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Then, and Then: a memoir

by DATSON

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    The album comes with a beautifully packaged book of poetry. The words on the page are satisfying enough, unlike most rock lyrics, but benefit from accompaniment. ... Like any collection of poetry, you can dip in and out, but listening to the story unfold is the way to do it. This is definitely not, as they might say in Star Trek, rock & roll as we know it. It will adjust your set. TOBY CRESWELL

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1.
Time line, 1977 Spring I guess Sunrise on Black Mountain Road the air a-pulse with incandescent wildlife Hello universe! Imagination it’s a field of abandoned cars Native tobacco, and ferns burst through rust Oxidation We’re all on the slow burn down here So, to the floor of a fifty-seven De Soto: discarded tools, feathers, crushed beer cans, greasy rags and a message from the out-lands - As without, so within And I’m hearing Patti Smith and I’ve been reading the symbolist poets and I’m fairly pretentious Another lonely boy out on the weekend But, it’s a big land and given to dreaming Through the windscreen the morning clouds pile up our heaped canopy of joy And fearful that my head will explode from too much cumulonimbus out and spinning, spinning Spin the world Slow till racing backwards retreat into our own eternal sunset ‘Hey Sheba, hey Salome, hey Venus eclipsin’ my way’ And a quarter of a century later I dreamt of this same morning crouching in the wet grass hugging myself hysterical with connection and voicing all time in the wet grass
2.
Beneath the gilded dome flaked leaf paper altar burn Collapse inwards Your garden of Eden unfolds within the eye of God Pantheon of clouds stream o’er head past iris, tulip, pupil bulb of all knowledge flickers in a half life so intense of ten million light years You who have read to me memories of mother laid upon mother laid upon mother back into the earth The fragile grid of all our race histories held, tender to heart and wrapped as heirlooms silent under care So soft, as not a hares breath disturbs utter rapt concentration Prayers passed forward mother to son son to daughter daughter to child And you said, Look only at six paintings because the seventh is you This Easter symmetrical but not quite in smell so sacred we know it in the dark night of the soul across crowded dance floor Shimmer the fabric of time slow spinning, magnetic in gyroscope transparent globe, flux field Forever is never through the portal of consciousness as true poet is the fenestration of fire word
3.
Brissance 03:12
Pacific Highway Reprise to scuttling coast across broken land Previous imagination is feral in the forest At night the fluttering wings disrupt all sleep Drinking at the Buddah’s temple or stranded horizontal on nightclub floor Panic at the wrong end of a telescope To sense all futures eclipsed by the roaring hollow of now Bark, freedom and by tetragrammation L .o .v. e. Ankle, calf, heifer Eventually we all get to godhead apparently Brisance gateway to Queensland spirit realm Spring Hill baths at 1am the pool surface roiling oily moon altered fable Where is the changing room Minotaur? Under the hostess fast asleep so we set her on fire and watched his bow peep What sacrifice can atone for this state of disgrace where even the peanut wants to join the space race? Speak her magnetic core from gauss to Goss minus to cross potential difference emitting the loss. Tail lights I told Venus sweetest dreams
4.
At the towns edge a straggle of deluded trees linger ignored behind the culvert The local kids hang out there lolling listless on the gutless sofa staring vacant into the powerless TV or sprung laughing from a doorless robe Halfways ‘tween a tip and a non-place ideal for sniffing glue or staging tuneless operas Cigarettes are smoked and a stolen bike re-birthed A grey dishrag flutters wired to the breeze the once spangled bandana of some dumb-arsed club you’d never be in Old glory indeed In the archaic sense of the word it’s a common not beyond rules but they are unspoken here and today it’s under threat Let me reiterate that this is the most real of real estates everything and nothing goes on it’s a buffer zone between us and the future I decry its passing and would furthermore claim it’s gotta lot of inside-out for structure Wastelands are the birthplace of culture I did my learning here A place owned by nobody furnished me with the bittersweet community of belonging Attendance was optional avoidance impossible Priceless moments suspended amongst the pathetic remnants of nature Hope kindled along the high tide mark of affluence
5.
