2013 digital singles - three so far

We have this new digital single out. Its called "the postman always rings twice".

This is what our press release says...
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The Postman Always Rings Twice is the third digital single from Dave Graney in 2013.

A song more than a little inspired by the famous first novel by James M Cain (1934) and the (1946) film of the same name starring Lana Turner and John Garfield.

Dave Graney made a demo version of this song in 1987, as he embarked on a post Moodists career .(The Moodists being the first band for Graney and his partner Clare Moore) .

The song was eventually recorded in 1998 as “between times” for the Dave Graney Show cd. Dave Graney had always thought it best to hide his stash of obsessions and that to call the song after the book and the film would be too distracting for people to experience the song itself. Now he’s restoring it. This is kind of a  a “directors cut”.

Dave Graney plays acoustic and electric guitar, along with Stuart Perera from their band , the mistLY. Clare Moore sings and plays keys, percussion  and bass xylophone.

Dave Graney has always been influenced by hard boiled crime literature and street language.

The Postman Always Rings Twice is an expression of a long ride on those deep swells."

Here is a link to it on Soundcloud

its at itunes

and Bandcamp

Last month we put out "I'm a Commander

This is what we said about that;

I’m a Commander (2013 remake) is the second single in a series of individual digital releases planned  by dave graney for 2013.

This is a remake of a  song that featured on our 1998 album “the dave graney show”. Here it is recast in acoustic 12 string guitars strummed by dave graney against a brave and mad rush of vibes and bass xylophone (wooden blocks/keys like a marimba) played by longtime collaborator clare moore.

“the song was inspired by a dream I had where the artist- the musician was a great and powerful person – like say Napoleon and he was drilling his forces and about to fight a great battle. He tells the record company to get in line and the radio stations that “they are now in uniform- enjoy yourself while you can!”

dave graney

you can hear it here on soundcloud

I'm a commander is at bandcamp too

and also itunes

we started in February with "I'm not the guy i tried to be"

This is how we pitched it...
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I’m not the guy I tried to be (2013 remake) is the first single in a series of individual digital releases planned  by dave graney for 2013.

This is a remake of a  song that closed the 2012 album “you’ve been in my mind” by dave graney and the mistLY. Here it is recast in acoustic 6 and 12 string guitars strummed by dave graney against a sweet rush of vibes and bass xylophone (wooden blocks/keys like a marimba) played by longtime collaborator clare moore.

“the song was inspired by something Willie Nelson said at a  show once. The groove is loping JJ Cale. I like to have another shot at some songs, just to see how it flies with different fins on…The radio was full of adult country pop when I was a kid. Add this one to the pile.”

dave graney

its at BandCamp

and at itunes

you can also hear it at Soundcloud

you know, I never thought the shit would get that real

Whoah - been quite snowed under. This year got away from me.
Can't really explain, still digging my way though some sstuff.
The Moodists gig which we just did at the Palace last week was a major event that was on the far horizon and then came upon us real quick.
We played a great 45 minute set at 3:30 in the afternoon. One of our best ever.
Thanks to the Hoodoo Gurus for inviting us. An honour to play with them and also with the Blue Oyster Cult. Total pros both of them. Never seen the skills of BOC so evident like that. Super guitar playing and sounds.
Crashed out for a  couple of days after that show. Totally beaten up.

This shot was taken after the first rehearsal at Mick Turners studio. That rehearsal was rough. Got together  a month later and then a couple more times.

Been doing a lot of  shows with Harry Howard and the NDE. Working up an album of new material.

Started doing an acoustic album in January, laid down tracks for 12 songs. Got talking to Lisa Gerard from Dead Can Dance at an APRA film award night and she invited me out to her studio to do the vocals. Have done most of them. A beautiful old valve mic and great pre-amps. Getting a  huge sound. Did a couple of days and then Lisa had to go to Brazil and the USA for more Dead Can Dance shows. Will get back there next week.

Clare has mastered the DAMES album, been doing a few shows there as well.

Also been releasing a few digital only singles, for the hell of it. Put out "I'm not the guy I tried to be" in February. This was a remake of a song on last years album, "you've been in my mind".

This time it was all bass xylophone and acoustics.

In March/ April I put out a version of "I'm a  commander". In 1998 it was all electro and keyboards, now it was driving 12 string acoustic and vibes.

