This Song...

 

“D.C.” by Died Pretty has been appearing in my social media a lot these last few days. It’s a beautifully crafted rock elegy that croons and soars, and anyone who has ever farewelled a friend can connect with it immediately. Now, it’s a sadly fitting memorial to the man who wrote and sang it.
 

Although we were contemporaries with overlapping circles in ‘80s inner-city Sydney, I didn’t know Ron Peno personally. I do have a blurred memory of walking into a pub near Sydney Town Hall with a musician friend and encountering an exuberant Ron, but time and drink have erased the details. Died Pretty may have rehearsed in the basement of one of the Darlinghurst share-houses I lived in, but I could be wrong on that. More certain is the fact that Died Pretty keyboard player John “The General” Hoey directed a music video that I was in. Apart from seeing them live in places that no longer exist, that was the extent of my personal connection.

There are some gaping holes in my music collection. After going down a YouTube rabbit hole only a couple of weeks ago, I realised that Died Pretty is among the absent. Why this should be is as perplexing as the question “why weren’t Died Pretty HUGE?”. They combined grimy rock urgency with swirling, towering instrumentation and brilliant songs driven by Ron’s plangent, emotive voice. Their recorded output went from strength to strength, but despite critical acclaim and a dedicated fanbase, broader success eluded them. Others may be able to explain. All I know is there is a body of work that made its way into my psyche, words and feelings that will always be with me. For that, I can only be grateful.

“D.C.” is a song that looks loss and memory squarely in the face, and leaves them graced by a haunting beauty.

“…and as we dissolve into dark,

Behind these questions are these answers,

and this song’s to say goodbye”

 

 

…and fuck cancer.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Guidance

I stumbled on a printout of this the other day, and I'm just throwing it out there for the hell of it. GUIDANCE Normally, he would have welcomed any interruption to the daily routine, but instead there was dull, hot resentment. It was what he felt whenever a stranger gave him that fake, “I’m-your-friend-and-I-really-have-your-best-interests-at-heart” smile. He hated the way things were engineered, the implication that what was about to happen was somehow special and could affect the rest of his life. Terry had been in before him, and had whispered what to expect. “He told me I should think about optometry or watchmaking. Why?” When his name was called, he was ready. He opened the door to the storeroom that had been pressed into service for the occasion, and couldn’t help thinking “if this is so important, why is it happening next to the spare chalk?” It was as just as he pictured it. The fake smile, the insincere handshake... There was a name, which he igno...
Read more

Reaching for the Razor

I’ve been thinking about razors a lot lately. Not the hair management sort, but rather the metaphorical variety; the principles that cut away the unnecessary in trying to reach understanding. Occam’s razor states "the simplest solution is most likely the right one" and Hanlon’s razor says "Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity". I think they need to be stropped up and applied now more than ever before. I have seen people I know succumb to a frightening malaise, and it isn’t covid 19. It’s the bizarre ideas that arise from the baroque intertwining of strands of conspiracy theory. I know otherwise rational, intelligent people who appear to believe that the virus has something to do with 5G, and/or that it’s part of a plan by Bill Gates to implant mind-control chips via vaccines. They point to the “heroes” who dare to speak the truth about the “fake” virus, linking to endless YouTube clips, all of which are about as scientifica...
Read more

Clarke, J.,Palmerston North...

An unfillable void… … a cliché, but nothing I can find adequately expresses what the death of John Clarke means. The man himself, with his mastery of the language and unmatchable wit, would have put it better - and added a sly chuckle - but of course he is in no position to do that. I didn’t know John well, but working with him on The Games was an absolute high point of my comedy career. I have been around a few productions, and no set was as happy a place as The Games . It was almost as though everyone there would have gladly worked 24 hours non-stop for nothing, knowing who they were doing it with. Read any of the many tributes to John and they will mention his kindness and generosity, and with good reason. I had recorded a voice-over for an episode of The Games , and John rang me at home, from his car, just to tell me how nicely it had gone in editing. Above and beyond simple politeness. My feet didn’t touch the ground for the rest of the day. John’s unmistak...
Read more