Home
© Williams 2008

When I go back the houses are smaller,
The streets are wider, the trees by the river are taller.
On Sunday the shops are closed, but the pubs are both open,
There’s three or four motels and the signs out the front are still broken.
The kids are suspicious and the talk is still mean,
Someone burnt down the old factory; the walls are still on a lean.
The girls hate the same as they did fifteen years ago,
The sons and the daughters of teenagers I used to know,
And I’ve got a whole football field of air to breathe
But I’m still suffocating. I’m still suffocating. I’m still suffocating.

When I go back the weeknights are quieter,
The wind is cleaner and new paint looks that much whiter.
The paddocks are dry, but I’ve seen them drier.
It’s not shooting season so the ducks are still swimming and flying.
The boys are all farmers with broken fingers,
They fight like their fathers and the threat of violence still lingers.
You go to a party and drink yourself blind –
Who knows how long til you leave this shithole behind?
And I’ve got a whole football field of air to breathe
But I’m still suffocating. Still suffocating. I’m still suffocating.

This is the school where I first fell in love with a girl.
This is the bridge where I first fell in love with a boy.
This is the place where I worked one December
Where, when I was ten, I remember the parents of some of my friends
Yelled at this man.
He was a poofter, a greenie, a faggot,
Get out of our town.

When I go back, I am not safe here,
Still not safe here, still not safe here.
And I’m still suffocating, still suffocating, still suffocating.
I am still suffocating.

Download: Home (mp3)

Last.fm link: Home

Background

A while ago, I went to a marvellous gig with some friends – it was Patty Griffin, and she was amazing! Her support act was Paul Greene, who sang a song he wrote while overseas – a song about being homesick, a small ode to his Australian hometown, a celebration of place. “That’s nice,” I thought to myself. “I wonder if I could write a nice song about the country town where I grew up?” And the thought stuck with me, and I sat down and wrote . . . this. Not exactly a celebration, but I did manage to write some of the things I did and do like about the place – the river, the bridge, the open spaces, the bush, the clean air, the creatures, the farms on the river flats. But I guess I need to write the reality of it, and the way the place makes me feel, how sad and frustrated I was for a lot of my time there, how even thinking about it makes me anxious and angry.

It’s interesting writing with perspective, and also remembering how I felt last time I was back (the streets are really very wide, and the teenagers really do still look at everyone/strangers/me in the same way). There are things I can articulate now that I couldn’t when I lived there, simply because I didn’t have anything to compare it to, and I didn’t have the distance to be able to look at how I was, what I felt, how I grew from it, how eighteen and a half years there affected me. It’s been over eight years (only eight years? eight whole years?) since I left, but I guess its always going to be with me.

When I played this to my friend, the Magnificent M, she commented on the way ‘greenie’ was up there with ‘poofter’ and ‘faggot’ as an insult. I wonder if this would be the case in many Victorian country towns? (Notice I’m deliberately not naming names here? I don’t want someone randomly googling my hometown and stumbling across this!) I can still recall the charming car-sticker slogans: “The only true wilderness is between a greenie’s ears” and “Fertilise the bush, doze in a greenie” as well as the ridiculously untruthful “Greens cost jobs” (no, it’s efficient technology that’s costing you your fucking jobs, dickheads). There were businesses that refused service to people with dreadlocks or feral/hippie clothing. Anyway, I’m willing to bet that there aren’t too many towns in Victoria that hate/d people-who-give-a-shit-about-the-environment with such a passion. There are probably several more in Tasmania, though. Growing up surrounded by this attitude is one of the reasons that people saying snide things about greenies, ferals, hippies, tree-huggers, etc pisses me off. A lot.

Anyway, I’d be interested to hear what you have to say on the matter, dear listeners! Have you ever lived in a place like that? What attitudes did you grow up around that you knew were stupid? What about beliefs you only realised later were kind of off? Is your childhood home or hometown a safe place for you to return to? What was it like being queer when you were a kid or a teenager? What were the things you learnt from your parents and teachers about queerness? From friends, fellow students, other adults?

Recording

I wanted to play around with not bothering to make the vocals true to life with this. I wanted to make it feel like sitting in a run down old house and hearing things whistling like wind through the gaps in the wall. I wanted it to be kind of eerie, kind of comforting, and kind of painful. I recorded on two separate occasions, at least a month and a half apart, so I hope it fits together. Because I recorded a lot of it so long ago, I can’t remember if there’s anything in particular I wanted to say about it. Oh yeah, the start sounds a bit like the start of After the War. Heh. I have layered both the guitar and the lead vocals with one track FXless and the other with strange echoey filters on. I like that the FX come and go – Midshipman Louise tells me it’s disconcerting but it works. What do you think?

Conclusions

OK, it’s late. I have to finish up now and so I’ll leave it here without further ado. I hope you enjoy!

I would be honoured if you’d like to share this song with people – please link them to this page rather than directly to the download. Thanks!