In Conversation with… Sabian Wilde

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AUDIO courtesy of your (my) friendly community radio statio… RTRFM

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There’s an old man in my neighbourhood; his name is Ray
He can talk for half an hour; He can talk for half a day
Standing by the side of the road
Complaining about the green collection

He can talk your bloody arms off while you make a cup of tea
He says he doesn’t like the Council, but he likes community
He’s got an answer for everything
But he won’t run in the local election…

‘Cause Ray is the captain of the Neighbourhood Watch
Which means he watches the neighbourhood turning to pot
He seemed so happy when he signed us on the spot
But I hope he don’t expect much ’cause he will not get a lot…

We’ve all joined the Neighbourhood Watch
If you ever see our bins you’ll see the logo and the swatch
But we keep the bins inside, cause our neighbourhood sucks
So much.

We sit in our house; Afraid of all the sirens
And the hoons in stolen cars; and the burglar alarums
It’s a piece of paradise
Who’da thought it’d scare me quite this much…

But Ray is the captain of the Neighbourhood Watch
Which means he watches the neighbourhood turning to pot
He patrols by day, which doesn’t help a lot
When the neighbours kids are in your fridge, ’cause thieving’s thirsty work…

Right Click to Download

Right click on the icon on the left to download the audio, courtesy of RTRFM.

This song is the result of an internal conflict about the way MJ’s death has been received around the world… and in particular, this strange phenomenon whereby people have claimed that it is ‘too soon’ to make jokes at the man’s expense.

My gut feeling is that he was a lot funnier when he was alive. The tragedy is that a wellspring of weird — the stuff upon which some comedy careers have been very healthily sustained (think Eddy Murphy in ‘Raw’) has run dry…

On to the song…

There’s nothing very funny about Michael Jackson’s death,
It’s not like he was wrestling monkeys
In his oxygen tent
When Captain Hook let loose a broadside
From atop the highest ride in Neverland
And put an end to Pop’s own Peter Pan
It’s just a heart attack — and there’s nothing very funny about that.

I am saddened by reactions
To the death of Michael Jackson
All the jokes and hype flying around the ‘net
But the part of it that I did not expect

Is the people who say it’s too soon
To laugh before the final tune
As his family puts his body down to rest…
I suggest… [I Want You Back].

_____

Thanks to Sarah Church for giving me the following….

'Sabian Wilde - King of Pop' by Sarah Church

I think she got the frown just right….

Right Click to Download

Trying a new format…. Right click on the icon on the left to download the audio, courtesy of RTRFM.

You get more from the audio… it’s not always funny, but it is always recorded at 7.15am, Tuesday mornings… and that’s a weird time.

In this instalment (a day late, a buck short), thoughts on exploding tables, Today Tonight, cockfighting and the importance of good nasal hygeine.

Thanks also for your enquiries about last night’s stand-up gig… I had fun and learnt more about what to do next time…

LYRICS TO THIS WEEK’S SONG BIT

Somewhere, there’s a swine
Who gave a human the flu
Next thing, pigs might fly
Now the virus is airborne too…

We’re all gonna die
Says the lady who reads the news
Better not get it,
The Avian Swine Flu…

This Tuesday, I’m honoured to have the opportunity to perform live at the Hyde Park Hotel for What I Have is Gold II, a night dedicated to the incredible songs that have come out of Perth over the last couple of decades.

For Facebookers, the info is here: http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=79149253348

In essence, it will be local artists playing covers of local artists and it promises to be a good night for punters.

For me, it’s the opportunity to demonstrate something I never felt I was able to adequately express in all my years of music journalism — exactly how much I love music and how deeply I respect the talent of the hundreds of songwriters that by and large, most people will never hear of or about.

In recent years, Perth has been more successful than usual with its ‘shout it from the rooftops’ approach of publicising it’s local musicians, but the real local music devotee (regardless of where they come from) must come to terms with the fact that the vast majority of their favourite tunes will fade into near obsolescent obscurity the moment that the band in question calls it a day.

Local stations such as RTRFM, which pride themselves on unearthing new talent, play a massively important role in the promotion of new artists/bands: this necessarily means that once a band has folded, the impetus or excuse to play the ‘best song of last year’ is exponentially undermined with each new artist that requires their assistance… and that’s as it should be, for the most part.

But on Tuesday night — possibly (at least rumoured to be) the last night of live local music at the public bar ‘fuck no, we don’t have a stage‘  institution that has been the Hydey front bar — I’ll be taking the opportunity to pay homage to some of my favourite bands and songs of yesteryear… (with one notable exception).