Next up, it'll be "the postman always rings twice. The clip will be ready in a day or so...

SOME SHOWS COMING UP

May 17th dave graney and the mistLY at the Prince of Wales Hotel in St Kilda

May 26th dave graney and clare moore play the Vanguard in Newtown - Sydney

June 9th dave graney and the mistLY at the Retreat Hotel in Sydney rd Brunswick

July 6th - dave graney and the mistLY at the Railway Workers Club - Darwin

Friday August 30th - dave graney and clare moore will be playing in Tanunda SA

Saturday August 31st and Sunday Sept 1st dave graney and the mistLY will be playing at the Wheatsheaf in Adelaide , SA.

--> Reading events ---
Tuesday 21st May -  Prahran Library, 180 Greville Street, Prahran, Vic, 3181 --     6:30pm–7:30pm
Wednesday 22nd May - Nunawading Library, 379 Whitehorse Road, Nunawading, Vic, 3131     7–8pm
Thursday 23-25th May I will be at the Sydney Writers Festival
1st-4th August I'll be at the Byron Bay Writers Festival

Also, Mercury Records Australia are to release all three albums that were recorded for them by dave graney 'n' the coral snakes as well as a fourth disc of rarities called "crayfish palace royalty".The set will be called "the mercury years 94-97".
It will cost $20 (for 4 albums) and can be preordered here

perils of the social sensitivities/nodes/nuts

so I turn on the magic box and this fellow I have somehow connected to has activated my name in a  post where he is air-raiding me to the void. .... It was along the lines of "just listened to Dave Graney's somewhat didactic song "field record me" and was disappointed by yet another ignorant depiction of the role of linguists and their work of preserving dying languages through the use of field recordings. What an ignorant rock person.. what would he know etc etc etc ..."

This is the song...
https://soundcloud.com/dave-graney-lym/field-record-me

A woman chimed in with " Wow what a great disappointment this must be to you"

The fellow shot back " disappointed, yes…liked him better when he was a moodist .. but not that surprised at the att.. ignorance is the fuel of so many a rock sermon!"

The woman returned "Unfortunately maybe Dave's showing his age. This kind of objectification or essentialising would have been spot on a few decades ago, just like framing Indigenous people as eternal victims. (...unless of course he has a specific early 20th C bearded pipe-smoking ethnographer in mind...)"

I must state I know neither of these two and was not eavesdropping. It was all opened on my social manor.

The man returned " yep, although many old farts manage not to think in such simplistic terms..there's not much excuse for those stereotypes really.. just lazy thinking. (Unless we're talking dementia?)"

I felt the need to object! " the song is a cry of pain, in a world where people can only listen/hear / see music when it is safely dead or from a foreign clime . Like say, poncey types going on about primitive cultures or making field recordings of exotic savages. In the song, the singer is asking them to field record him, in his natural habitat. But they can't hear him. So you know, one of us is ignorant and its not me. Cheers."

I included the lyrics...

"field record me
put me in the picture, give me a page
put me in a place and time where you can find me
pin me down and forget me
field record me
make me real
treat me as if I was here
field record me
put on your coat with many pockets and stick that pipe in your mouth
and approach me sensitively in my world
field record me
field record me
treat me like a golden bug
and you’ve had the mad luck to be here"

To me, that's pretty direct and plain language. As a songwriter, you like to get simpler and simpler. Less words. More groove and feel. When I play live I often introduce it as a song about a musicians dream where aliens will be in the audience one day and understand what he's going on about. And take news of him back to their planet. Where he is worshipped as a god.  I allude to the educated, rich new Yorkers going down South of America in the 30s and 40s and making field recordings.

I added "I sing songs about my world, not others."

Then lost my cool..." what fucking knobs"

That felt better.

The man came back ...

"Well I suppose I can‘t rightly argue with a creative about what their own song is about. So, if you say ‘field record me’ is not about linguists making fieldwork recordings, then fair enough.

Reading the lyrics again though, I find it difficult not to interpret it as an attack on language documentation, since field recording is generally something done by linguists. Pretty much the only other people who do it are ethnomusicologists...Is the song about ethnomusicologists, perhaps?
The poncey character is a cliche. I guess the song was meant to be set in the 19th century. That didn't come through at all. And the phrases you use: ‘exotic savage’ and ‘primitive’ are racist stereotypes. They are offensive to anyone doing actual fieldwork. If that's what you think fieldwork is about, then actually, you are very ignorant".

