Long-haired boy plus baby alert!
Really … what more can I say?
Really … what more can I say?
Going cross-eyed doing the last little bit of editing …
Excerpt from SOUNDCHECK chapter – the Silva boys feeling the strain.
“You are a one syllable guy this afternoon,” said Zave. “Don’t sweat it. We won’t put it in tonight’s set. Problem solved.”
“But I want to try it on a crowd. See if it flys. It’s just hard to sing though. Hurts even.”
Nate kicked at his pedal board. “Shit the overdrive’s moving. Raff! I need a cable tie. Let’s hope no one likes it and then you’ll never ever have to do it live again.”
Bran sighed and dropped to the floor. He played a haunting riff that echoed out over the arena and made everyone stand still.
Nate laughed. “Purple Rain?”
Smirking, Bran sang the opening to Prince’s opus. The lines about not wanting to cause trouble. Or pain. When he got to the part about wanting to see them laughing, Nate used his boot to push him over.
“Listen, you lot might not have lives, but I’ve got places to go,” whined Ben. “Get up off the floor and finish this shit. And stop looking like such a sad little baby foal.”
“There’s no such thing as a baby foal.” Tuning his guitar to open G, Bran looked up and laughed. “It’s just foal.”
Ben looked around for backup. “Bullshit. Baby foals are a thing, aren’t they, Dave?”
“No,” boomed Silva’s manager from the front row seats. “They’re just foals.”
“Whatever.” Ben lifted his guitar over his head. “You’re so basic.”
Bran snorted. “You are.” Raising his eyebrows at Ben, he played the opening riff to ‘Dirt’.
“Jesus, speaking of babies. I’m not wasting anymore time on your stop-start diva crap.” Sneering, Ben put his bass on a stand. “I’m outta here. Bouncing big time.”
“Okay, sure. Could you do me a favour and go directly to a streetball court? Someone there might bounce you on your fucking head for us. And don’t forget about the TV thing at the hotel later. I’m not doing it by myself,” Bran yelled at Ben’s back.
Without turning, Ben gave him the finger and kept walking.
“Chill, man,” said Nate. “I can do that Beat interview with you if he doesn’t show.”
“I hate it when he says bounce. He sounds like a wanker. He’s worse than Zave these days.”
Zave thumped his kick drum. “Hey, I can hear you.”
I defied Melbourne’s chilly greyness yesterday and went along to the National Gallery’s Hokusai Exhibition to view the Great Wave Off Kanagawa (or waves to be precise) up close. Painting well into his late eighties, Hokusai was an incredibly prolific artist so there was an abundance of work on display, all of it gorgeous.
I had a good laugh at the reflection of a running man I unwittingly captured in my photo of the wave. There’s definitely ‘no exit’ from those gnashing talons as Bran could attest.
Twin terrors …
She studied him while he studied the print. She looked at the wave tendrils curling around his bicep. The bright blues and stark whites. Similar but different to her own tattoo. Then his strong jaw, the high cheekbones, and those eyes like blinding gemstones. Relished the warmth of his denim and t-shirt clad body beside her. His smell. Citrus and delicious boy.
She put her arm around his shoulders and squeezed hard. He smiled at the wave, tucking strands of hair behind his ears.
Over in the corner, whispering and giggling, a group of high school girls made their own detailed inventory of all his good parts. It would be a sizable list. No doubt another photo session loomed with her acting as the shoot producer, props manager and lifestyle photographer all rolled into one. Maybe this time she’d leave them to it.
… Ava appreciating beauty and all its inconveniences at the NGV’s Hokusai exhibition, Siren’s Wave Book 2 – THE WAVE.
Sirens riding a wave and annoying fishermen!
One of us needing an art break/mini snooze in the gallery …