It’ll also be my first non-comedy solo show in 6 years.  It’ll be my privilege to play, and a pleasure to see you there if you’re able.

Me as the angsty, mysterious artist... Early morning in a barn being renovated in rural France (outside Poitiers). Cool as fuck, moi.

This week’s song is inspired by this news article about the most popular songs for funerals (‘My Way’ remains the stand-out fave, but there are some up and coming challengers).

Of course, the irony of having someone else singing ‘My Way’ — in itself a song about someone else, written by that person and made popular by yet another person — would be anathema to me.

So, I wrote the following song to be played at my own funeral — preferably through speakers set into my coffin, which I expect to be fully pimped and tricked out by The Parisite.

Or the attendees will have to listen via Silent Disco headsets so my voice goes straight into their brain.

Pimp My Coffin

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Listen to the AUDIO.
Courtesy of RTRFM
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If you are hearing this it means that I am dead
Or missing and I’m not expected to turn up again
I wonder what I did this time; Did I do it to myself
But I’m glad that I pre-wrote this song, so I get to toast YOUR health

I bet you’re all pretty glad you’re not me
I mean… even more than normally

So raise you’re glasses, unless you’re not allowed to drink in here
Would it bloody kill them to let all my friends have a beer
As they remember me?
You’ll note I’m speaking of you ‘plurally’
In the hope I haven’t driven you all away…
With one notable exception, and that’s YOU, Dave… I mean it, get out of here.

So now I’m dead; what became of all my dreams?
My bright burning ambitions; Did I buy Playstation 3?
I can’t bite your head off
So now’s the time to tell me…
I’m assuming I failed to create the virus
That would turn us all into zombies,

But now’s the perfect time to tell you
Dave has herpes.

What are you still doing here Dave?
Except for giving me the chance
To kick your arse from beyond the grave?

It’s possible I’ve died from my own bitterness and rage…
But the important thing is I fit in the box
And I still look good on the stage…

This coffin doesn’t make my arse look fat, does it?
And if you think that does, well screw you, you can kiss it
In truth I’m sad that I’m gone, life is short so don’t miss it.

Except you, Dave.

As will soon be obvious, I’m not in the best mood today…

Download the AUDIO, courtesy of RTRFM.

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Yesterday a man gave a speech about a world
In which we wouldn’t have to live in fear
Of nuclear attack…
And it was nice, yeah it was nice
And meanwhile North Korea’s launching
Invisible satellites, and they are nice…
A little harder to see…
If you don’t believe me,
Just ask the Japanese, ‘cuz
They are nice,
Just ask the whales,
Second only to Sea Shepherd
For having tall tales…

If there is a point to all of this
I hope I’m not a realist
I hope there’s still hope to be had
I hope that life ain’t all that bad
I hope the earthquakes go away
I hope the missiles do not stray
When cynicism is the norm
It makes you wonder why we’re born…

A cynic is a person who just cannot see the good
In humanity; It’s history cannot be understood
In terms of nice… Don’t ask me why.
It’s like emos who can cut themselves but never seem to die
It isn’t fair… so much despair
And nothing good to show for it but really cool hair.

If there is a point to all of this
I hope I’m not a realist
I hope there’s still hope to be had
I hope that life ain’t all that bad
I hope the earthquakes go away
I hope the missiles do not stray
When cynicism is the norm
It makes you wonder why we’re born…

But if I had to guess…
That even cynics  just like sex… a little too much.

Stop procreating
We could have a new world order
If we’d all skip a generation.

Download the AUDIO.
Courtesy of RTRFM.

-

Airport security think that my friend Chris
Looks like a terrorist
Yes they always test him
For the explosives residue
Randomly, they say “Hey You!
“Come here and let us rub this swab
“All over you”

It’s all part of the charade
To help the public feel safe
Until the bikies come to pick up their mate
And put a whole new spin
On arrivals at the ‘Terminal‘ 3 gate

I think it’s pretty weird
That they plan to stop the bikies
By introducing anti-bikie laws along the lines
Of the anti-terrorist
Forms of due process

Because it would have gone no further
Stopped well short of murder
If the bikies had been dressed as terrorists
Riding in on camels
And wearing an Islamic head-dress.

I don’t see the point
Of bringing in new laws
‘Cause a murder’s still a murder
Even on the airport floor
It didn’t stop the crime
Do you think it will next time?
The local chapter of Al Qaeda
Fundamentalists called Easy Riders.

__

And the stories keep coming…

Hanson and Capper go air-head to air-head

*With apologies to Dexy and his Midnight Runners.

