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below is a diary of events over the weekend we recorded in gerroa with tony. only a few scraps of paper were salvaged from the weekend away, loose bits and pieces that start slowly and fall away rapidly. as the weekend drew on, there appears to be significantly less documentation.
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thursday night
though undertaken on this occasion in near full darkness, the drive down to gerroa is a picturesque affair. three separate vehicles wind south through october rain and winds to the doorstep of mr tony dupe. we know not what to expect.
all too soon we're seated and his vege noodles have us instantly at ease. flat mushrooms have more flavour, it's agreed and with food out of the way we settle in for the night. conditions outside suggest we will not be spending much time at the beach.
tony earns dj duties for the evening after winning us over with sleazy french porn soundtracks. with consumption rates skyrocketing we talk and suddenly everything mentioned has meaning. we talk about music and women, butchers and beer. a game of chess is proposed. tony and travis comprehensively defeat the couch-based alliance of spaceman jones and an ever-improving kurtis ousley.
sleep comes late with the sound of the wind outside and the beach boys resounding through the hallway upstairs. somewhere a dog barked but I didn't hear it.
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friday
the founder boys are up early. not early enough to see the sun rise but a commendable hour nonetheless. we fill up on soul juice and gerringong's finest egg and bacon rolls, both of which would become dependable constants in a weekend of uncertain variables.
daylight also reveals the building in which we are about to record. it appears that tony, as caretaker of the estate, has been somewhat relaxed in his duties. in short, this house was a rundown piece of shit but it was large and beautifully familiar and acoustically sound.
we set to work on building a worthy recording arena and thereafter, record an album.
< no further diary entries >
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saturday (by joe)
jimmy walk on water [to be pronounced as name]
jimmy walks on water
it is about to rain
but:
jimmy walks on water
ousley sits back
with his legs at angles
and cries
jimmy walks on water
but me know truth
we talked to stars last night
jimmy says he never walk on them
but he might like to try
and while ousley sits
with his legs still sharp
the sun shows us the world
again
and even the water
says no
we have no fucking idea what he was talking about, although it's worth mentioning that this was written quite late after a very heavy night spent watching boxing and then recording the 4 of us shouting along in the kitchen annexe with the lights off. there is also a picture that goes with the poem which, i think, is jimmy actually walking on the water and may have been the inspiration for the poem itself.
[10/5/02 - i finally got around to putting this up. see left.]
the final document found with the gerroa writings contains joe's spontaneously hand-scrawled lyrics to the end of clean living, which are worthy of being reproduced here for the final line alone.
"the worth you placed on sentiment
mistake you were those marks?
they miss you take back words
in remnant's eyes were blood."
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** saturday (by kurt) **
cold and hot. two words that accurately describe how today panned out. founder were cold then hot (then cold again, then hot again). the (ping) pong, while being ever so keenly contested, was also hot and cold. dupe's swinging backhand flick is an innovation that the table tennis world may not be ready for, quite frankly! if the table tennis was simultaneously sublime and awful, then the spread laid down by the gerroa fisho's was definitely the former. hot and cold seafood, hot and cold pong and hot and cold founder. nice.
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