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Past Shows

April 14, 2019 Newtown, NSW ( Aus ) The Union Hotel The Union Hotel
February 6, 2019 Marrickville, NSW ( Aust ) The Gasoline Pony The Gasoline Pony
September 22, 2018 Bellingen, NSW ( AUST ) 5 Church Street 5 Church Street
November 9, 2016 Bill Hunt, Liam Gale, Sam Newton, Chris Neto, Direwolf Marrickville, NSW ( AUS ) The Gasoline Pony The Gasoline Pony
November 8, 2016 Bill Hunt Marrickville, NSW ( AUS ) Lazybones Lounge Lazybones Lounge


The storm has raged and seethed and sung
And rent the air and left undone
The knots that tie both time and tide
With niceties now cast aside, like pauper’s clothes
Bruised, spent and fragrant lovers
Linger rapt in sweet repose

The final space

Death awaits at journey’s end
A silent half-thought sentence
Suspended in mid-air
Neither floating up nor down; just there
With care I would attend the words wrought for that closing phrase
So many drafts, how densely filled that final august page
How tedious, how tiresome the bleak unmetered text
In vain anticipation of some good that must come next
Attend you now the space before that final deathly dot
It’s there for you to fill with love, for that is all you’ve got.


Bathrooms are Dangerous (Parts I&II)

Part 1:
Bathrooms are dangerous.

He had known this since he was seven years of age, and he was about to be reminded again at the age of thirty seven.

After his parent’s divorce the boy had been sent to live with his grandmother in a little cottage overlooking the Atlantic ocean in the Portuguese town of Cortegaca. He had just turned seven.

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Canute was no Fool

This one (Canute was no Fool) was recorded as a demo sometime around 2014/15 on the single-track Otari MX-5050 you see in the video, which was shot on iPhone 5S. Once again I’ve done considerable messing with the original files to try to overcome their respective shortcomings.

Song with No Name

If memory serves me correctly the video and audio was recorded (separately of course) on an iPhone 5S sometime around 2013/14. I found the files this morning as I was trying to create some space on a hard drive by throwing old files into the black hole of trash. Although neither the sound or vision is that good I couldn’t resist having a play around before chucking the original files (which is the object of the exercise) and uploading the resulting mess for your entertainment, or otherwise.

Sunday afternoon-walking to a jazz bar

Spare me the middle

Spare me the time spent muddling

The money managing

The taking the time to mind your manners

The panacea, the planners, the mindless mindfullness

The painless leveraged loss and gain

Damn your principled stance, damn your love that never took a chance

Heed the dull ache in your heart

Bleed, feel, cheat reason, follow the fleeting feeling that tonight… tonight…

Folky fingerpickers, dressed in union soldier hats and coats, make me wish I had a good horse, bow, arrows, and a steady aim.

You can brush your teeth
In the shower
For a good while
It may take an hour
Maybe longer
But by that time
It may not be your teeth
It may be your feet are too big

The shattered ghost-rider
Shadows the clandestine peloton

Nature wins

As ever, the things we do, the things we make, the things we say, will in time be rusted, worn and washed away.

Our dreams and cares will pass, our arms and hands and legs and feet, our brains and hearts, no more or less than trees and leaves and grass, will die and fade, the sun will set at last.

Spending Summer Evenings among Flannel Flowers and Ghosts

Brilliant shafts of sunlight penetrate the canopy of ancient trees and dance across the leaves of fern and flannel flower.
The warm still air is silent but for the sounds of a cool stream tripping and running across its smooth pebbled bed. A dragonfly hovers and skims restlessly above the water’s rippling surface on gossamer wings. Now and then a plaintive bird call rings out and hangs in the air like an arrow turned to mist.
Bare feet glide noiselessly over the moist leaf-strewn path leading to the glade as the daylight fades and encroaching darkness beckons.


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