Whether April is fair or cruel it’s got all the numbers for re-birthing the fool So much more, so much was meant So much of style and so little content Not long ago, once gods were dancing now they glide from the shadows moving like Nazis Between the columns aeons shifting cheek to cheek chiffon is drifting all the haze of empire collapsing We are young carefree and scarcely worth catching I’ll tell you what I see I see city burn I’ll tell you what I see I see city burn How often we said you can see it a mile There’s no poke in the eye just plain denial Whether April is fair or cruel it’s got all the numbers for re-birthing the fool So much more, so much was meant So much of style and so little content Now you might say that I’m some pessimist Who’s enjoyed all the highs and had all the hits Now I’ve turned a disparaging eye I’m sitting back to wait while we die I’ve looked at the matter cool in the face I’m ready to die and I’ve taken my place Along with the people who tried and who cared it was all that was left Not long ago, once gods were dancing now they glide from the shadows moving like Nazis Between the columns aeons shifting cheek to cheek chiffon is drifting all the haze of empire collapsing We are young carefree and scarcely worth catching
6.
Dawn Patrol 05:30
If I lived alone at the end of a long street with curtains drawn dusty and smoke chimneying up my air glistening pavements in the wet footfalls Long night of the suburb Fire’s break out but I’m not a starter A watcher, a walker a thinker. by subway or culvert Loneliness is never clandestine just outside and lonely like mail man Like mailman No news, no sack, no shift, no uniform more carrier pigeon than Kurtz’s cursed delivery boy Perhaps though I’d send myself a letter Then, received expectant note from then until now: Dearest sister, I’d say, paraphrasing myself Your family and husband send their deepest affections Please find enclosed your application for migration How did I then end migrated like a southern bird who’s lost all will to go home? That not one of my generation should taste freedom freezes the genes and civilisation stagnant The press depressing the people insular the climate forgiving the economy profligate the church fitful to sporadic sport… now you’ve got them talking! You didn’t chose me to arrive and I didn’t expect you to greet me but tonight behind sleepy eyes rest assured that I am out here patrolling for you Let me explain it this way; As I see it your society is an insurance job a stand over tactic of understatement an insider job committed by sociopaths administered by control freaks who definitely know best and funded by every one of us according to our greed.
7.
Woodcut 03:11
Unto the capital where some forces fall To seek a woodcut I’ve seen before Old man with lamp chases beauty down His soul is torn on the stony ground She understands land just by standing still Sky split asunder swallow storm How they fly in compassion song Seeking truth by lamp is fine until The oil runs out She understands that path that the woodcut shows Is not just knowledge or its antidote The girl is fair the man is old and blind Unto the capital he’s bound to go And buy a woodcut of the episode
8.
Poor Time 06:47
Poor time, riding down stealth night on stolen horses Road north runs right runs right by her heart It’s not what I think that you should be believing Old man, drunk fool he was once king like they say After the silk and gold after silk and gold are stripped away He got it so right then so wrong Charlie sing that old song ‘Forgotten, forgotten, forgotten but not gone’ God says, take no living prisoners So hard time is over if they find us It’s not my hope that you should be breathing Things past, future tense back to the beginning Poor time, stolen nights on stealth black horses
9.
Even though he held us in his tractor beam we all fall down Even though he held us aloft on tractor beam the god who tried to guide us had somehow not foreseen despite our best intentions and hearts alive with love the eternal fall of all from heart to earth above we all fall down The cup that runneth over fulfil the source’s lip we all fall down He caught the living humans suspended in thin air Some achieve valhalla but I’m consigned elsewhere we all fall down
10.
Planet 02:40
Do you ever eat too fast? I do, love’s like that In the city, summertime your heart goes out naive and cool Are you angry and afraid? I can confess to that Do you look at the mess we’ve made hope to ever learn from it? Don’t despair people united under hope helping hand, emotions mute we’re washed in each other’s blood. It’s not wrong to pray for those things that your brothers and sisters might need but if they take too much you’re going to have to fight, there’s no room for greed Without money, you’ve got faith think once and get it right It’s OK, we’re all possessed ideas and dead mythology Don’t despair people united under hope This stuff we spill is just the living breath of earth
11.
Old Message 03:21