This guy would not back off! How many ways can he insult me? 

Even though he was obviously a linguist and very well educated, I felt I should speak plainly…

"why the hell would I be bothered writing a song about linguists? New York folk lorists went to the southern states of America and field recorded people like Muddy Waters in the 40s and earlier. All sorts of folk farmers and the like. The song is about being an Australian singer. Its set in 2012. I don't give a rats testicle what field work is, like most people."

Silence for a couple of days then he shot back with another tirade (which is now invisible to me- as is he)   about it being true that people don't care about his valuable work of preserving dying languages but he does it. (diddums) Also that , perhaps, the song could be interpreted in the way I said, "with the aid of mass scaffolding."

Then he added "ciao".

Excuse me.

"CUUUUUUUUUUNT!"

Yes, thats better. Anyway, whoever he is, he is dead to me. And his bitches too. They had just dropped in to air raid me. Probably, like most people, they don't know where all the flim flam connections pop up.

It was this exchange that worried me though. The fellow professes to be a  linguist but he seems to take everything so subjectively. He can't understand English or the local variant. The cadence, the patois. My song was about just that! In the local field, people can't see or hear many things unless there is a precedent from the US or the UK. If it doesn't, it doesn't exist. As invisible as a creep that's been blocked on the interwebs.

What chance do all those dying languages have?  In the hands of this ignorant , know-all blockhead?

February 3rd THE DAMES (Clare Moores project w/ Kaye Patterson and Rosie Westbrook) at the Post Office Hotel Sydney Rd Coburg 4-6pm

 
February 10th - Butterfly Club 204 Bank st sth Melbourne 8pm. Dave Graney and Clare Moore acoustic set (vibes and 12 string).

 

FRIDAY February 22nd dave graney and the mistLY at the SOUND LOUNGE/Ocean Grove Hotel.175 Bonnyvale Rd 52551122
Doors at 6pm,show at 8pm.Advance tickets-seating 0408575799

 
  

in a world of ICONS! and CLASSICS

an edited version of this post appeared ina  recent edition of THE MELBOURNE REVIEW

I woke up from a short but deep sleep, feeling groggy due to the potions I had partaken of the night before. They knocked me out but wore off pretty quick. I had dreamed, but was going to, as has been my lifelong  attitude to these things, keep them to myself. As soon as I actually remembered them. (This would be usually with a shout of some quite innocuous word at the shaving mirror or at the car windscreen. I would then suddenly look at myself in the mirror. I loved doing that. ). So I woke in my usual manner is what I trying to convey to yas. A time honoured, long held-to direction, and ambled to the kitchen. In a way, I was waking up in a robotic, zombie like manner, though I have since learned I could use a  much grander term. I was operating in a  CLASSIC manner. It was a VINTAGE shamble into a new day. The cat played its part and ran in front of me at every opportunity, herding me towards its food bowl.  I boiled some hot water in the sleek, new, stainless steel, CLASSIC looking kettle and prepared some tea. No tea bags for me, only loose leaves which I had imported myself from a WOOLWORTHS supermarket in South Australia. A RUST BELT state. The tea is in a  packet which I associate with that part of the world where I sprang from. Amgoorie tea. In a brown paper packet with exotic images of the mysterious east all over it. I drive there to get it. 455 kilometres a pack. I assemble a bowl of my CUSTOMARY cereal which is raw oatmeal from the ICONIC house of BLACK AND GOLD. I drench the rustic oats in LONG LIFE soy liquid and open my newspaper. Below the ICONIC masthead which should by rights be rolling upside down in shame at the “all the goss” bilge which is spewed across its pages every day, and spent a good minute learning of the activities of the world while I slept. AS is my want, I throw it away in disgust and leave for the smallest room. I am sure this is the correct outcome of the transaction. I was behaving in a CLASSIC way of a disgruntled reader of my age. They would have had focus groups to agree with them on this. I needed to be herded toward the online version of the paper, which was full of more intelligent shit, as well as blinking lights and sexier ads. The editor should be happy. In the can , which I had had built by a DUTCH man so as I could inspect my PRECIOUS waste rather than drop it into a small pond of water in the ANGLO fashion, I was gladdened to see a log of much health . A glad, JOYOUS stool. AS one of YORE! “Shakespeare could have dropped this!”, I marvelled to myself.  I felt connected to life on earth. An absolute PEARLER. A CLASSIC! A HUMDINGER!

