Broddie's Gazette No. 15
know itís been a while (over a year, in fact, but there wasnít much to
write about, and why bullshit, you know).
country still wanders around on the patio in its slippers and me, well,
Iím desperately trying to get out of my grumpy years.
In the last
year or so Iíve managed to upset shock jocks, the far right,
(not the left cos it doesnít exist anymore)
yuppies, armchair socialists and cricket lovers.
what 2013 brings!
things happened though.
pleased me no end. This photo is of a mature, quite handsome Dingo, called
means a lot to me and I wish him a wonderful, safe life.
I guess I should talk about
my sons a bit. Perry, the oldest one is busy learning tattooing and
because of his artistic talent should do well. His sketches are dynamite.
The youngest son, Ambrose, is singing and cavorting around on stage with
no shirt a lot.
He plays in the Murlocs
Gizzard and the Lizard Wizards
Gizzard, by the way, asked me to write a short story of sorts and narrate
it for their new cd, and the damn thing worked out real well.
friend Matt Walker said the fact that I was nearly 65 and theyíre all 20
made sense because I was the only performer from my era that could do it.
Not sure what he meant by that but it sounds good.
daughter Edith is living in Melbourneís north and enjoying the young
ďDevil wears Prada ď life she now has.
wonders of the world when youíre young.
in the backstreets of Juarez, the alleys of Aden, burnt out buildings in
parts of Harlem, the Keilor Tip, The Coliseum Hotel Heidelberg, lots of
ďcharacter-filled places ď. Iíve had knives pulled on me, bottles and
glasses put near my face, guns pointed at me from under tables, got
involved in a few bar brawls and still the scariest place Iíve ever been
was the lounge at the Portsea Pub full of desperate, drunken women all
bearing a vague resemblance to Gene Hackman in drag.
Melbourne and most cities no longer hold much fascination for me.
crimson Rosella in my garden means more than a clubful of the tragically
hereís a question. I know what this is; can anybody else out there tell
person that tells me gets a free ticket to the Knox City Museum of Fine
Art. Pic courtesy of the angelic Maxine Briggs.
another photo. Itís me and Loz, the wonderful partner of the wonderful
musician (and human being) Mark Collins and Tim OíBrien the great US
singer/musician. The nun pic was given by Mark for me to hold. Strange
lad. Taken at Katoomba a few years back. My beard years. Actually it is a
weird photo when I look at it. What are they doing in my room sitting on
my bed? Loz looks surprised, Tim looks gay, and I look ill.
touring with the Backsliders
a fair bit. Hereís a shot of Rob on the left and Dom having a typical
Bluesmanís breakfast of Eggs Benedict on Spelt bread with handpicked
spinach, cherry tomatoes and a soy latte . The small dish on Domís plate
also holds an organic hand pressed moutard líorange, the same meal Robert
Johnson had every morning in his private cattle car on the Southern
Railroads Gourmet Blues Tours he used to do.
has it that Johnson died by choking to death on an unheated croissant.
Iíve also been doing some
playing with Tabasco Tom and Doc.
from the States and Docís from Adelaide.
real deal, growing up with the Gottis and Gambinos in a way then going
down into Virginia and learning the rebel yell. His life is like a
character that Sean Penn might play, or Sigourney Weaver. Doc was a nurse
for many years and has 4 children and a wife that he is extremely scared
of. I think she beats him.
also have the feeling that Michelle Obama knocks Barack around a bit. What
do I know?
as Garrison Keiller said, ĒThe person who takes up the most room in the
marital bed runs the homeĒ.
Tom in NZ trying to look handsome and successful on this side of the world
so his mum wonít worry.
thing. This is a shot of my Webmeister, Lance, with his good buddy Pablo.
Lance actually was the one who suggested to Pablo, ďYou should check out
African sculptures. Theyíre really coolĒ.
all folks. Iím getting bored. Talk to you soon.
a copy of the album