Hey, I’m sorry about the biscuits what, with the radio and all I forgot It’s strange don’t you think? How did all this all get to be so big brother? Why all the voting out couldn’t we just vote in for once? The ghost of democracy scores a TV show It’s dumb, but I watch How’s Brion? I know you think he’s wrong but just lately I’ve been hearing his side of the story Is the stuff about the dog true? Went to Vic’s show at Art Veldt on Wednesday Samo, samo. You know ‘Bourgeois Reassurism’ more theory than Einstein and it’s small and ugly to boot Amazes me how they ever get funding but anyway Max was there blathering on about the collapse of language I’m sure he’s right but how do you market it? I’ve got the reverse problem it just costs I ring up those chat lines to discuss meaning At least they listen for a while or fake it Hey, have you seen that new water? I got some the other day and can’t tell the difference stuff you take for granted Um, sorry about the biscuits Hey listen do you think that there’s something weird’s going on? It’s about the Australian vernacular wheat silos and all corrugated iron - no, not really But it didn’t used to be all lifestyle did it? I’m not hearing it Where’s it going? There’s nobody out there with my voice and I think that I’m not the only one You live somewhere for most of your life making assumptions about who your friends and neighbours are and suddenly you wake up one day to find that you’ve been voted out Hey sorry about the biscuits again and sorry about filling up your message bank up with all this stuff Have a good day.
12.
Bucolica 03:01
Long before the sun the children asleep we are the reckless ones Out in the field with birds under pine trees what are we hoping for? The map we’ve got is wrong people just aren’t like that anymore There’s a lot of loose ends but you can bet that all this has been before Let me take you home the shoes you’re in the earth you’re standing on What does it mean to them? Not much but between you and me it’s everything
13.
Let the sun go down on your last regret Forty years wrong on a barbed wire fence Feeling it over, pack up your books and clothes Back up the car, you took the wrong road Easy forgiven, empty the whispering wire I watched you two burn Beat into ploughshares the hammer and sickle of song Get out of town you don’t belong Swearing that day from deep in your heart as they made you, so you’re a part of them Try not believing when you’re leaving, it’s the wrong time You might change their hearts, but never their minds I know, mistaken as I often am with plenty of time and too many plans Let the sun go down on your last regret Forty years wrong on a barbed wire fence Feeling it over, pack up your books and clothes Back up the car you took the wrong road
14.
This is planet Earth your stop ‘tween birth and death Chaquira calls it life but to me it feels like Geoff Capture flock of birds who suck in fevered breath sweep out of the past after everyone has left Saddle up wild herd extinguish barbecue then unblock the drain if there’s nothing left to do Receive every blessing of hero god right now put bottles out the front for the sacred cow Try exercising discipline of having too much fun father scratches head from too much time in sun Get the golden fleece use it as a rag soak up all the oil that’s leaking from the hag She’s come in for a service mechanics are unfound bed her down in feathers enfold her in the sound The oracle of lips you should read them every day A serpent, big apple a holy mad man’s quest each of these resides inside the mind of Geoff A template, a metaphor a software fluid plan of how to be a child trapped in body not quite man Suddenly the knees are folding towards the chin I’m falling back inside preparing to begin This is planet earth your stop ‘tween birth and death Chaquira calls it life but to me it feels like Geoff
15.
Mincemeat 02:35
16.
Mad Cows 04:39
King Malchy reigns his domain as cool as alabaster Order and peace supreme till indelible bedroom scenes etch screaming poet in service of his queen Precipitous, shades drunk, awnings awry gay withe atmosphere liaisons disappear Caravans of phonography set forth awash with a sacred cargo of sound ENTER Grand Vizier Most highly esteemed bovine overlord the choreographer of cows walking and gliding slipping and sliding rapping and breaking twisting and shaking Keeper of all the sacred steps behind the hill obscured from human view Caution! A peasant approaches Pooh-bah of nought but despot of fleas, lice, bedbugs and assemblaged and sundry vermin A plague of indifference seizes the kingdom We need a hero to release us! Sport and cake are of no service Revolution! Struggle! Overthrow of the old infestation by the new Strands grow together clump reshoot a map extends across our hopeless topography A flickering matrix of half truths nodule to ganglion link The message jumps and falsely transmitted feeds back upon the tithe till ten times ten times one hundred times one thousand goes exponential and explodes fuminescence and destruction upon all of our houses PART THE THIRD A new number arrives from the wilderness summonsed by carrion crow The caravan gone mutant Its load reconfigures and revisits itself upon us fresh variation Move steps, three by four four by five five by six An outsider delivers to the blasted progeny a dainty trill embroidening up the settling air Vizier retiring a simile concealed beneath his horns by tube of digestion we thrive to dance another dusk till dawn TIP Don’t eat brains; don’t fly in planes