I turned the radio on to listen to the anguished thoughts of the callers. I wanted REALITY, not some namby pamby EXPERT telling me stuff that only he could know.

I drank a can of pop soda. It had my name on it. A friend had bought me a case. CLASSIC IRONY! The drinks name itself was a brand name synonymous with corporate fascism and mass ill health the world over. Loved by billions.

I went for a walk past a toilet I once did a gig in. It was being hounded by near and far-by residents for being noisy and smelly. People rushed to defend it and were referring to it as an ICONIC venue. I reflected , in my now CLASSIC manner, that my morning stool had been more ICONIC than that dump. That PILE of steaming bricks! That was the times we wuz livin’ in though but. People shouted and talked shit up like holy rolling preachers at every turn. Nothing really rated it. Nothing really ever happened any more. It was a CLASSIC STORM EYE we were experiencing. For how long, nobody knew. We looked to SPOKESPERSONS to talk us out of it. So we could see shit from the outside. “You pay peanuts- you get monkeys” was all I could summon as I heard some lame ABC types stretch their skills to the very limit in brave efforts to be entertaining and then Kyle Sandilands and Allan Jones do the same in the way of being informative.

I got back into my car - a Japanese made 4 cylinder van. A CLASSIC from the early 00’s that will never be made again. For some reason. I’m hangin’ onto it. The wheel. Will to live I guess. Some damn INNATE compulsion. I turn on the radio, set to a CLASSIC rock station and listen to stuff I had heard a thousand times before. It had been great. Once. I waited for the magic again. The stuff was guaranteed. SUREFIRE!.

I wasn’t feeling it. I felt off the worlds game. Out of it. Like Steve Martin in THE JERK.

I turned to one of the few stations dealing with new shit and tried some of that. Scandinavian indie bands singing some dreadful, sexless, feckless, filthless , faux folk song that sounded OLDER than time – than recorded music itself. I guess that’s what they wanted. Terrible lyrics and the boy/mans voice came all out of his throat. There was no rest of his body involved. Sounded like musical theatre pipes happening. Thin and reedy. Punk was never going to happen. Is that why people listen to Neil Young? The reassuring grampiness of it all? There were a lot of other acts around on air, they were all generic too. People liked shit that they could see whole. The beginning and the end. They were blind to anythin’ else. Didn’t have the bandwidth. When I grew up there was a squall of old time shit on the tv too. Made it unbearable. The Waltons and Happy Days. How many teen deaths were those shows responsible for? Then we got stoned and turned to the Blue Oyster Cult with their hit, “don’t fear the reaper”. (The singer is dead and is telling his girlfriend to kill herself and cross over- a CLASSIC).  That would have been legendary if we’d all carked out there in the forest, behind the drive-in, with “Tyranny and Mutation” on the tape deck, repeating on the track “OD’d on life itself”. Total teen death VERISIMMILITUDE! Totally! My life would have had , almost, an appearance of meaning.

I was dressed in quadruple denim. The world had perverted me. I was always dressing for that funeral that never was. A denim cape, jacket, shirt and pants. I was looking for some denim shoes and a denim hanky to poke out of my pocket. Years ago, I had a denim slouch hat made. A fucking CLASSIC! It was ICONIC! Made from a  Generals titfer. Five folds in the band. ANZACIACAL! Still, people eyed me suspiciously. They still do. I am neither romantically driven nor do I strive for a  classic form. Well I do, but that’s just me being polite, trying to get square with folks. Get out of peoples way. Dodgy, but. What I really needed was a one piece suit in dark denim , perhaps like the one designed by black panther Eldridge Cleaver. It was called a cock suit , because it had an exterior sleeve wherein a bloke ostensibly sheathed his throbbing purple headed Gila Monster. That was an ICONIC bit of clothing. It beheld a narrative - a story! Eldridge had fled the USA to Algeria and had come back, with an eye to making a  killing in the rag trade. They mocked him, perhaps that garments time has come? And I could at last assume some agreed human form? 

speaking of a book I wished I'd written...

I was asked to speak at a "women of Letters" book launch. The brief was to write a  letter to , or on , a book you wished you'd written. I spoke  about this book by Richard Stark. the Playwright Hannie Rayson spoke last and slayed everybody by mocking books and speaking about her life as if it was   a series of plays written by playwrights of each period.

