music

Music Monday | Tangled Up In Blue – The Whitlams (cover) of Bob Dylan

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If it is so difficult to begin, imagine what it will be to end—
Louise Glück

I am reading Geoff Dyer’s book of endings; The Last Days of Roger Federer. I have tried and failed before to read another book by Dyer that came highly recommended: Out of Sheer Rage. Perhaps, after listening to (because that’s how I read almost all books these days) The Last Days of Roger Federer, I will be able to return to it. I was attracted to this current book by its title and my adoration for Roger (as Dyer notes, it’s always just Roger despite not knowing him, only Roger), and also due to the fact that I’d failed to read his previous book. Although, it’s not his only previous book. Only the one I’d previously attempted to read. This new book starts in a fashion I particularly enjoy; short “chapters”. Though most people would probably refer to them only as paragraphs. Other authors whose work I appreciate for the same reason; Yiyun Li in Dear Friend, from My Life I Write to You in Your Life, and Lewis Hyde in A Primer for Forgetting. These short chapters are put together to form a whole picture based on seemingly small, dissimilar or unrelated snippets. They are the style of book I someday hope to write.

Dyer moves from an opening chapter on The Doors, to a second chapter about Bob Dylan and references his song Tangled Up in Blue.

I had forgotten this song. And, when duly reminded, had only the briefest inkling that it was originally written by Dylan (Dylan, not Bob—never Bob, unlike Roger). Instead, I was most familiar with a cover version by The Whitlams. The Whitlams formed in Sydney in 1992 and released their third album, Eternal Nightcap, (which really felt like their first) when I was in my early years of university. They toured university campuses with high energy but I preferred to listen to them at home, alone, in my bedroom with favoured songs on repeat. It is this album that boasts the cover of Tangled Up in Blue. It was my least favourite song on the album and I frequently skipped over it, preferring Buy Now Pay Later (Charlie No. 2), and No Aphrodisiac. But the reference Geoff Dyer made to a lyric from Tangled Up in Blue “We’ll meet again someday, on the avenue” reminded me of a different song by The Whitlams. It was on a later album, Little Cloud. And I used to play it incessantly on the piano when I lived in Queensland. It was called Keep the Light On.

I do not cope well with endings. Even when I have instigated them.

It is impossible for me to turn off my care, compassion, and curiosity for people I’ve had a connection with—who are or have been friends—regardless of whether they’ve hurt me. Or, perhaps, especially if they’ve hurt me. (There are a couple of notable exceptions to this but I won’t be revealing who they are or my former relationship to them.) I don’t know if this is healthy. But I do know that I don’t know how to operate any other way. I always just want to know that they’re well.

NNZDD

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When I work, I tend to go “off-grid” for days—almost a week—at a time. My work pattern consists of 12-hour shifts from seven until seven. These times are for both the night shifts (7pm until 7am) and the day shifts (7am until 7pm) on a 10-day repeating cycle:

night, night, (24 hour break/zombie day), day, day, off, off, off, off, off – repeat

An example roster for February, the pink moon symbols denote night shift, the blue suns denote day shift and the green star is an additional day we need to do once every five weeks to make sure we work the right number of hours in a 10-week cycle.
An example roster for February

While I am off, I can be called for overtime, at any time, for any of the day or night shifts that I’m not already rostered. Our resourcing has been cut to a minimum over the years and with people getting covid or taking summer recreation leave, there is a lot of overtime. I am called for multiple shifts during my break. But I try to only accept one.

I’ve often described what I do as 95% routine and 5% panic but with the plant and equipment now ageing into its 50s, that ratio has changed. It’s more like 80% routine and 20% panic.

To be fair, panic isn’t a great way to describe it, either. In those moments when things are going wrong, or you need to respond to certain plant conditions quickly, or safely shut down a unit, the last thing you must be doing is panicking. But it does require extreme concentration and urgency in decision-making. It’s one of the things I like about the job. Situations that require analysis and reflexive responses under pressure are my catnip. Perhaps it is that I enjoy that low-level of anxious arousal, the flutter of my nervous system, and the adrenaline that’s generated when something happens.

