it came from. Just wanted to share a raw, straight from the pen, fresh one. As if you were sitting in my lounge room and I'm showing you what I've just done.

Here it is, just press play. Hope you can hear the rain in the background. Sorry about the computer noise - no idea how to filter that out. You'll have to turn it down too.

How to Hoik a Haiku and Spit out a Song

 I don't have a dominant sense. Some people have a tendency to be either more visually, aurally or kinaesthetically orientated. Not me, I got 'em all in equal portions.  This means that I often get quite disorientated with sensory overload. My world is a noisy place. There's just too much to look at, hear, and experience at any one time. So, I am always looking for ways to still this busy mind of mine.

One of my poetry teachers, taught me one way. Write Haiku.

Haiku is a Japanese miniature form of poetry. Three lines, no more than 17 syllables. No metaphor or personification or any other clever poetic conceit. You simply write what is.

One afternoon, a few years ago, this poetry teacher organised a Gingko, which is a walk to collect Haiku. I had never been on one before. We went to the Botanic Gardens and The Shrine of Remembrance in St Kilda Road. We stopped at various locations around the grounds and wrote Haiku.

I found it fiendishly difficult.  It took quite a while for my mind to stop looking for metaphor and meaning and simply observe what was there. Once I got there, I began to see the world afresh.

Pardon the metaphor but it was as if I'd had a really satisfying cough after a throaty smoke (not that I smoke these days). Here's some of the work that I hoiked up that day:

shrine forecourt

a soldier stands by the flame

smoking

in the crypt

exit sign

above the door

grey city skyline

the pine tree

is evergreen                                                                                                                                                                                                    

They're not the greatest Haiku's in the world but when I got home that night, I felt more alert and my mind felt sharper than usual. The Gingko had inspired me to try it again, perhaps around West Brunswick. I imagined what I might write about from my neighbourhood. I started jotting down some of those imaginary observations, and before you knew it, I'd spat out a song! Here it is:

(NB: I don't have a speech impediment, just dodgy video sound!)

West Brunswick

Standing on the over pass in winter

The icy wind will slap you as it blows

The cars rush to the gorgeous city

West Brunswick’s not the pretty from this road

On the local creek bed made of concrete

Philosophers leave words in thick black paint

Saying, “Dream as if you’ll live forever

And live as if you’ll die tomorrow

As I lie awake on lonely nights

I hear the rumble of the 55

And the braking trucks on their freeway drive

A woman screams, “You killed my life.”

The buses don’t run east to west on Sunday

Old ladies and their gentleman stay home

Waiting at the garden gate

For someone walking by to say, “Hello.”

The houses all get sold off at a profit

Commission flats defy the market boom

But for all the talk of free for all

What cost of living in four tiny rooms

As I lie awake on lonely nights

Creatures rustle in the leaves outside

And icy wind takes its freeway ride

Qantas plane is on its midnight flight

And the braking trucks

The screaming wives

The rumble of the 55

Rushing to the gorgeous city

West Brunswick’s not that pretty

West Brunswick’s not that pretty

A Moonee Ponds Creek Dream Boat

Today I've been working on song Number 8 even though I haven't finished song Number 7 yet.  I know! Finish one before you start the next. Naaah! For me, making an album is like completing a jigsaw puzzle, doesn't matter where you start, eventually you get there.

So here's the story so far about The Dream Boat of Moonee Ponds Creek:

When I was living in West Brunswick, for a short time, I had a thing for a man from New Zealand. He was very tall, with a soft, cheeky accent and a pair of RM Williams boots. He came from the North Island. His hobby was boat building. When things got a bit much for him, he'd retreat to his shed and work on his boat.

Well, I thought this was the most romantic thing in the world for a man to do; I imagined a deliciously masculine scene as this remote, solitary man lathed his wooden hull. The only thing more romantic would have been if he was building the boat for me. I, at least, hoped for an invitation to climb aboard and sail away with him, but alas, not to be. Instead, I met a Viking who whisked me away in his orange chariot.

But, I have always liked the idea of sailing the seven seas. Unfortunately, aside from suffering seasickness, the thought often leads me to remember those Jacques Cousteau documentaries we used to watch on Sunday afternoons when there was nothing else on, and how dull I used to find them.

And then that leads me to think about Alby Mangel, who pretty much wore shorts and nothing else.  In each new adventure, he was usually accompanied by a very beautiful young woman who  was there to "help". As a shy, prudish teenager, I found this all deeply embarrassing. 

My pubescent shame then leads me to start thinking about internet dating.

I don't know whether you've ever had a look at any of those internet dating sites, but, if you have, I wonder if you've noticed there's always a wealthy older European man, dressed in white, with a deep tan, who has "specific tastes" and is looking for a woman to accompany him on his yacht that sails for New Zealand, next week.

Which finally brings me back to my Dream Boat:

The day that I walked 'round to Moonee Ponds creek
I stood under the bridge at Albion Street
The ducks were swimming
The sky was grinning
A salty breeze blew
Next thing I knew
I'd tapped out a text
To a man I'd just met
Saying, "Build me a boat
And let's go
Sailing

Of course, sailing down the Moonee Ponds creek would have its challenges, especially when we'd reached the bit at Flemington where there's an expanse of concrete and not much water. But, I reckon that if we followed in the footsteps of the innovative Ben Lexcen, we could modify the keel by fitting some skateboards to the hull. Sorted!

But that's another verse.

Here's a couple of pics of the Bridge and the Creek!

The Albion Street Bridge

                                   

The Moonee Ponds Creek

I'm Gonna Bung it in a Book

I've been writing songs about West Brunswick for sometime now. Years, if the truth be told. Until recently I've lived there 20 of them. Now I live in Coburg, West Brunswick got too expensive. I miss it and have kept writing about it. West Brunswick is still my home.

I didn't really like it at first but then I didn't really like my best mate when I first met her. West Brunswick seemed a little too far from the action of Carlton and Nth Fitzroy where I had been living. But those suburbs were already getting pricey, as cheap student housing was bought by the upwardly mobile, who renovated the life out of the place and, in so doing, made something that had been affordable, out of reach to the locals. Up went the rents and out went the dreamers.

This dreamer, who happened to be pregnant at the time, landed in Hope Street, West Brunswick. Great street to live for an expectant mother. It was a corner place, blonde brick, with a curved front room that caught and amplified the constant roundabout traffic. It had a shared backyard and clothesline and two other flats on the same property. Instant community!

That Hope Street house was the beginning of my love affair with West Brunswick.

The feeling runs so deep that, as well as songs, I've started writing poems and flash faction accounts, which are tiny stories that aren't quite true but close enough, of the places I lived, the people I met and lived with and the tram I rode.

So, I'm gonna bung some of them in a little book and record the suburban songs on a little album.

Then it's into the lounge rooms of local and honorary West Brunswickians to play the songs and tell the stories of my West Brunswick home.

I hope you'll join me as I record the daily work.

Helen x