Touched by the hand of GOD

GOD visited Melbourne in 1987. Au Go Go Records was a shop and record label located amongst the red brick warehouses, abandoned factories and cobblestone lanes of Abbotsford.  

Proprietor, Bruce Milne was one of the first to be touched by the hand of GOD. It was an experience that changed his life, a “golden moment”, recounts Milne. 

Milne was handed a demo cassette of  My Pal, a song by a young punk band with a precocious nameGOD 

500 copies of the 7” vinyl first-press sold out quickly followed by 1500 more 

It wasn’t only Milne who was touched by this golden musical moment; GOD have been described as possibly the greatest Australian band you have never heard, and  My Pal is considered one of the classic punk rock songs in Australian music history.  

It may also surprise you to know that many rock gurus think of it as the unofficial rock anthem of Melbourne.  

What is it about My Pal that makes it so great?  I’m rocking along Citylink on my way to the airport when I enquire of my passenger and music advisor, a conservatorium trained jazz guitarist – who just happens to be my son… 

My Pal, by GOD, have you heard them?.. of course you haven’ttell me what you think, I want your considered opinion.”  

I switch the sound system to my iPhone and crank up the volume and lose myself to the song. 

“Aussie pub punk…messy, raw, nice riff and driving bass…I like itI really like how the outro returns to the intro,” he smiles, who are they again?” 

Musically,  My Pal  has an under-produced soundyou might expect of punk but that’s where expectations end.  

It intros with a distinctive catchy, chiming riff that revolves around a circular five-note melody; the song is carried by messy, energetic drums and a driving bass, a three-cord progression overlaid with angst-ridden vocals.  

The lyrics are barely decipherable but the chorus is raw and emotive: 

“You’re my only friend / you don’t even like me.” 

Joel Silbersher, GOD’s lead singer/guitarist/songwriter has been compared to Nirvana’s, Kurt Cobain, who followed some years laterwhile others liken his vocal style to Motorhead’s, Lemmy Kilmister.  

The combination, deliver an unexplainable energy, a mojo that resonates. Dave Laing, Record label owner sums up the appeal. 

“For indie kids it’s an indie song, for punk kids it’s a punk song, for rock’n’roll people it’s a rock’n’roll song. It can be a pop song if you want it to be. It just seems to appeal to everybody in the alternative kind of world. It just covers all those bases.” 

The real surprise is that Silbersher and his band: Matty Whittle, Tim Hemensley and Sean Greenway were just 15 and 16 years old when they recorded  My Pal 

Not surprising perhaps, when you consider they were playing in bands since they were 10.  

In the space of three-years, GOD made a raucous appearance on the music TV show Countdown, released two albums and played approximately, seventy live gigs. 

However, the huge success of the single My Pal became overpowering for the band,  dominating their other material and audience interest. While for a time, it fell out of favour with GOD, it  remains an enduring Australian punk classic, feted and covered.

Silbersher and Whittle are still active in the industry but tragically, Hemensley and Greenway could not cling to the GOD-like immortality of  My Pal; both dying from heroin overdoses.   

As a touch of bitter irony, My Pal featured on the soundtrack to Underbellythe TV series of the infamous Melbourne gangland wars, for control of the drug trade and racketeering. 

GOD: live on Countdown

Vale David Carr

Vale David Carr. Father, writer, columnist, journalist for the New York Times and Lack Professor of Media Studies at Boston University.

Carr, a frank and astute reporter was highly respected by his peers for his passion, integrity and generosity. He was an early adopter of social media, an advocate of its place in journalism and an insightful media commentator. His 2008 memoir, The Night of the Gun, provides a raw and much lauded account of his battle with cocaine addiction.

In the documentary, Page One, Inside the New York TImes, Carr found prominance in his interview of Shane Smith, CEO of VICE. Smith, maligns the Times when self promoting his report on Liberia. Carr, counter to journalistic norms, interjects. “Just a sec, time out – before you ever went there we’ve had reporters there reporting on genocide, just cos you put on a fucking safari helmet and talk about poop doesn’t give you the right to insult what we do.” David Carr.

It is easy to see why Carr’s legacy is that of a much-loved and revered journalist and media critic.

“David Carr was one of the most gifted journalists who has ever worked at The New York Times. He combined formidable talent as a reporter with acute judgment to become an indispensable guide to modern media. But his friends at The Times and beyond will remember him as a unique human being — full of life and energy, funny, loyal and lovable. An irreplaceable talent, he will be missed by everyone who works for The Times and everyone who reads it.”

Arthur Ochs Sulzberger Jr., publisher and chairman, The New York Times. David Carr, Times Critic and Champion of Media, Dies at 58

Return of the wayward

A thoughtful act for something so seemingly insignificant. My writing notebook took itself on an adventure worthy of a story. It found it’s way into the hands of Mr Theophanous George of the Lost and Found Department of Swissport, Larnaca International Airport, the Republic of Cyprus. George, or is it Theo?..contacted me from this small island country that I have never visited. He then slipped the stowaway into the post. Some 16,000km later I sit with my collection of scribbled musings in my grasp, smiling at the unfamiliar stamps and the adventures of my wayward little blue notebook, thanks to the diligence and thoughtfulness of one Theophanous George.

littlebluenotebook

wayward

adjective

  1. difficult to control or predict because of wilful or perverse behaviour by a little blue notebook.
    “a wayward notebook”

The river

The rain washes darkness into the mist,

Falling into a swollen, mud-brown Yarra.

Weaving and winding like a slippery eel,

Slithering under the sleepy gaze of glistening trees.

The gums hang low, sodden, heavy and wet.

A winter’s evening in the company of a river,

Running, eager for the sea.