A Grumpy Love Song

This story will be familiar to some of you. I needed a Grumpy column and came across my one and only attemps at song-writing and the circumstances around it and thought I'd recycle a bit. It really is a coincidence that I've moved to this city and that I am currently working in this particular theatre.

Grumpy

Grumpy is freelance writer Lee Bemrose (leebemrose@hotmail.com) His new venture as a love balladeer extraordinaire may be shorter lived than he hoped.

When it comes to writing, I've tried most forms with varying degrees of success... or varying degrees of failure, depending on how you view these things. I've been lucky enough to win an award for a sad love story, have had sad and funny love stories published in a variety of mags and lit journals and even the odd crime story has found an audience. I just think what the hell, you have to give things a go.

Rummaging through old files recently I discovered that I have also tried a bit of song writing. It all came about after I reviewed an internationally famous cabaret diva and in my review (which, I guess, did turn into a bit of a declaration of love) I mentioned that by the end of her show I “was comatose with desire.”

Bugger me, I thought, wouldn't Comatose With Desire make a good song title. Sounded like something The Smiths would come up with. Next time I interviewed the internationally famous cabaret diva I told her about my idea for a song for her. Her response? “Stop stalking me.”

Encouraged by her enthusiasm, I set about writing my first love song:

Comatose With Desire

I would walk the desert sands for you,
Move mountains and part seas for you,
I would hold my breath and turn blue for you,
You make me comatose with desire.

Comatose with desire,
Comatose with desire,
You make me
Comatose with desire.

Your presence penetrates me,
It envelopes and smothers me,
You choke the very life out of me,
And make me comatose with desire.

(Chorus)

Your beauty intoxicates,
It makes my pupils dilate,
And my heart fibrillate,
I’m so comatose with desire.

(Chorus)

To know you is to know humility,
You degrade and humiliate me,
And leave me snivelly and whimpery,
And comatose with desire.

(Chorus)

My unrequited lust for you,
Has crushed my heart, it’s true,
And another vital organ or two,
And left me comatose with desire.

(Chorus)

I am a peaceful village,
That you rape and pillage,
My heart buuuurns for yoooo... because you set it on fire,
I am comatose with desire.

(Chorus)

Your indifference to me
Has made me quite loony,
I am drugged...
And bound...
And dribbling...
In the... mental... asylum... of love...

(Chorus, with sad echoey effects and maybe one of those eerie theremin things).

I sent the song to my diva. Her response? “Really, darling, if you don't stop stalking me...” She also pointed out that the song made no sense because if she sang it, who was she singing it to? Who was the 'You' in the song. Me, I ventured? “I don't sing love songs to stalkers.”

I interviewed her for another mag twice after that (“Stop stalking me! Stop stalking me!”), but it's gone quiet between us since then.

By complete coincidence, the new city I've recently moved to is also the hometown of our internationally famous cabaret diva. And by an even bigger coincidence I've scored a job at the very same theatre she performs her new show at in a few short weeks.

It's going to be so lovely to catch up with her again.

Meow To The World: A Crisis Is Born

I don't normally post reviews until they come out in the mag first, but given that the magazine review won't be out until this very short season is over, I thought I'd break that rule. If any of you are in Sydney this weekend and you want to see some great theatre, see Meow Meow at The Studio, Sydney opera House.

You could also see The Promise at Belvoir Street. Very different theatre but well worth seeing. Here's this review, which I agree with. Will post mine when the magazine is out... although there's probably little point given that Diana Simmonds' is more detailed than my little 300 worder.

For now, here's my 300 word review of last night's Meow Meow performance. I went along with three freinds who had no idea what to expect other than a cabaret performer I like a lot. All three had a great time and came away raving, instant fans. You probably can't get a better endorsement than that.


Meow To The World: A Crisis Is Born

The premise of this show was a Christmas in July deal, but on a budget. So the planned Christmas extravaganza the crazed cabaret Queen had in mind doesn't go quite according to plan. Then again, this is Meow Meow, so you pretty well expect mayhem and chaos to sashay into the rooom at any moment.

A short time into the show, after the audience is brow-beaten into adulation and flower-throwing (uncouth lot we were, Miss Meow supplied her own flowers), a props guy arived to take delivery of a couple of props that had been rented by the hour and not for the entire show. Meow Meow reluctantly took off her cocktail gown, glove and earrings and handed them over, then quite reasonably made her male band members also undress to their underwear while unleashing some hilarious invective on the Opera House's budget.

There were cabaret classics in various languages, some Christmas classics, a bit of fund raising by bare-kneed orphans, a chorus line of dolls, a dreamy dream sequence and of course a lot of crowd surfing. As with all Meow Meow performances, the mood swung from sophisticated to silly in seconds.