All shift long, I make megawatts of electricity. When I finish, I go home, eat a simple meal, and sleep. Between night shifts, I sleep until approximately 4pm. Then I have about an hour and forty-five minutes before I need to leave for work. On zombie day, I sleep til noon-ish; wash work laundry in the afternoon and finish any other small jobs that need doing. After day shift, I do much of the same, only I try to sleep until 5am. If I’m not working overtime, the first day off after my round is decompression day and I don’t like to do anything. But tomorrow I have scheduled some appointments—a medical screening, a beauty salon appointment, and lunch with a friend. The rest of my time off will be spent decluttering the house, discovering what art supplies I have hidden away in storage boxes under beds, and preparing for my mother to visit. It’s been four years since I’ve seen her, and this will be her first trip to our home since I moved here in 2014. Somehow, despite my best efforts to have everything stored in its place, labelled, and easy to access, entropy always wins. It seems that nothing is where I left it.

I have been searching for days for a mantra I listened to relentlessly in 2020 and still cannot find it. YouTube seems to store history. But not all history. I don’t know why. Did I mention my mother is coming to visit?

The day G was anaesthetised and had his brain biopsy, it was almost 9pm. I put on my noise cancelling headphones, played some music at a supposedly calming frequency and went to visit him. I found him in a dark room that was not, in fact, a room, it was more like the centre of a galaxy. Though it was mostly dark. I grabbed his hand, told him he was safe, and asked him where he wanted to go. Everest, he said, and in milliseconds we were rugged up and standing on the top of the world. At which point, I turned to him and said “What are we doing here? You don’t even like the cold!”

It wasn’t the first time I’d had an out of body experience; the first was when I was 12. I was riding my cousin’s pony and jumping a gate, and on my fourth jump, the saddle slipped around as the pony leapt. I know this because I watched it. The girl slid with the saddle off to the left and I watched from behind. I bounced back into my body at the same time I hit the ground, winded, and gasping for breath.

I think of these things when I’m at work. I think about energy. Enthalpy. Entropy.

Did I mention my mother is coming to visit?

I do not understand any of it.

The generator is a magic box. I rotate a turbine using steam power and at the other end of it, electrons are forced down wires through substations into homes to power televisions. Or computers. Or phones.

Did I mention my mother is coming to visit?

I will not get a decompression day this week. So instead, I’m going to try to play some other music–Grae Moore makes music for ADHD brains. I’m not diagnosed. I don’t think I quite meet the criteria. Nor do I quite meet the criteria for autism. Though the main complaints people have made about me tend to sound like some complaints about autistic traits. There is a family history there. Perhaps my masking is just that good. Or perhaps it’s not, hence the complaints.

Did I mention my mother is coming to visit?

Music Monday | Hands – Jewel

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Today is decompression day; I’ve worked my normal round (4×12 hour shifts on a night night day day roster) plus an additional day of overtime this last week–for a total of 60 hours from 7pm Tuesday night to 7pm Sunday night. On my first day off after work, I can barely summon the energy to read, much less write. So today’s Music Monday is short and I’ll be back tomorrow.

Because in the end, only kindness matters.

Music Monday | The Art of Escape – Hein Cooper

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When the only thing that’s sure is this unsteady ground

Hein Cooper

Listening to certain types of music often gives me the same strange sensation of yearning I have when I look at the stars. As if I belong somewhere else. Or perhaps, rather, am from somewhere else. When I was a child growing up in the church, I believed this was because I belonged in heaven–out there, in the stars somewhere. Now, though, I know it’s because all the elements in my body were forged in the heavens; hydrogen and helium during the big bang, while heavier elements were made by fusion in a star’s core.

