Skip to main content

In strategy it is important to see distant things as if they were close and to take a distanced view of close things.


I took this photo back in February, down in the Salamanca district. As you can see, there are four Zebra Finches perched on the neck of what may or may not be an authentic Les Paul. The guitar was plugged in and run through a distortion pedal to an expensive stack of Marshall amps.

The finches themselves were strumming out what sounded like to my ears the outro to a song I like very much: Elton John's 1972 paen to astronauts and cosmonauts the world over, Rocket Man (I Think It's Going to Be a Long, Long Time). Like me, they like Elton's old stuff much better than his new stuff (by new stuff, I'm talking post-1983).

Quick question to the mob though, what do you think is going on here? What's the point supposed to be?

Comments

Sue said…
If they were robins, they would be....rockin' robins!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C4VCUbL7jsc
Kavita Saharia said…
And i thought that song was about something else...but its a beautiful song anyways.

My dumb head is unable to decode the point ....so i give up...please enlighten Sir.
Roddy said…
Can you tell me whether they were studio finches or just a band of renegade musos doing an impromptu gig? Do you think that they had practiced the piece beforehand?
Opens up a whole new meaning, Bird on a wire.
Kitty said…
ha, that's very cute.
I can't imagine the sound and what the birds thought of the whole thing.
Kris McCracken said…
Sue, poor old robins.
Kris McCracken said…
Kavita, I think that it is a bout drugs.
Kris McCracken said…
Roddy, they were good.
Kris McCracken said…
Kitty, there was a lot of feedback. And poo everywhere.

Popular posts from this blog

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral