Something Quite Peculiar
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Come inside the world of Steve Kilbey singer songwriter and bassist of one of Australia's best loved bands, The Church. From his migrant ten pound pom childhood through his adolescence growing up during the advent of The Beatles, Dylan and The Stones to his early adventures in garage bands and neighbourhood jams. His misadventures with a full time job and a 9 to 5 life and wild adventures with The Church as they conquer Australia and then the world. The tours. The records. The women. And then the heroin addiction which enslaved him for ten long years. Then the two sets of twins he fathers along the way and branching off into acting, painting and writing. From snowy Sweden to a cell in New York City, from Ipanema beach to Bondi, Kilbey stumbles through his surrrealistic life as an idiot savant that will make you smile as well as want to kick him up the arse. After coming out the other side his tale is simply too good not to be told. Narrated with unusual and often pristine clarity we and with much focus on his considerable musical talent.
clothing. He meant business. He had a sneering, arrogant, know-it-all manner that was dynamite on the debating scene. Even as he sat there watching me speak I could feel him shaking his head and writing a thousand notes to himself on how he could rip apart our case. He was the Muhammad Ali of high-school debating. The total heavyweight champ. It almost wasn’t fair! He was like some big kid of fourteen playing football with the Under 7s. He had more intellectual firepower than any other kid I’d
the Ritz in New York and our travels took us to San Francisco where I again encountered the incredibly seductive Donnette Thayer, a big-time Church fan and all round gorgeous babe. I certainly succumbed to her many charms that night! We both had partners but … wow she was a very cool American woman. She was incredibly pretty and feisty, but it wasn’t so easy to stay in touch in 1986 so that was it for a while. So The Church wended its way back to Australia and did another umpteen gigs that were
soothing gorgeous honey and she swore eternal fealty to me but she was no stupid groupie: I loved the fact that Donnette loved what I did so much. Her devotion and her seriousness suddenly centred me in a lost universe of onwards rushing events. Although I’d hung out with her quite a bit before, that afternoon she suddenly rushed into my head and it changed the course of my life forever. The gig that night was a ripper, the San Francisco audience re-anointed us. Sutherland was there looking smug
had done. Furiously, she snapped her fingers and in a minute she and all her entourage had driven off while the minions were packing up the cameras and lights. The record people were writhing and tearing at their hair. ‘You don’t know what you’ve just done!’ they moaned. Now 150 million viewers wouldn’t hear ‘Under the Milky Way’ on the most prestigious show in town! We had blown it again. What a bunch of clowns! Now imagine if I’d been nice to Steve Sutherland and Peter hadn’t made his little
everything one could hope for in a musical comrade: he was funny and debonair and quite the raconteur with lots of funny stories about Nick Cave and the early days in London with all the Aussies there. Grant loved a cigarette, a glass of red wine and a cappuccino. He loved to read the newspaper and go shopping to buy loads of novels that he’d probably never read. We became fast friends and we hung out together a lot, writing songs and taking pot shots at everyone else’s pretensions. The Jack