My affinity for out there is also a way to dissociate from right here. Right now.

I am trying to remember that, as Rumi says, “You are not a drop in the ocean, you are the entire ocean in a drop.”

Music Monday | Outside the Lines – Birdtalker

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After running a Spotify account for about two years, I’m finally starting to use it in a way that doesn’t involve just searching for my favourite songs and listening to them. Lately, I’ve been paying attention to the recommendations and last week stumbled onto this gem.

Birdtalker’s debut album One was released last year after an EP in 2016, and a new single came out just over a week ago.

When I met G, I sent him a list of my flaws; number nine of fifteen said “I listen to too much indie folk music.” Birdtalker’s debut One may not fit as neatly into the indie folk music genre as their EP Just This but it is still largely reminiscent of that soft, folksy Americana that draws me in.

But what Birdtalker has, in addition to sweet sweet sounds, is something magical in their lyrics. There is an existential heartache in their songs; the search for meaning and purpose by a couple who’ve deconstructed from Protestant religion. Perhaps it’s their rejection of exclusionary dogma, a mirror of my own trajectory, and the unpacking of the baggage of religious narratives that I resonate with. Perhaps it’s the way they challenge traditional hierarchies while they examine their role in maintaining such systems. Perhaps it’s that their songs sit in a liminal space I’m far too familiar with. Whatever it is, I love it.

In an article with Billboard prior to the release of the song I’m posting tonight, songwriter Dani Green said: “I was pretty angry when I wrote it, but I don’t think you would know that from listening to the song.”

Dani, who co-fronts Birdtalker with her husband Zack Green, tells Billboard about the gentle, harmony-laden folk song. Organized religion was Green’s intended target, but “Outside The Lines” carefully encompasses hypocrisy on a broader scale.

“I was tired of feeling like people in that arena could — because they say they’re believing in good things — treat people really poorly,” Green explains. “That just stirred up a lot of anger in me. The language of the song, the words, are very flowery and elevated to poke fun at the elevated, flowery language of religion, the ancient texts. It feels like it’s deceptive. That language, because it’s so nice and flowery, is like a shield you could put up in front of you, but then you go and treat people in ways that’s not at all reflective of the things you said.”

“Outside The Lines” is, however, representative of Green’s lyrical approach on the album’s 11 tracks. “It’s sort of a snapshot of a period of deconstruction and having a lot of open-ended questions,” she says. “It feels pretty open-handed and like it asks a lot of question and sort of targets mainstays or institutions, things that are kind of an unquestioned part of your life — until you decided to start questioning them. So it feels like a lot of questions, with a little bit of resolve.”

Musicless

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Many Mondays have passed without music. As have all the Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. There is little solace and much grief. I’m trapped inside a free-falling elevator plummeting to the bottom of the shaft and I don’t know when it is going to stop.

The heat of the day has been swept away by the storm. Light rain is spattering on the roof. And I am going to bed, again, to not sleep.

 

 

Music Monday | I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead – Jon Bon Jovi

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Until I’m six feet under
Baby I don’t need a bed
Gonna live while I’m alive
I’ll sleep when I’m dead
‘Til they roll me over
And lay my bones to rest
Gonna live while I’m alive
I’ll sleep when I’m dead

I used to be proud of how little I slept.

“Only three hours?” others would stare and squint at me suspiciously. But it was amazing — I had so many more hours in the day than “normal people”.

Developing healthy sleep habits was a large part of my treatment; building a routine, sleeping even when I didn’t want to, shifting my thoughts about what needing sleep meant (turns out, it doesn’t make you weak). Now I’m regularly able to sleep for five to six hours — which may not seem like much but is double what I was getting several years ago.

Recently, I’ve moved to permanent shift work involving a pattern of night shifts and I’m in the process of converting my sleep rhythms so that I sleep during the day. I’ve always slept better during the day than at night…except when I am woken up.