The Sleepy Jackson
Monkey Bar, Perth, Australia - Saturday 7th August 2004.
Firstly, an apology. If there's one thing that rankles my feckles, its a groveling article with a forward that apologises for the 'humble' abilities of the writer. This abject belly-writhing is entirely necessary alas; my recollection of The Sleepy Jackson is at best a hazy vapor. I'd say it's the last time I boldly guzzle absinthe when to retain at least some traces of memory the following day is paramount, but that I was at it again two nights ago, and fear the way down is an easy, slippery slide. So with the collective stories of friends, and some sweet camera work from Ming, I humbly - argh, the crushing shame - put together this, less a review more an investigation, as to what happened.
'You never know when you're going to get hit by a truck'. Only a few months after playing bass on 'Miniskirt', Matt O'Connor proved the song exactly right. He was pinned against a wall by a truck reversing. Unable to cry out, he was trapped for two hours. He lapsed into a coma and died two weeks later in hospital. Fortunately SJ don't have any other apocalyptic lyrics we can attempt to prove. The greatest danger we face beside that to our own memories is the my spontaneous bout of 'fight-dancing' with complete strangers and wandering off into the distant night. I pay with a few missing hours which will be forever unaccounted. Leon too, though his memory fails to hold water, vanishes. Eventually made it back to Dave's, where upon he falls asleep in a 15cm vertical slot, between the washing machine and laundry door. Neither does he remember stealing the supporting Panda Band's setlist before they've even played a not; a man with light fingers indeed. Luke plays it a damn sight cooler than us all and randomly scores with a hot chick on the front row. May we all admire his accord. He further ingratiates himself to the local music scene by felicitously hugging drummer/piano player from Eskimo Joe and principal honcho at Debaser Studios, Joel Quartermaine still more hours are missing. 'Vampire Racecourse' opened the set; a direct statement that bullets the band into life. 'This Day' we'd all been yearning to hear, Dave later describes it as 'the finest rendition of all times', yet I remember so little. I've talked before about the difficulty of describing music, the incompatibility of prose. I've used the Steve Martin line that 'talking about music is like dancing about architecture'. In a recent interview Robert Smith confessed his problems with marrying his weightiest lyrics to his most satisfying melodies, the net product being some untuneful, poetical triumphs ('Where the Birds Always Sing') and some classic pop that doesn't mean very much ('Friday I'm in Love'). And so 'This Day' begins with meandering, tumbledown lyrics in the best country tradition, stumbling from one tragedy to the next, until the chorus, which blooms with an infectious spoor of 'na-na-na-na-naaa-na-na's. Pure genius. Like two unwedable foes uniting. The forlorn and elated, the heavy and the meaningless, strolling hand in hand.
The closing 'Cavities' is but a remnant lost under many seas, yet I still maintain a tangible reflection, an indelible trace. I can remember the atmosphere, the anticipation, Luke Steele's bulbous afro looming over us. This is their town and the reception is rabid. They divert freely from their own recordings to explore new forms. There's a primitive feeling that flows through the room. And even though I can't swear on concrete recollection I'm suddenly starting to realise I remember more than I thought. So to return to the opening: I do apologise: this is not a proper review in any sense, but at least a positive testimony to The Sleepy Jackson and the mysterious mechanics of long term memory.
If anyone has any information, constructive or inflammatory, please email us Sleepy J memories.
More snaps this way.
Anyone who fancies a good read on absinthe and its poetic trail of destruction I can recommend The Book of Absinthe A Cultural History (Phil Baker). Muchos gracias to Dave, Leon, Luke, Riz and Haydos for helping me remember.
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