Musical highlights? For this besotted fan, Nick Cave's Red Right Hand and Laurie Anderson's The Dream Before. This last one was sublime, with Meow Meow imbuing what is a really poignant song with unexpected humour with the merest hint of inflection or subtle physical gesture, yet retaining the overall sentiment of the song. I truly didn't want any more after this. I wanted the performance to end on this note of perfection.

But perfection will never do with Meow Meow, and she brought her undies-clad band back for Surabaya Johnny. Touching, stirring, unpredictable... the night ended on a different kind of perfection.

Season ends July 26
LEE BEMROSE

Early Morning Love Song

I Don’t Want to Fuck You, I Just Want To Hold You

Near sleep and I have everything I want,
Your breath against my chest,
The heat of your skin against mine,
The beat of our hearts entwined.

Narcotic dreams
As I feel the soft weight of your breast in my palm,
Breathe the scent of your skin,
Breathe your essence in.

Lay against me,
Trust me,
Love me, Want me. Dream about me
The way I dream about you.

I want this to last forever,
Curve of your hips,
The sweep of your back,
Light lick of parted lips.

Intoxicated smile as you push against me,
Lost to me.
Fingers tighten,
Dream-smile breaking through.

I don’t want dreams,
I don’t want memories,
I don’t want the real world,
I just want this to last forever.

And right now, maybe just for now,
I don’t want to fuck you,
I just want to hold you,
Just want to hold you.

Who's Your Mama

I am appalled with myself. I've just realised that whenever I sing along to California Dreamin' by The Mamas And The Papas, I instinctively sing to Mama Cass' harmonies. This is a crushing blow to my Viking-like masculinity. What is wrong with me? AND I play the air-flute!

Black Rainbow is such a loser. (A loser with a dodgy eye).

Meow Meow Pt 981

I was supposed to interview Meow Meow a couple of days ago. I stuffed up and couldn't make the call. Asked to re-schedule but didn't think it would happen. I asked for Saturday because between then and now I was looking down the barrel of 10 to 15 hour days all with midnight finishes. Surprisingly the publicist said Meow Meow was cool with that provided it was in the afternoon and asked me to pick a time. I said 2pm because it meant only taking on hour off work. I just called and she said she had it in her (ravishing) mind that it was meant to be at 3pm and could I please call her back then.

If you know Meow Meow you will suspect, as I do, that she was simply having her way because I am Mere Male and she is Meow Meow.

I am sitting on my hands right now waiting to call her back at 3pm. I have no idea what to expect.

Actually, I think I have some idea.

My Burning Heart

Just heard a song on the radio where the guy was going on about how much his heart was burning for someone. I was sure I heard in the chorus the words:

My heart burns for you,
Can't get no insurance for my heart.

Upon listening closely I found I'd misheard. Pity.

It reminded me that I never did get around to posting the lyrics of my song for Meow Meow. In the song... it's all a bit twisted up really because although the song would be sung by the performer, it's sung from the point of view of her besotted admirer who is articulating the indifference or even contempt the singer feels for the admirer. (I think there's a bit of sado masochism going on in there somewhere).

So. The lyrics themselves are pretty Goddamned silly, and the entire concept and structure just doesn't make any sense, so my way of making more sense of it was to have Meow Meow herself sing the song while looking into a mirror... because to fully make sense the song would have to be sung by someone other than the singer herself. That she is singing a love song to herself is perfectly in keeping with her character, as anyone who has had the pleasure of seeing her perform will appreciate. But that it is a crooning song of loathing... no sense at all.

The imagined "no insurance for my heart line" reminded me of these couple of verses from Comatose With Desire...

My unrequited lust for you,
Has crushed my heart, it’s true,
And another vital organ or two,
And left me comatose with desire.

Comatose with desire,
Comatose with desire,
You make me
Comatose with desire.

I am a peaceful village,
That you rape and pillage,
My heart buuuuurns for you... because you set it on fire,
I am comatose with desire.

If enough of you tell me you think these are some of the most retarded song lyrics you've read and that you want more, I might consider finally posting the whole silly thing. Sending money will help the cause.

Indie Rock Chick From Outer Space

Went for a trial day yesterday working in a corporate cafeteria. It's the kind of place The Dreaded One and I used to run, only this one is grotty and soulless. In fact I almost laugh at how unclean and untidy it is. I'm amazed that such a high profile bank would allow their head office cafeteria to be in this state. I realise just what a good job The Dreaded One and I had done with our shiny place. Ours was full of vibe, happy customers, new music you don't hear on the radio, the smell of gourmet food.