I wish I could have written Richard Starks “THE HUNTER” which was made into a movie called “point Blank”. This is also of course,  a kind of death wish, wishing to have been someone else. But Richard Stark was a name and a mask put on by a writer called Donald E Westlake. Donald wrote great books under his own name, kind of light and funny. As Richard Stark he wrote 21 novels about a lone wolf bank robber called “Parker”.

21 books about this world of loner misfits who were outside of the law and the Mob in, generally, Midwest USA of the 60s and 70s.  The books were also pulp paperbacks sold at train stations and in airports, outside any kind of a self-conscious literary scene. The stories were built like the classics of James M Cain, always starting at the end and the going back to unravel the situation, pulling apart the fabric to get to the bare threads it consisted of.

There have been several films made. Westlake refused to let them use the name PARKER unless whoever was producing would commit to a series of films, to tell a longer story over time. The films were always low budget too. One called “The OUTFIT” with Robert Duvall. The greatest is “point Blank” where the character, called WALKER” in the film, was truly brought to life by LEE MARVIN. A John Bormann movie, filmed on location in LA and San Francisco and, memorably, within the walls of the recently vacated ALCATRAZ prison.

Like many classics of that period, it has been remade, with the Australian/ American Mel Gibson in the lead. I couldn’t watch that. Lee Marvin was IT.

John Boorman went on to make DELIVERANCE.

Lee left a career of great performances, though this and his turn in Don Siegel’s “THE KILLERS” remake are my personal favourites.

Richard Starks character seemed to take over him and the story wrote itself. A writers dream- or nightmare? Any other characters coming into the story to leaven up the pulp got energized and powered up as well. Parker turned them all on.

He threw some characters in just to be silly. One was Grofeld, a hardcore actor who joined in on some of the robberies to finance his experimental theatre out in the mid west. For Richard Stark, the USA was a huge place where you could get lost easy and could also bury anything. Donald E Westlake, was of course, buried within Richard Stark and that’s how he got Parker out into the world.

So I love writing where people hide things say out in the open. Writing that’s widely and generally available but fearlessly and boldly contains many hidden treasures. Perhaps like a bag of unmarked bills left at a bus station lock up in a satellite city in a  rust belt state just past the wheat fields. You could just pick it up and head back to your crib deep inside the Canasta Belt.

