dave graney - Moodists-Coral Snakes-mistLY-FEARFUL WIGGINGS

dave graney - Moodists-Coral Snakes-mistLY-FEARFUL WIGGINGS
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About Me

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Let's get Tight - 2017 CD with Clare Moore. Moodists - Coral Snakes - mistLY. I don’t know what I am and don’t want to know any more than I already know. I aspire, in my music , to 40s B Movie (voice and presence) and wish I could play guitar like Charlie Christian or Grant Green -but not in this lifetime, I know.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Further Out - Swingy George - the Tantanoola Tiger!

Another thing I neglected to mention about time and the music you send out into the unknown.
There was a song on the Moodists "Thirsty's Calling" album called "Swingy George" . We came from St Kilda to London and put the song down there. Propulsive kind of song we were best at. Bass heavy on one chord with Mick Turner grinding out some crude slabs of slide guitar. No blues except for my style of repeating lines over and over. Nobody ever asked me what lyrics were about in the band. I never made it my thing to separate them out.We had no lyric sheets with our records and the whole experience was a totality. 1984.
Then I got a call the other week from a  friend in Mt Gambier. He and his friends, hot rod aficionados and long term potheads had been watching a  dvd of the Moodists LIVE IN LONDON (1984). 

He said "that song Swingy George- was that about Swingy George?"

We then proceeded to compare notes on this character from our childhoods who had been a presence around the local (east side) childrens playgrounds. He would just sit there in the swings, looking comical because of his adult size. Nothing rotten ever happened, he was just a bit of a bogeyman. "Swingy George". Anyway, it took over 30 years for that song to get heard by a person who could hook into it and KNOW what the fuck I was singing about!
I now realize it was a kind of a folk tune. the post punk scene had this imperative that you write about your own experience and environment. The only thing was, in Melbourne, that we HATED most of our environment and were totally into frequencies from New York or London. Really, why would you be interested in Cold Chisel or the Angels with the Birthday Party or laughing Clowns, Alan Vega/ Suicide, the Fall, the Fore Engines  or the Contortions in your head?
I also wrote it with the film "night of the hunter" in my brain. That film was such a touch stone in that scene. 40s movies in general. The word "swingin'" had all the connotations of hanging as well as the goofy musical feel. The Jungle Jim was in every playground. Something for kids to hang off. I liked things to be just a  few repetitive lines.

"george was real enough
it didn't take much to make him swing
he was a black coat that we all coloured
yeah something from sleep caught in our light
a bad shape caught in our back yard
we wanted to see him swing
he was hangin around this jungle jim
just a black coat drifting
swingy george
he was a black coat that we all coloured
yeah something from sleep caught in our light
a bad shape caught in our back yard
he was still there when he had gone
we wanted to see him swing
he was hangin around this jungle jim
just a black coat drifting
swingy george
"



My friend was ringing about playing a gig in a  cafe on the main street of Mt Gambier in August. Also playing in the Tantanoola Hotel which is a timber town in one of the huge, spooky pine forests which surround the area. There is the legend of the Tantanoola Tiger!
It inspired Max Harris to pen this poem about the area ....

The Tantanoola Tiger

There in the bracken was the ominous spoor mark,
Huge, splayed, deadly, and quiet as breath,
And all around lay bloodied and dying,
Staring dumbly into their several eternities,
The rams that Mr Morphett loved as sons.

Not only Tantanoola, but at Mount Schanck
The claw welts patterned the saplings
With mysteries terrible as Egypt's demons,
More evil than the blueness of the Lakes,
And less than a mile from the homestead, too.

Sheep died more rapidly than the years
Which the tiger ruled in tooth and talk,
And it padded from Beachport to the Border,
While blood streamed down the minds of the folk
Of Mount Gambier, Tantanoola, of Casterton.

Oh this tiger was seen all right, grinning,
Yellow and gleaming with satin stripes:
Its body arched and undulated through the tea-tree;
In this land of dead volcanoes it was a flame,
It was a brightness, it was the glory of death,

It was fine, this tiger, a sweet shudder
In the heath and everlastings of the Border,
A roc bird up the ghostly ring-barked gums
Of Mingbool Swamp, a roaring fate
Descending on the mindless backs of grazing things.

Childhoods burned with its burning eyes,
Tantanoola was a magic playground word,
It rushed through young dreams like a river
And it had lovers in Mr Morphett and Mr Marks
For the ten long hunting unbelieving years.

