As far back as I can pull my memories into focus I have been told that I am a serious. In a way I am, in others not so much. One of my earliest (clearly formed) memories was on our farm in South Africa with a caretaker explaining that it can take 100 years for wood to break down and ultimately become soil. With four years under my belt, attempting to grasp biodegradation resulted in a 404 Error. That is, page not found.
I recall precious seconds of fascination. Looking toward an unhelpful sky for guidance; ready to host some new understanding, yet no understanding came. A dry breeze rustled dryer leaves and Johannes said “… and you know, If you make an ugly face when the wind changes it’ll be stuck like that forever.” A state of wonder served learning that my expressions are boldly animated by mental activity.
Just mentioning, as you and I may be unfamiliar that I’m generally happy and like most humans I have countless reasons to be so. The problem is my disposition demands a tense brow for quality output and in this I’m surely not alone, though beneath the story my face might tell is a man not so serious, just trying to understand.
A friend once told me that the joy is exactly that, not completely understanding. When you know how something works the magic is lost and the moment you’ve packed it away into a little compartment another question is always waiting… True. Yet my problem, is that to love something I need to understand it. Consequently, understanding smothers ignorance and leaves me aware, exposed to the rough surfaces of life and so I become serious for a time.
There are problems, personal and worldly asking the best of me and my generation will soon take the helm to preserve or destroy our future. In all honesty we have a lot more to worry about than most acknowledge so yes, this is worthy of some seriousness and that’s totally okay.
2020. Netherlands
What a time to be alive… All the promise of a fruitful year evaporated faster than I could enjoy any of its juice.
I was in Bali for the New Years sunrise and this is one of the few moments in my life where I might reach for the phrase ‘I had a premonition’ but everything about this morning was wrong. The pan-fried bat wings adventurous locals were offering me at the summit while sipping on a two litre bottle of Captain Morgan’s, a rising sun completely obscured by grey clouds and influencers launching drones into a drizzling fog of false hope. Perhaps I’ve been too blessed with the warmth of good company and wholesome gatherings all the years prior but this experience left me misplaced and pensive for a time.
Upon my return to Australia I was packed and within a matter of weeks landed in Amsterdam with the Tora boys. We had chosen to base ourselves in Europe for the foreseeable future and Netherlands was well located, welcoming to English speakers and opened minded to the vices of the creative process. A few weeks after landing for a year of growth and touring, the shows were cancelled and we entered an extended lock-down.
My mind wandered in and out of delusion, a stranger in a foreign city now victim to my own circumstance. A dream-state of sorts or more poignantly, a limbo painted with fear, collusion, and shifting degrees of concern as I witnessed the COVID-19 narrative unfold. I began to loose a sense of hope for my future and humanity as a whole. We had lost our fire and apparently our ability to reason.
After a few months of searching a music studio in Amsterdam’s East was recommended by friend and shortly after work began on our third album ‘A Force Majeure’. It followed the usual process of collaging old ideas with the some new, while this time adding spice with fresh equipment we purchased amidst the lockdown to capitalise on the boredom. There is a maturity in the finished product that demonstrates our progress as musicians, though I also hear tensions reminiscent of uncertain times both internally and externally that slightly jade the work for me but of course given the circumstances there is no requirement for such critique.
While I did briefly escape Amsterdam towards the end of the year on a horse-riding trip through the Slovenian mountains, and then through the North of Italy it was for the most part a fairly placid year made bearable only by my incessant podcast consumption and a foray into meditation.