 dave graney and the mistLY

Friday Nov 9th - the Flying saucer Club. 4 St Georges rd - Elsternwick Vic

click here to book tickets 

peter lillies wake

this was published in a recent issue of the Melbourne Review



I was speaking to a mutual friend of Peter Lillies when the terrible news came that he'd died up in Sydney. Quite sudden news. My friend was wondering aloud how to have a wake of some sorts and being unsure how to get in touch with people, indeed, who to get in touch with. 
Turns out he needn't have worried. Paul Madigan organized a wake at the St Kilda Bowling Club. I turned up at the designated time of 4:30 pm, maybe a bit later, and it was already pretty packed. They came from right out of the very woodwork of Melbourne. Johnny Topper was talking, and continued to talk for longer than I'd ever heard him talk. That strange, high, warbling tone of his. Very funny tales of working in the night rail yards along Flinders and Spencer Street with peter Lillie, lining up for the work like something out of "On The Waterfront". Also, stories of arts grants and spending them on old cars and guitars and starting a band playing at the Pram Factory and La Mama instead of in pubs. Anarchist bookshops and the like. This is early 70s Melbourne stuff. Jane Clifton was sitting near to the stage and Topper kept turning in her direction for corroboration of details. Paul Madigan was also on stage, drinking a pot and interjecting occasionally. The room was full of grey ghosts from that Carlton/Sunbury period. Some had had commercial success, or at the least, access to the public outside the bohemian village, like Greg McCainsh and Bob Starkie and Barry Dickins. Others were more from the world of poetry, theatre and inner city legendary rockabilly and western swing bands. There were also people from that late 70s Melbourne punk scene like Chris Walsh, Andrew Duffield, Ash Wednesday, Greg Ades, Lucky Last and Conway Savage and Amanda. Jim Shugg from the Feral Dinosaurs/People with Chairs up their noses. I had a chat with a bloke who used to do live sound and now runs a pub in Warburton. He was talking of the family who ran the Tote before it was the Tote. Paul, who ended up leaving the family and jumping over the bar to play guitar with the Johnnies, apparently named it. Said it should have something to do with the betting that used to go on there in John Wrens days. He asked if I was working much. "A lot", I said and added that it was hard work. He agreed that it was plain hard work getting people out of their teched up caves nowadays. This gathering was mostly talk of simpler times. People were never in for a while there. Maybe so far in they were out.
Mitchell Fairclough aka Slim Whittle gave a great talk and sang a song accompanying himself on a ukelele shaped like a Les Paul. The song was great. It had a line going something like " I sent a snail to his maker today- you can't always know what you're treadin' on". He had a face and tone of voice like many uncles of mine years ago in the country. They've all turned up their toes now, too. Tracey Harvey aka Tammy Whittle walked past. Johnny Von Goes sang a Lillie tune, Mark Ferrie spoke about going to see the Pelaco brothers at the Kingston Hotel in 1975 or 76. He said it was the coolest crowd he'd ever seen. Some of ' em would've been looking back at him now.
There was a man playing guitar who looked like that ghostly character from Twin Peaks. A passing friend told me he was the father of a kid he knew and he hadn’t seen him for 30 years. I sat with another friend who is not talking to Paul Madigan, who is ten feet away in front of him, playing the guitar.
Fred Negro sang a very respectful version of a Lillie song, as respectful as you can be holding a broomstick with a plastic horses head on one end and strumming it like a guitar. 
People spoke of the person they knew. All being very close to him. All telling their truth. I met him much later on. I’d heard his name. He’d heard mine. We talked across a mess of reputations and bullshit. Ran into him in different places. Melbourne, in the city street the last time. Byron Bay in the mid nineties. Having sudden, spirited conversations about Ern Malley, Max Harris, Fender guitars and amplifiers, Don Dunstan’s vision of the satellite city MONARTO. He wrote songs about all that stuff.
Garry Adams read a wonderful telegram (how quaint) from Peter in heaven where he was in the band and saying that Hendrix was ok on guitar but “not really the sort of thing (I) was looking for…” Everybody laughed too easily. Must have been a raw truth there. My friend said it was great how short and succinct the musicians were when they spoke.
Then Topper was singing. Almost dancing. Never seen him put out so much in years!
I spoke to some of my friends, a decade younger than this lot. The older ones were living and eating healthier is all I can say.  Must have gotten some good dietary habits when a  brief window of common sense opened up there in bohemia.
Madigan sang "new road to Gundagai" and I shed a tear because that song always does that to me. Wistful tune of a delicate sensibility. Peter's and that whole scene of freaks. That crew saw and imagined everyday iconic lolly wrappings and ice cream brands as psychedelical shapes out of time. They celebrated  dumb dead ends and non sequiturs. The new Road to Gundagai mentions staying a night in the TV Motel. The TV motel was in Gundagai and has been torn down now. It was shaped like a tv set! On legs which you parked underneath. Thing is gone and the sensibility and the reaction is gone too. All so delicate. Seemed so solid and powerful for a while.
Rick Dempster did a dance and twirl on his Cuban heel boots because Topper asked him to. A hat was passed around. There was an auction of some Fred Negro artwork. I left early, I guess, crossed the river and sat and watched the Hired Guns playing at the Standard. It was great to sit in a room and hear some music. Let the songs, old and new link up all those mismatched, half imagined and isolated scenes in your mind. In your life.

http://www.theage.com.au/entertainment/music/goodbye-to-all-that-quirkiness-20120920-268jz.html 

playing the flying saucer club in elsternwick friday 9th nov

Loved playing in Perth and Fremantle and the show at the Red rattler was a blast. Great venue!
Band is playing at a high level of match fitness. One more show for this tour and then we'll be reloading in some way.

Friday 9th November at the Flying saucer Club 
4 St Georges rd Elsternwick

We'll be playing with the Dames who are Clare Moore oin drums, Kaye Louise Patterson on piano and Rosie Westbrook on bass. They have been working on an album foir abouta  year and threaten to release it soon. For live shows they are joined by Will Hindmarsh on laptop and keys and myself on guitar.

The last gig we did was an acoustic spot at a  bookshop in Canberra. Played my K Yairi 12 string and Clare played some percussion and sang. Had  great time. Will be doing more of that.