17.
There’s trouble in the henhouse brewing pullet into ginger’s gone and down the long backyard is coming a thin man in a black frock coat He roosts outside the fence and tells them what they need to hear: Watch out chooks, the yanks are coming chicken-fat kitchens drawing near Now you can greet the axe like fowl or fly like eagles, the lie on wings The choice is yours, the gate is open I’ll give you five to get your things Like St Francis of graffiti all across the land they roamed sleeping cold under the stars or sometimes they’d find a barn Unguided like a worm they travelled and all along the thin man raved (a half of it weren’t true) Reject experts their radio who’s condescending accents show just how much they don’t know, no no no You’ve left behind the servitude of yolk Dress in denim, play guitar and mingle with the common folk The world is big, you’re free to range I’ll agree the kangaroos are strange Battery no more for us, it is a living hell come on enjoy the noise of Avian Freedom Cell Such tunes come in at number one Drive parrots screeching from the air Replace one nonsense with another Come on, we’ve suffered long enough it’s only fair Yeah you can point your camera at many things so dumb but I can think of eight plus one His mouth is as a flower bees and such are buzzing there Number Nine is beyond those hills she is our muse another rumour sings the air There’s trouble in that henhouse brewing pullet into ginger’s gone and down the long backyard is coming a thin man in a black frock coat. He roosts outside the fence and tells them what they need to hear.
18.
Calendar 02:11
Put little springs and cogs in the landscape so it can work for you Travel cross country in an express bus through fields of green Look over yonder there’s a father figure toiling in the midst of a dream If you see sparrows in a shoe box gather looking for a song and dance rest it on a laurel tree draped up like Christmas Haven’t seen your loved ones for the longest time ever since you came down with song Miracles are easy when holidays pass Click on that memory again Made down payment on a three day week lucky how often Sunday repeats The rest of it is all the same with February thrown in for free Look over yonder though fields of green there’s a father figure toiling in the midst of a dream
19.
Clockwork 02:08
Clockwork with feathered wings angels uncoiling spring good people gather round and when together sound they’ll give you everything Teacher taught us the shell of course is hard and faster than the hare So I would given evening sleep and dream of clockwork feathered wings angel uncoiling spring good people gather round and when together sound each time it comes around digs into deeper ground
20.
Virgil sound system skate park eighties Brixton a fashion plate of tender chicken cowpoke Belgian flick country singer singing sick Pomona Mike and her friend dick seven cows mini herd special third have you heard the Persian bird ? conceit of light you deserve albino bat brain exposed flesh pinned back wimper rose lotus rain electrodes feel the empire burn itself little teeth devouring wealth enter into acts of stealth wise acre laying fallow lazy boy drowns in the shallow hoon point fast and narrow
21.
Where is he now? Payslip with his lambswool cymbal That’s how he’s gone into the clouds Five farthings together sing on a power line land mine pay back Where is he now? Were? Is he gone?
22.
Got bag of sticks, I got donkey got red cloth hat on a dry hillside It’s some old fashioned painting But you’re still good fun He’s shy of children and says, Every time you come around I just want to hide It’s all bag and knife now sad sack of breath holes as bad belief comes rolling down hill How close to my heart it spoke Be careful song siren that turtle once ate a bloke At Asgard on jukebox sweet sings the General’s Legacy ten thousand eagles that plunge from above Got bag of sticks, I got donkey got red cloth hat on a dry hillside It’s some old fashioned painting
23.
Field Man 02:40
