1994

Lyrics

Paul Kelly

Angus and Robertson

Reviewed by Murray Bramwell

Books of song lyrics are still quite rare. One thinks of The Beatles collection, whimsically decorated by Alan Aldridge, or the various editions of Bob Dylan songs. In the latter case there were frequent revelations. Dylan only occasionally provided lyric sheets with his album releases and we long term listeners found we had cherished some fascinating mishearings over the years. To read the actual wording (although Dylan watchers note that the Great Man often alters them for publication) twenty five years after the release of say, Visions of Johanna, can be deeply disconcerting. You tend to decide, in good postmodern fashion, to stick to your initial deciphering because somehow it seems right anyway.

But none of this is likely to happen with the publication of Paul Kelly’s song lyrics since he has always obligingly included them with record releases. So why a book ? Would people buy the book who didn’t know the albums ? And if they did, what would they make of them ? Would they be people who buy “poetry” – and who, for that matter, are they ? There is some evidence to suggest that everybody wants to publish poetry but nobody wants to read anyone else’s.

Let me say immediately that the release of this volume is a way of paying much deserved attention to Paul Kelly’s accomplishments and if it returns readers to his recorded work then that is an excellent thing. If it also catches the attention of people unfamiliar with his work- the newly-healed deaf, perhaps, or people who have been locked in cupboards or stranded at McMurdo Sound- then that is a bonus.

What disconcerts me is the strategy taken in Robert Adamson’s brief introduction. First he tediously reminds us that the first poets performed with lyre accompaniment so that Kelly is more traditional than the contemporary poet ever is. That, if I may say, is not only unilluminating it is a cliche with hair on it. Then Adamson cites Imre Salusinszky “of the University of Newcastle” (to emphasise the credentials of the opinion) that Paul Kelly should be included in anthologies of Australian poetry. Well of course he should. But, on the other hand, why the hell would he want to be ? Paul Kelly does not need to publish books to prove he is one of the country’s leading artists- and a highly successful one. It is high time it was recognised that poetry as a published form is in serious decline. It is a marginal activity. What new fiction has not annexed from it has been ceded to the recorded music industry.

And not recently either. Over more than thirty years there has been a huge amount of writing covering every speck of human experience in a variety of languages. But the torch of communication has not been the book it has been the cassette. From Bob Marley to Joni Mitchell to Youssou N’Dour to Public Enemy to Bjork to whoever you want to name, poetry is alive and well and travelling in the constant company of rhythm and music. Similarly in Australia, Deborah Conway, the Finn Brothers, the Painters and Dockers, Nick Cave, The Beasts of Bourbon, Dave Graney are just a few of the new, or not so new, writers.

As is Paul Kelly. Kelly’s links are especially with the ballad- the traditional variety and the revival of the radical folk scene of the Fifties and Sixties. He has debts to Phil Ochs, Tim Buckley and Bob Dylan. But also, he will tell you, Chuck Berry, John Lee Hooker and the power pop of the late seventies.

As Lyrics indicates, Paul Kelly’s writing has gathered tremendous steam over nine albums. But it was always classy. The collection is set out in chronological order- from Post onwards. Opening with From St Kilda to Kings Cross is a strong start for anybody’s money-

“I want to see the sun go down from St Kilda Esplanade

Where the beach needs reconstruction, where the palm trees have it hard

I’d give you all of Sydney harbour (all that land and all that water)

For that one sweet promenade.”

Incident on South Dowling, is spare and unsparing in its strung out account of an overdose. Adelaide evokes the sundering of home ties. Then again, Give Me One More Chance could be vintage Hank Williams. On Gossip it is the candour of Before the Old Man Died and the tenderness of Randwick Bells that strikes the reader, as they do in Kelly’s fine arrangements on the album as well. Then, Maralinga (Rainy Land) the first of Kelly’s land rights anthems, records historical particulars – “My name is Yami Lester…My name is Edie Millipuddy.”

The collection is a reminder of how many first rate songs Paul Kelly has written- Dumb Things, Same Old Walk, and Special Treatment from the Under the Sun period. Almost everything from So Much Water So Close to Home- but especially Careless, South of Germany and Everything’s Turning to White. And, written at the same time, the shrewdly framed Other People’s Houses. Winter Coat and From Little Things Big Things Come (co-written with Kev Carmody), express the range of gifts on the Comedy album. Lyrics gathers together songs from Funerals and Circuses, Kelly’s highly memorable collaboration with Roger Bennett for Magpie last Festival. Recent works such as Just Like Animals also appear , it was one of the stand-out performances on Kelly’s double live set issued in 1992.

Lyrics is proof that Paul Kelly’s writing can more than hold its own on the page. But when you consider how delectably, surprisingly and memorably they entwine with his wry, original, sometimes breathtaking melodies it seems a pity to separate them.

I  have no doubt about the claims made for Kelly as a poet.

But, writing this review to a background of albums – Hidden Things, Gossip, Comedy- and listening again to the music so integral to his achievement I am reminded that we- and Paul Kelly- are doubly blessed.

The Adelaide Review, No.123, February, 1994.