Operettics #1 in Shorts

Is this what a smile sounds like, I mean, the movement of the lips and face, the twinkle in the eyes, the dimple in the cheeks, the warmth glowing from the heart up to the corners of the mouth, I mean, the opening sounds of “Operetta”? Is this what evenly balanced bliss sounds like? The beginning of this song always gives me such a deep inner smile. And yet, the best is still to come, when Steve Kilbey starts professing his words in the light manner of a little opera, and what words they are! So simple, yet so invasive, – but not in a bad way -, embracing your whole person. He is taking you with him with these words, ‘A song about you – You’re in a song”. Those lines sound like the most generous gift of a most benevolent man. Yes, and then he goes on, – he knows he’s got your attention now -, “Are you good or evil? – Or just right or wrong?”. In true Shakespearean style, always the essential things on his mind whatever comes along, whatever catches his eyes, he never seems to have forgotten what it’s all about. And sees the differences that matter… How did “You” come out of all the tragedies and drama you lived through together with this world around you, yes, how are you, he seems to be asking us. Isn’t that sweet…? He puts us for a long moment on the centre stage of the world play that is rolling on continuously. All sorts of voices interlacing their advice, wisdom, from different era’s and realms. Sublime, is there another word for it Mister Schopenhauer… I wonder…?

The Church have always been so handy in suggesting the immensity of what lies so close by our side, yet stretches out into an eternal beyond, maybe primarily with the perceptive and intuitive tactics of their compassionate guitars, their strings as whiskers feeling out, sounding out the world.

It feels a bit presumptuous to me, to decide to write a few words on an album that was named after the number indicating its place in a long line of music stories. A very humble name for such a universally sounding record. But “Things have to follow an order” I once heard Steve Kilbey say. That’s what #23 seems to be all about, the good order of things, the passion followed by the disenchantment, the rapture being chased by disillusionment, upheaval, confusion and acceptance. Finding some balance amidst the natural order of things, evening out the highs and the lows, like playing with numbers, until you arrive at a point of wisdom, not knowing anything really, just being able to transcend and translate all passions into moments of blissfully happening music. This album just sounds so incredibly wise to me, I am not even talking about the words here, always attracting the listener’s eyes like a beautiful goddess who speaks of longings and all the aspirations and cravings of mankind. No, I mean the music muse is talking here, comforting you, saying everything will be alright in the end. The music has found a way of reconciling itself with life’s encounters with Antigone and Oedipus, its tragic losses and despairs, and this sense of resignation and acceptance is serenely captured, – sometimes interrupted by brief outbursts of passion -, by Steve Kilbey’s favourite muse. It all feels like a soft ritual of cleansing and purgation, whereby all the excessive passions are tenderly soothed and acknowledged and then carefully laid to rest in a quietly contented soul. Happy and thankful for all that has been; the music showing the path as a calming rite of catharsis, embalming the air with the sound of liberating ceremonials of guitars, drums, piano, cello…. Moments to pause. Words by a skilled raconteur who learned to let go of all unnecessary disguises and all the flattering distortions of the truth. Steve Kilbey is plain-speaking here on number 23, clear and direct, open-hearted and sincere. But as ever with the beautiful, sensual veil of poetry. “ In Summertime”… and the living is easy… Just like in the olden days, as it was meant to be, until we started fighting each other and our world, and, in the end, we got stage fright…Could the disarming charm and mystic power of music break this evil spell? As everything is falling apart, can we somehow stand our ground in the alluring sublimation of music? As creatures of awareness and imagination – just like music – can we not transcend the small theatrics of our tiny lives? The Church have just given us a clue. And Steve Kilbey is writing a little philosophy of music here, carefully undressing his muse and baring her secrets to all.

Listening to this album, I was swept off my feet by the many gorgeous beginnings of its songs. Small geneses happening over and over again. Little preludes that flirtingly put you on the wrong foot, leading to revelatory surprises; or prologues which unfold and lie for ever open; the music swaying at its own will, but sometimes, unwantingly bowing to the mastery of Steve Kilbey’s lyrical prosody, to the words inspired by a lover, determined to tame the music’s hegemony and command, like on “Space Saviour” with its intimate beating and roaring around a poetry that almost loses itself in its object of adoration. Words at times,- perhaps somewhat unexpectedly – overpower the music on this untitled album. As “On Angel Street”, where the lyrics all by themselves, in tender undulations, could tell the whole story of a lost love, the music simply standing by it as a loyal friend who won’t let go; and when the words are done, it continues the emptiness in a monotonous, but majestic allegory of loneliness. The scope of #23 is enormous. The music and words often playing games with each other, contradicting one another: on “Pangaea” the music connives only with the song’s title in a display of a carefree unity of time and pleasant languor, while the rest of the lyrics hint that everything is drifting apart in restlessness. This album is just chockfull of intriguing insights into life and music and abounds in metaphors which only reveal themselves in quiet patience. As in “Sunken Sun”, this music takes its time to simply be. Let’s follow its example. In moments of blissful being. I remember … lying in the grass of my parents’ garden as a young girl, watching the sun go down, listening to the echo of time…and what was yet to come.

Joke Roelandt, May 2020