I am a such a field man cloaked in love and green with all the summer’s longing trees earth the sky it seems If you dream of restless things whilst resting in the would it will come out happy wise the which you switched is good Lay up your dove coloured marl thin upon my youth that we may remain fertile for fifty years or more As you walk out Baptist street barefoot where you place your feet avert your eyes from all you meet ‘cause they might be chimera If you climb on giant’s shoulders don’t whisper in their ear keep your counsel to yourself the big boys don’t want to hear I am a such a field man cloaked in love and green with all the all the summer’s longing trees earth the sky it seems As falls the rain or settles dew the plants push up the stars to view Walk the road in harvest moon It’s different now ‘neath silver glow Weave you fingers through the strings for all the joy that a life might bring All that space folds into all that time All that space folds into all that time
24.
Joe's Walk 03:41
There is a summer road you’re walking on through shady valley next to water song Check out the lilies growing over there they get their gear from who knows where? Between the wattle glimpse of barley corn the walk is short but the learning long Gather ye hayseeds whilst you can they tax the chaff to feed the land There is a summer road you’re walking on through shady valley next to water song All by the banks of Albion I can’t see much because the water’s brown As falls the rain or settles dew the plants push up the stars to view Walk the road in harvest moon It’s different now ‘neath silver glow Weave you fingers through the strings for all the joy that a life might bring All that space folds into all that time All that space folds into all that time
25.
Full of Time 02:57
Ours oft was the afternoon Shiloh emphatica Last night by the engine we were resplendent co-eternal I walked out into your world’s golden morning I want to thank you for the longest weight stood still stood still This is a song that you can sing because you can’t be with everything This is a sing that you can song because you can’t be with everyone It’s full of time it’s full of time Ours oft was the afternoon Shiloh emphatica Last night by the engine we were resplendent co-eternal I walked out into your world’s golden morning I want to thank you for the longest wait stood still stood still This is a song that you can sing because you can’t be with everything This is a sing that you can song because you can’t be with everyone It’s full of time It’s full of time
26.
The Pied Plucker of Cooroy had a plague of rats they got into his studio and that was that Ate up all his wires and shit on his sound till the pied plucker of Cooroy had to move to higher ground Can’t get rid of rats without exterminator Rang up old Bull Lee, said, Come round later We shot up all the rats, then started on our love Tried to write a song but got sidetracked by drugs Pied Plucker of Cooroy said to the reporter Only story you’re gonna get’s in Bill’s recorder tape recorder So if you think that something round here stinks be sure it’s not dead rats in your sink Haven’t heard a sound like that in years since Chickenfoot Crawp played his Eko guitar The Pied Plucker of Cooroy had a plague of rats they got into his studio and that was that Ate up all his wires and shit on his sound till the pied plucker of Cooroy had to move to higher ground Can’t get rid of rats without exterminator rang up Bull Lee, said, Come round later We shot up all the rats, then started on our love Had to make a song but got sidetracked by drugs
27.
The reward is over step out of the cave And in a leather waistcoat a lone man his lips in prayer defining a singular vision of startling ingenuity and beauty offered to all that choose to listen The girls from the pub have driven out now but we’ll never know why it’s over No more reward step out of the cave His lips are moving His lips are moving
28.
Aristotle says the bees have no ears and they cannot learn the song of spring but I’ve heard them sing it in the summer time Burning mirrors of love in year nineteen I sang that song but not for long Aristotle says the bees have no ears and they cannot learn the song of spring but I’ve heard them sing it in the summer time So Aristotle’s wrong And I’d like to add and it is my song that bee thinks that you’ll never teach the humans things as the air is thin, ‘they got no wings’ Aristotle says the bees have no ears and they cannot learn the song of spring but I’ve heard them sing it in the summer time
29.
He went up Black Mountain did a deal with the devil came back down told the people on the level You can have it all if you give up God you can have it all and a custom hot rod The splinter remained wedged in his finger he had thoughts of God but they didn’t linger Where he was going he’d been promised land the people there already they’d understand The devil he’d seen up on old Black Mountain was a radio tower electric metal fountain It spoke to him on the FM band like eight iPods one in every hand You can have it all if you give up God you can have it all and a custom hot rod

