Something Quite Peculiar
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Come inside the world of Steve Kilbey singer songwriter and bassist of one of Australia's best loved bands, The Church. From his migrant ten pound pom childhood through his adolescence growing up during the advent of The Beatles, Dylan and The Stones to his early adventures in garage bands and neighbourhood jams. His misadventures with a full time job and a 9 to 5 life and wild adventures with The Church as they conquer Australia and then the world. The tours. The records. The women. And then the heroin addiction which enslaved him for ten long years. Then the two sets of twins he fathers along the way and branching off into acting, painting and writing. From snowy Sweden to a cell in New York City, from Ipanema beach to Bondi, Kilbey stumbles through his surrrealistic life as an idiot savant that will make you smile as well as want to kick him up the arse. After coming out the other side his tale is simply too good not to be told. Narrated with unusual and often pristine clarity we and with much focus on his considerable musical talent.
was gonna be a long hard slog to the top. It was an eventful trip: I met a load of the old guard of Aussie rockers in the hotel where we stayed, called Macy’s. There were the guys going up and the guys coming down the ladder, and they all stayed at this hotel in Melbourne. We smoked our bag of tepid weed and strummed guitars and jammed with the people roaming the halls at 4am. There was speed being snorted by roadies and many bleeding nostrils. There was Nick springing his girlfriend with
some flute on tracks such as ‘Snowman’ and ‘The Prophet Margin’. During the day we’d wander down to Centrum where I’d eat chips with bearnaise sauce and drink a chocolate drink called Pucko. At night we’d play Trivial Pursuit with the family. I fared badly at Swedish Trivial Pursuit so it was very nice when I was the only one who knew the name of Thor’s hammer. Mjolnir. I knew that from my readings of Norse mythology, which certainly impressed ’em for a little while. While in Sweden Carrere, in
Tight and lean, with no surprises – especially in regards to the drums. No speeding up. No slowing down. Don’t vary the wallop or crash. Hit evenly. Richard was demoralised by all this and rightly so. All the marvellous flair and improvisation he’d shown on The Blurred Crusade and Heyday was now denied him. He was to act as a human drum machine. Of course we should’ve stepped in; maybe if we’d been in Sydney we would have. But in LA I was so stoned and dazzled and preoccupied with everything
said. Back at her place (out of mere curiosity) I went into the bathroom for a pee. Standing there I heard something kind of scratchy. There was a rustling sound behind the shower curtain and I pulled it back to reveal a great big lizard sitting in the bathtub blinking at me. I jumped out of my skin and lost my nerve. Could that have been the catalyst for the lyrics of ‘Reptile’, one of my favourite songs from Starfish? It was all grist for the mill. One day I went into the studio and more or
But they’d underestimated our ability to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. The appointed night came and we assembled at a beautiful and cool restaurant up in the Rio hills overlooking the city and the beach. The host turned up and she was about 40, haughty and beautiful with a deep and harsh-sounding voice. She was dressed entirely in white leather. We sat down outside in a courtyard and she asked her first question through an interpreter: ‘Almost everybody in South America is a catholic