OK OK OK This song has quite a long opening instrumental section, so I’m going to take a moment to explain a little concept from Freud called “Fort-Da.” You see, Freud’s grandson, he would throw a toy out of his play pen, and shout “Gone!” (I guess that’s what fort means. I dunno, you’d know better than me) Then he’d pull it back in (I guess it’s a kind of yo-yo, or something attached to a string? But I’m getting distracted, and the instrumental intro is rolling on…) and when it was back in his little mitts, he’d say “Here!” And he’d kind of keep doing this over and over again, a little senseless game, like “Gone!” “Here.” “Gone!” “Here.” And Freud thought, “Yeah, that’s odd, but then again his mum just started leaving him alone with Opa Siggy, and you know, maybe it’s no coincidence that the little guy is obsessed with disappearance and reappearance.” And so Freud’s insight was that we tend to repeat these little traumas as a kind of game, each round a layer of scarring over our tender psychic wounds, which we then pick at to find a compulsive sort of pleasure.

Gosh this song intro is long… Well, I wanted to say, it’s not easy for me to be up here. I’m not a great singer, and I usually need, like three gin and tonics to summon the fortitude to grab the mic. And even if I could sing in tune, or louder than a low murmur, I’d still tank up here; because, as you can probably tell, I’ve got kind of a deep-voice, and my gravelly monotone is probably better suited to, I dunno, maybe Johnny Cash, or anything by that band, what were they called...thank you, yes, The Crash Test Dummies. That’s kind of my level. But yeah, speaking of crash tests, despite these unalterable facts of my voice, I stand up here each weekend, and muddle through a string of specifically late-nineties and early-naughties easy listening hits. I’m talking about the kind of songs you probably could hum along to, but you might not recognise by name. Paula Cole. Paula Cole anyone? “I don’ wanna’ wait…” Sorry that was so out of tune, but you know it right? Shawn Colvin. “Sunny Came Home”? No? OK I know you know this one: “Unwritten” by Natasha Bedingfield. Yeah, yeah you do. Carl knows—Carl?

You see, when I was a kid, I lived pretty far from my school. Each morning we had to drive about an hour to this other school, and my mum would always take me on her way to work. And my mum she was working in an office park, also pretty far from home, so I think this was kind of the most time we spent together? Anyway, this is not about my mum I swear. OK, I’m getting distracted again, and I really think the song is about to start, so I’m not going to get into it, but my mum would listen to this one station all the time, it was called like Lite 87.3 or Smooth 92.7, something like that, and I think it was kind of meant for women in their 30s and 40s working a desk job? And maybe it wasn’t the happiest, um, period of my life, but I would hear these songs on repeat every day, for like an hour each morning, you know. That drive took forever, it felt like, and sometimes it still feels like I’m there in the passenger seat. It’s like in that Kafka story, when he says that a lifetime may not be long enough to travel from one village to the other.

Like I said, my voice isn’t really ideal for these songs, mostly sung by women. I can kind of do the verses on “Torn,” but when the chorus begins, I have to croak my way through it—but Carl, you beast, you absolutely crush it on “Torn.” I once even hired a vocal coach, and she said that I can’t unlock my higher range because I’m always “clenching” when I sing. Not that it stops me from trying. I’m not sure why I started to identify with these singers. It could have been my chubby child body was just always a bit androgynous looking...sometimes, when I didn’t have school but mum had to work, I’d go into the office with her, and people would say they thought I was her when they saw me from behind? Is that a weird thing to say in front of complete strangers? I don’t know if I really “like” these songs. I don’t listen to them at home, or anywhere besides this stage, my little play pen.

Okay, I can see I have way overshot the intro, and we’re already at the end of the song, but if it’s OK I’m just gonna talk through to the next one. I think I mentioned something about office work...yeah, these songs tend to emphasise, like, a life unfulfilled, the possibility of rebirth, of a true, unalienated self to come. I think that’s why they appealed to my mum, you know its just spreadsheets all day but then the radio is telling you, “no one else can speak the words on your lips, drench yourself in words unspoken, live your life with arms wide open.” I’m not trying to be an asshole about it, I swear, it just always seemed kind of sad to me, sitting at her desk and listening to someone singing about this real you, who feels the rain and has found her truth. And the irony is—I don’t really know why I’m telling you this; it was just a very long instrumental intro, and now the next song is about to begin—the irony is that I’m here to do the absolute opposite, to erase myself completely. You see before you a man about to self-immolate in the flames of Easy Listening from the Tony Blair era. That’s why I get on this stage, week in and week out, here at the Lime Lounge, and my song has already begun.

I’m a bitch  I’m a lover
I’m a child  I’m a mother