Troopers and blacks made safari, Africa-fashion,
Pastoral Quixotes swayed on their ambling mounts,
Lost in invisible trails. The red-faced
Young Lindsay Gordons of the Mount
Tormented their heartbeats in the rustling nights

While the tiger grew bigger and clear as an axe.
'A circus once abandoned a tiger cub.'
This was the creed of the hunters and poets.
'A dingo that's got itself too far south'
The grey old cynics thundered in their beers,

And blows were swapped and friendships broken,
Beauty burst on a loveless and dreary people,
And their moneyed minds broke into singing
A myth; these soured and tasteless settlers
Were Greeks and Trojans, billabong troubadours,

Plucking their themes at the picnic races
Around the kegs in the flapping canvas booths.
On the waist-coats shark's teeth swung in time,
And old eyes, sharply seamed and squinting,
Opened mysteriously in misty musical surprise,

Until the day Jack Heffernan made camp
By a mob of sheep on the far slope of Mount Schanck
And woke to find the tiger on its haunches,
Bigger than a mountain, love, or imagination,
Grinning lazily down on a dying ewe,

And he drew a bead and shot it through the head.
Look down, oh mourners of history, poets,
Look down on the black and breeding volcanic soil,
Lean on your fork in this potato country,
Regard the yellowed fangs and quivering claws

Of a mangy and dying Siberian wolf.
It came as a fable or a natural image
To pace the bars of these sunless minds,
A small and unimpressive common wolf
In desperately poor and cold condition.

It howled to the wattle when it swam ashore
From the wreck of the foundered Helena,
Smelt death and black snakes and tight lips
On every fence-post and slip-rail.
It was three foot six from head to tail.

Centuries will die like swatted blowflies
Before word or wolf will work a tremor
Of tenderness in the crusty knuckles
Around the glasses in the Tantanoola pub
Where its red bead eyes now stare towards the sun.




This song from FEARFUL WIGGINGS mentioned Max Harris and his poem "upon throwing a copy of the New Statesman from the window whilst driving along the Coorong".
 



 
We're playing some shows soon! There's also now a second show at Memo for Dave Graney and the Coral Snakes.







2 comments:

Jo Lisa Dukarić said...

That's some bodgey taxidermy

dave graney said...

yes it is pretty sad looking

FEARFUL WIGGINGS

2014 solo album from Dave Graney. *****"If I've learnt anything in my years of writing about music it's that if you are going to do anything of worth in this tough game, you better have your own thing. Today's generic is easily replaced by tomorrow's. And yet you need to be flexible, to follow wherever the songs demand. In the case of this, only the second credited as a solo album among 30 or so Graney releases, it's a curious yet welcoming lane he walks you down, with acoustic guitars, not much percussion, vibes, smooth sounds. At the end of it you feel like you've awoken from a strange yet pleasant summer's dream. As shot by Luis Bunuel. It ranges from off-kilter reveries (A Woman Skinnies Up a Man, The Old Docklands Wheel) through to the softly seductive (How Can You Get Out of London) and the downright arch (Look Into My Shades, Everything Is Great In The Beginning.) This is music that is neither folk, nor blues, nor country, but it's all Graney, somewhere out to the left field beyond Lee Hazlewood's raised eyebrow. It's astringent on the tongue but sweetens in the telling." Noel Mengel Brisbane Courier Mail

you've been in my mind

June 2012 super high energy pop rock album - blazing electric 12 strings - total 70s rock drive. Greatest yet! available via paypal - $20 pp

rock'n'roll is where I hide/- 2011 "vintage classics/ re recordings" on LIBERATION

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SUPERMODIFIED - August 2010 remixed/re-sung/re-strung//remastered/replayed comp via PAYPAL

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also available as a digital album

Knock yourself (2009)-first ever dg solo set-filthy electro r&b-available via Paypal- $20

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available as a digital album too

We Wuz Curious (2008)-blazing R&B jazz pop album available via paypal-$20

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UNAVAILABLE-COMPLETELY SOLD OUT!!!
AVAILABLE AS A DIGITAL album

Keepin' It Unreal-(2006)-minimalist/lyrical vibes,bass and 12 string set - available $20 via Paypal

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Hashish and Liquor (2005 double disc by Dave Graney and Clare Moore) available via Paypal $25

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UNAVAILABLE-COMPLETELY SOLD OUT!!!
Single album HASHISH available as a digital release

Heroic Blues- "folk soul" set from 2002-Available $20 via Paypal

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UNAVAILABLE ! Completely sold out!

Night of the Wolverine-1993-Reissued 2004 w/extra tracks from the future-available $20 via paypal

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It is written,baby-book released 1997- available $10 via paypal

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