The guy who runs this outfit obviously did that thing where you bring a newbie onto your turf and you suddenly see things through their eyes. He apologised about it being such a pig sty as he rubbed his fists into his reddened eyes. He also introduced me to his assistant and I was relieved at her appearance; it was as unkempt as everything else in the place, but kinda cool in that indie rock chick way.

Both their personalities seemed pretty chilled, so that was good. And the filth? I'd just clean by stealth.

The day was all right. Few alarm bells. Food hygeine and stock rotation didn't appear to be on the agenda. Their pricing and some of their systems were weird. I was a little embarrassed about some of the food we were serving. And Indie Rock Chick had a muttered running commentary about what she was currently in the process of doing, and I couldn't decide if it was endearing or creepy.

Music was a big topic of conversation and I dunno, I was lowering my standards but I need a regular job for a while. End of the day the manager asks if I want the job. I say yes, mainly because after getting through one trial day I can't be bothered lining up another with the hope that I might get somewhere better.

"Cool," the manager says. "Indie Rock Chick likes you, and that's the main thing."

Indie Rock Chick is all smiles as she says, "Yeah. Can we keep him?"

I leave with the impression that this is an outfit who won the contract somehow, but they don't really care about it all that much. Their boardroom functions are sandwiches and cheap biscuits. I almost do burst out laughing when I see the poor quality of the bickies they're plating up at one stage. I didn't realise catering this bad still existed. Clearly these are people who just want to get through the day and get the hell out of there. I'm not sure how long I will be able to stick this out. I know I will keep looking for something else, but for now...

This morning, the manager doesn't show. Indie Rock Chick collects me at the front lobby and she seems a little stressed. "Just the two of us this morning," she mutters in a foreboding tone. I shrug. This is not a busy place. I saw what she called The Lunch Rush and it was a joke. At one point during the previous lunch rush, an elevator opened and she muttered urgently to me, "Here they come. There's nothing then they come in hordes," as all four suits made their way to the counter.

Turns out the manager stayed up drinking and watching the football last night and was hungover. Got to love that professionalism. It appears to have put Indie Rock Chick in a bit of a mood (not the least because he does this all the time and everything is always left up to her). Suddenly everything I do is wrong. I am not moving fast enough. I just don't understand how busy it can get around here. I need to be spoken to in a condescending tone.

I remain chilled because there is nothing, as far as I can tell, actually wrong. A few customers trickle in and are dealt with, but the few minutes it has taken to serve them has apparently thrown time itself out of whack and we are never going to recover and be ready on time.

I feel a tremor of concern run through my chilled mood because this kind of behaviour works itself up into a state. I've seen it happen. Mountains and mole hills. It's fucking ridiculous and doesn't achieve a damn thing.

Suddenly we are swamped with, ooh, six customers? And Indie Rock Chick is in a total flap. She's asking for everyone's orders at once, stuffing up orders and generally totally sabotaging what would otherwise be a very peaceful and orderly operation.

I watch in awe as she starts telling one perplexed customer that she simply cannot cope with all the pressure of setting up by herself and trying to train people.

Then she chews me out in front of customers I suspect have witnessed this kind of thing before. She gives me some condescending, snippy lecture about lifting my game, and I'm sorry but customers present or not, I'm not having that. I tell her to calm down.

"I am calm," she snarls.

"No you're not. You are stressing and it's not helping things at all."

"I'm stressing because it's stressful!"

And then I can't quite recall what is said but I know the two of us are having a proper go at each other while bewildered customers look on, and it's right as the hungover manager makes his disheveled appearance.

On the other side of the glass partition separating the kitchen from the service area, the manager has asked what the problem is and Indie Rock Chick is all tears and waggly arms as she storms from one end of the kitchen to the other Picking Things Up and Putting Them Back Down again.

I'm not sure what just happened, but I am sure it's not going to happen again. I think it also goes some way to explaining why all the customers kept asking what happened to former short-term employees.

Manager comes out after sending Indie Rock Chick outside for a cigarette and asks how I am. I tell him that I am fine, but that I don't think it's going to work out. He looks a little disappointed, but resigned.

I help out for a while longer and things calm down. I ask if Indie Rock Chick is okay even though it's clear she's going to ignore my presence until I go. She says yeah and gives in and apologises quite a bit. I'm not sure what the problem is, but I do know that I don't want to deal with it.

It's lunch time now. I imagine the customers asking Indie Rock Chick, "Where's that guy you were introducing us to? I thought he was going to settle in."

I wrote another song last night. I am enjoying writing songs. I had intended to show Indie Rock Chick my song to see if she could use her musical skills to do anything with it. Now instead I am going to write a song about her.

"Oh I-hindie Rock Chick,
Who'd guess behind that sweet face,
Lurks a demonic alien,
Indie Rock Chick From Outer Space..."

More later.