Download the AUDIO.
Courtesy of RTRFM.
Short edit ‘A little less conversation…”  090317_icw_pauline-edit (MP3 4.5MB)

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Down ’round Oxley way
There’s a fish’n'chips girl
In a food hall world
But she doesn’t like all the flavours.

She’s got Aussie pride
Don’t we all? who’d blame her?

She’s young (and naked), in the (the papers)
Election just around the corner (come on Pauline)

Toora-loora-toora-loo-rye-aye
And we can sing like Warwick Capper

Come on Pauline
This stunt’s almost obscene
But you call it — A conspiracy

You in no dress,
Oh Pauline, just confess
It’s a hoax, yes,
But its yours, Pauline

It’s possible you’re clean
Your ex-manager‘s a shameless PR machine
And you sure as hell got on TV

You’ll show (your belly-) button (on telly)
But we are cynical and clever –  remember

Toora-loora-toora-loo-rye-aye
We’ll remember this one forever…

Come on Pauline
Why not try policies?
Or forget it,
Take off everything

Or blame someone else
Cause it’s never yourself
Ah come on let’s,
Let’s all get Pauline

Please…

Come on  – Pauline – for Beaudesert
She’s more, more than fish and chips
She’s danced with the stars,
She’s been behind bars

Oh, Poor Pauline…

Come on Pauline – for Beaudesert
She’s more, more than fish and chips
She says she has grown, but she hasn’t shown,
It all, says Pauline

Come on Pauline, these things are not real but
We know how you feel
Now I must say more than ever
I don’t think you can change
Too-ra loo-ra too-ra loo-rye-aye

Fly with pride... whenever you want

POINT OF ORDER: This is an updated version of last year’s song. New verse in italics.

AUDIO available HERE, courtesy of RTRFM.

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Stonemasons from Melbourne were the first to negotiate
The number of hours in a working day should really stop at eight
21st of April back in 1856
They reduced the working week while making sure the working wage was fixed

And that is why, we celebrate the 21st of April here in March…

I love Australia, I love the way ya
Get to celebrate your public holidays
On any day that suits ya

It’s something in our character
That says it doesn’t really matter
History’s the means to an end
And all we really want is a long weekend

A long weekend…

The Queen is looking old these days, I’m not sure that it’s nice
Could it be because we celebrate her birthday twice
Every year because here in the West it interferes
With West Australia’s Foundation, a day on which we sit and sink some beers

And that is why, if you must know
The Queen’s birthday coincides with the Royal Show

And how about Australia Day? I think it’s idiotic
That a plastic flag made overseas make you feel patriotic
Flying from your foreign car; the irony is cruel
And you are simply racist scum
If your bumper sticker says, “Fuck off, we’re full”

I’d break my neck
Trying to dive in to
The murky, shallow waters
Of your gene pool…

But…

I love Australia, I love the way ya
Get to celebrate your public holidays
On any day that suits ya

It’s something in our character
That says it doesn’t really matter
History’s the means to an end
And all we really want is a long weekend

So if that date comes into play
On a Saturday or Sunday
Take the Monday anyway
Thank the Union Movement when you still get paid

You still get paid
Thank Labour Day

AUDIO available courtesy of RTRFM.

This week’s song dedicated to the very long gestation period between becoming a comedian and performing a gig.

This is me and Peter Barr. It is also why we predominantly work in radio and print.

Peter, it’s been three years
We’ve been in this little room
It’s kind of like a womb
And you’re my conjoined foetus

When you laugh, I laugh
We don’t know what the listeners do
We hope that they are laughing too
Because they complete us

Without an audience we’re just voices in the air
But I think part of the deal is that we’re
Funnier, when we’re not there

In their bathroom, in their bedroom
Where they keep their radios
Our disembodied voices
Go where our conjoined foetus bodies cannot go…

But three years is a really long time
For me to be a comedian, who never plays live
And I won’t lie, it’s probable that this will hurt a bit
But when it’s done,
You can go to Deathcab while I play my first gig

It’s on Thursday, so on Wednesday
I suggest we separate
My wife suggested pliers
Or non-surgical serration

While it’s hard for you and me
To think of lives on our own
I think that our respective partners
Will be happier when we’re closer to full grown

Out of this womb onto a stage I will appear
Raw Comedy’s the place to be
But a Death Cab will not take you there

You’re my favourite conjoined foetus
You’re the best I’ve ever had
There were one or two before you
I absorbed them when I got mad

But never you, not in this womb
You’ve been so good to me
So though I’m going solo
Rest assured that I will come back next week

Without an audience we’re just voices in the air…

SUPPLEMENTAL: Death Cab for Cutie are AWESOME.