Sending Out A Signal - Monique's Diary.

Turns, Soundchecks and Other Things
October 4, 2007

Thanks to everyone who can along to the gigs on my birthday. I was overwhelmed and just want to say thanks for the pressies, cards and home made cards too. The red went down very well thanks A, D and C. The last month or so has been a turning point for me in my life on many levels and it was important to see my family and friends at this time. It meant a lot really. I am in the process of getting my passport renewed as a trip to the US is scheduled in Feb/March 2008. I am going to travel for a bit prior to making my 4th album. Should be a ripper and the UK is in my sights too so I’ll be away for a couple of months.

I am looking forward to gigs coming up at Sovereign Hill this weekend. Had a rehearsal with Kerri Simpson at my house last night and we are gonna have some fun that’s for sure. Our Sunday residency at the Prince Albert in Williamstown is going to be a chance to play some new songs and I enjoy the intimate and down to earth atmosphere plus I get to be an audio engineer. Why is it that there always has to be a smart arse in the venue when you sound check who follows on from your “one, two” with a “three, four, five, six.” Either that or they grunt and mimic you. It’s as though they think you’re just doing it all for kicks, like you want to have to say stuff through the PA in front of them. I don’t know about you musicians/engineers out there but I really dislike sound checking in front of crowds. It’s wrong and it’s frustrating. Then you have to say as you fire up an instrument or two, “this is sound check everyone!” It never matters what I play in sound check, it always sounds bad. I think something in my brain says, “this isn’t the real gig, don’t play properly.” So instead I bumble my way around the frets on my guitar and make up stupid lyrics and the bad thing is that some people think you’re playing for real. Ha ha, oh the joy of it all. I know now though, given so many years of dealing with strange and challenging live music environments that you could drop me on the moon and I’d be able to pull off some type of performance. It may include moon walking and vocals through a helmet but I’d do my best to make it happen. That’s just what you have to do and hey, I’m not complaining. If Neil Armstrong was an entertainer maybe he could have sung the words “one small step for man...” to the tune of Old Man River or even Thriller just to tie in with the moon walking part of his landing.

So anyway, we have quite a few gigs coming up including an anti nuclear gig so keep an eye out for dates on this site or my myspace page as I’d love to see you folks. Ok, so I’ll sign off now. Keep rocking out there people and if today isn’t the greatest day you’ve ever had don’t worry ‘cause you can turn it all around with a positive attitude. Life is tough sometimes but it’s amazing what is offered up if we are brave enough to try.

Love and peace, Monique

Singing In The New Year
January 8, 2007

Happy New Year one and all! I am in Tasmania. A possum just climbed up the wall outside my window and frightened the life out of me!

I hope 2007 is a year of vast improvements in our treatment of people and the planet. I am praying for a change of government.

I am writing at the moment in preparation for my 4th album. So I am writing and recording down here in my bush fire burnt homeland Tasmania. I was shocked and saddened to see the devastation of the bush fires on the nth east coast first hand over Christmas. People’s bravery and determination was evident everywhere.

The ocean was magnificent. The black hound at my parent’s house is as gorgeous as ever and I am enjoying the environment as it is great for writing. I wrote this following passage today for the site to give you a snap shot of what I’ve been doing. Hope to see some of you at the live shows this year.

So until then ok, Monique x

Bring on the rain!

RAIN 06/01/07
Rained, rained all day and night. The moon hung low and the deafening noise of silence woke me. Crawling back into my cavernous space, I made an attempt at finishing a song that stirred such a well in me that the emotion rose up like a wave to my throat threatening to drown me. Regaining composure and assurance that I was still alive by catching a glimpse of the clouded sky through the blinds I tried again. This time the droning D took on a life of its own and cascaded forth with virtue and honesty. Could this be the miracle take? Moving along through the introduction and first verse it seemed that this song could only be played from the beginning to the very end to make sense of the life it portrayed and to honor it accordingly. The wooden wall clock was stuck on seven minutes past eight in this realm accustomed to precision and mistakes. The two seemed to go hand in hand. This was a realm of countless counting, noise, static, lethargy, tingling ecstasy, heartbreak, revulsion and perplexity. Constant too was the non recognition of time, silence, energy, bruising sadness, healing, attachment and understanding.

I continued on head first into the second instrumental. Celtic sounding in its wristy, free flowing rhythm and reflective melody lines, I revisited the day we bid farewell to our beautiful friend. I had witnessed something indescribable yet I was trying to describe it. Guitar droning on with the buzzing of the microphone, squeaking of strings and the distant vocal sings, "We stood at the water's edge and watched the tide roll in. Under the bluest of skies we gathered to remember your life.”

I am into the second chorus now and the clock on the wall as distant as the night before. It was rain that did fall, the lightning across the wall and into a gap, the frightened voice buried. Underground now, building momentum and finding that these memories could have been deadening as they once were yet at that moment I felt brilliantly alive and now the truth in the words rang out enticing the birds to gather on the water and always with a young one there. How I had marveled at the composure of family at such a time. I was seeing her mother now with black and silver hair, eyes glistening like the caps of the waves lapping gently against the wooden pylons of the jetty. There was a reading and reflection of hearts that sank with the ashes and we all fell silent but for soft, stifled sobs.

Sweat on the fingers building while the strings slip underneath and sliding up and down in time with the heartbeat and metronome. The two don’t always go hand in hand. Focus, don’t focus, easy flow, waves and the boats on the water that day, that’s it, blank.

“All hands to the wheel, we all need time to heal.” Now I am through and into the corridor, the homeward stretch. I see children’s school lockers, with books and hockey sticks and bags of lollies and chips and boys in shorts and girls with hands on hips. I see her there just for a moment and then she fades away like steam on glass. Now I am marching forward into the final chorus and the lyrics, “Tide roll in, wash us clean, keep our hearts forever young.” Hold the chord! Now the heart is really heard beating away still holding the anguish of that day. The rain outside fell, it could be heard tapping on the window as the cave came back into focus. Pressing stop and feeling the rising in my throat had been replaced by a lump I sighed deeply. I had been in the trenches with the head and the heart. The heart had been victorious. If only the real world functioned in this way. Maybe this is what the war mongers need? To create, not murder and to love, not hate. Rain, rain, we have missed you so. It’s good to see you back my dear friend.

Click here for archive diary entries.