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Freak these tales

Many moons ago, when my hair was longer and my eyes were wider, I played guitar in a Sydney rock band. Over a period of several years, the four members in the group went from relative normality to the very personification of imagined rock glory. Our clothes became more outrageous, goatee beards were mandatory, and we developed the same disdainful swagger that characterised the Britpop heroes of the time — Oasis, Blur, and Pulp. We recorded an album, played some shows and then, in the finest tradition of our musical idols, cited ‘creative differences’ and split. And split we did, to the cold hard reality of our day jobs. But from time to time that old swagger re-surfaces and we get together to relive long forgotten songs in a dingy rehearsal room – out of time, out of key, and out of beer. Well, the bass player is anyway. There’s a Jesuit saying that goes ‘Give me a child until he is seven and I will give you the man’. Bugger that. Give me a pair of old jeans and a pilot’s cap and I’ll give you a ballad about stars and eyes and early morning melancholy. It’s far more entertaining.

Listen to our song, All I Need [from 1998]