about

I started writing poetry at sixteen and a few years later, was given an Appalachian Mountain dulcimer. About this time my parents bought a farm, the intention being that I’d help my father run it as I’d shown little aptitude for anything other than the sound arts.
Punk rock appeared. I sold the dulcimer to buy an electric guitar, fled the farm and headed to Sydney. The volume went up but the words kept coming. Bands came and went, the words kept coming.
1988 found me in New York writing about an imagined land - a land quite like the one I’d left. Back to Sydney for another decade. Technology had changed the music around me but the words were getting stronger.
Then suddenly on the burn-out tail of one too many parties I fled the city. Back on the farm helping my father. Built myself some replacement dulcimers and kept writing down those words. Some of them are born from fragments of sound and some arrived from the void to make their own sound.
They are about a sense of place, belonging or not belonging. About loving where you are, or not. Without place these poems would be nowhere, they would have no place to be nor would they be needed.

Melody is deep wired into memory. Poetry is melody of a different strain. It has the ability to bend time, a couple of notes or a quoted line can take you to a memory you can smell.
I find myself living now in a world almost a mirror image of the one I’d imagined. Dad has gone and there is an aching hole in the valley. A poisonous wick of sorrow smoulders on my back as I write this.
But still the words keep coming and eventually they will salve the sorrow, a spoken melody that links to memory, signalling the future.
What follows is a collection that spans a quarter decade, divided between the urban and the rural, the real imagined and the imagined made real; the present in the past and the past made a present.

Winter Solstice, 2010

credits

released June 1, 2020

Written, Performed and produced by Geoffrey Datson

REVIEW
Then, and Then is like field recordings from The Twilight Zone. If Alan Lomax took his Nagra to Alpha Centuri and pointed it back this is what he would hear; snatches of electronica colliding with folk music, pop melodies and Celtic droning dulcimer crashing against lines tinkled on a Casio. Floating on top of this strange brew are snatches of poetry.

Geoffrey Datson has had a diverse recording career to this point from the straight up pop rock of the Surfside 6 to the post-punk of Belle du Soir who recorded for the legendary MSquared label. In the mid 1980s he formed Samurai Trash whose Afrobeatish sides released by Virgin were widely acclaimed. Since then he has toiled in the basement and traveled widely, recording an eclectic range of projects, most recently as producer and musician on a powerful CD of poetry from Moshen, an Iranian refugee interred in Villawood.

Then, and Then is a record of Datson’s peripatetic travels in time and space from adolescence on a farm in Cooroy on the Sunshine Coast to Sydney and then around the world back to Sydney and finally back to Cooroy. It’s an album that starts with teenage dreams of Patti Smith and the symbolist poets and Neil Young and winds up back on the land. As a teenager he’s full of ideas and adventures. By the end of the journey, he’s coming to understand the acceptance of country that his father had. “Homeland Borderland Wasteland” is the most obviously political, while “Pied Plucker of Cooroy” the most whimsical.

This is not a linear narrative by any means. There’s snatches of ideas, nightmares and reminiscences and quotation; dreams and events. The music also has its own narrative that signposts Datson’s journey; songs like “Woodcut” sound like the Velvet Underground jamming with the Incredible String Band. There are other familiar sounds here too; Suicide, early Human League, the Grateful Dead, Arabic drones and plainsong. Sometimes all in the same song.

The album comes with a beautifully packaged book of poetry. The words on the page are satisfying enough, unlike most rock lyrics, but benefit from accompaniment. Given the breadth and diversity on these tracks, it’s amazing that it holds together but it somehow does. The doom-laden clouds part into delicate pop melodies. Like any collection of poetry, you can dip in and out, but listening to the story unfold is the way to do it. This is definitely not, as they might say in Star Trek, rock & roll as we know it. It will adjust your set.

TOBY CRESWELL

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DATSON Australia

GEOFFREY DATSON is a sound artist, combining spoken word, electronica and instrumentation in his recordings. Many poets recite their work to music, but few are also composers. Datson's work is a synthesis of forms of sonic expression in which the voice and the sound field are interdependent. ... more

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