This poem and history has particular personal significance for me. The being a white man as part of a land that was so violently colonized has been part of my journey of knowing myself: the sadness and guilt and anger and activism and acceptance and hope and connection and clearing and love.
One of the strange ancestral parallels that have been for me: My great-grandmother lived in Narrandera, my grandmother grew up in the street that led to the town-camp for the local black fellas. My friend Kaleena Briggs’ family are also from that country too. In the early 2000’s I recorded her band Stiff Gins (https://www.facebook.com/stiffgins/) first album and accompanied them on their first international tour, both of us unaware that our families once lived near each other. I like to dream that our great-grandmothers might even have played together…
The ideas for this piece began with thinking of the wailing for the dead, then I began wailing through my sax so recorded that. That night we had a bonfire and I recorded it’s crackling, with the thought to slow it right down. The next night I put them together also manipulating some of the sax and adding delay’s (echos) and once the bed was made I wailed with my voice for four breaths.