To Whom It May Concern

I write in praise of Tim Rogers, a man I barely know who has done a great deal to preserve my faith in rock'n'roll through troubled times.

To be sure, one hears alarming reports about his behaviour of late. Threatening dreadful TV celebrities at airports is far from the worst of it. Falling over on smaller artists at backstage functions is of more concern. Apologising afterwards is clearly beyond the pale.

For all these alleged transgressions, what remains beyond reproach is his capacity and determination to wring poetic substance, unflinching self-knowledge and eye-watering tunes from a life that apparently teeters between obscene privilege and outrageous misfortune.

Exhibits A and B: Dirty Ron and Ghost Songs, two simultaneous and contradictory albums by his "other" band, the Temperance Union.

I won't presume to know what these records - one beer-barn electric, the other bar-stool ruminative - say about Tim's real life, which is rumoured to include recent cracks in his romantic stability, an over-fondness for recreational refreshment and an uneasy period of reflection within his "other" band, You Am I.

However, his tendency to extract songs whole and unexpurgated from the bowels of his own experience has long been a hallmark of his work. That is, while the validity of his poetic license has never been in question, in practise it can largely be buggered.

When Tim sings of the bliss of rock'n'roll refuge in "Do It Again" and "My Brother's Room", for instance, one can't help hearing an almost belligerent reaffirmation of the vocation that has been his salvation and undoing (see "alarming reports", above). The anagrammatically provocative "I'd Rather Be Krund" is more evidence of a character best described as wiser but unrepentant.

Hence the sound of Dirty Ron: tight, chafing, twin-guitar sleaze with a dusting of hayseed, oblivious to notions of progress and currency. "I always wanna make Sticky Fingers," Tim told me several albums ago. I hope he always fails with the kind of torn-trouser-seat bravado that Dirty Ron wears like an ill-considered tattoo.

In fact, Tim surrenders to the Union with abandon that might, and perhaps should, make his "other" band nervous. He and Shane O'Mara sling their guitars like far heavier objects handled with the careless skill of building site veterans, cocksure grins nearly audible. Especially as the tempo doubles on "Rats" and "Shit", Ian Kitney and Stu Speed egg them on recklessly.

But even through the extreme filth of "Who You Settin' Up House For?", the singer-songwriter leaves the red dirt tracks of a lone journeyman far from home (that would be "Kalgoorlie"), whose last recourse can only be "The Singer Songwriter Blues".

Which leads, as a binge leads to a hangover, to Ghost Songs. Far be it from Rogers to wallow, but the gleeful swathe cut by a man like Dirty Ron always comes at a cost, and here's where it's counted with a thematic resonance that snaps neck hairs to attention (see "real life/ rumours", above).

Coming at the brisk clip of an unqualified apology, "Dumb" divests him of all armour in the first two minutes. The rest offers some of the most poignant and self-aware reflections on lost love and human folly to be gleaned from the rumpled bedclothes of a Saturday afternoon.

Like tattoos that have been overwritten or hacked off, Ghost Songs ache and haunt like missing limbs. For mine, "A Wild One", "Ghost Songs", "Ridin' Between My Place and Ours" and "Tonight" are four of the finest songs Rogers has divined from the bruised flesh of experience.

The Temperance Union is much more restrained here; empathetic as ever, but this time sharing the morning-after guilt and stupor of profound regret. They choose their phrases carefully as Tim slow-dances his acoustic guitar around a handful of Platonic partners - Missy Higgins, Donna Simpson, Rebecca Barnard - who know perfectly well he's thinking of someone else.

But like I say, I won't pretend to know what these two records say about Tim's real life. Maybe he's an ace yarn-spinner with a crack rock'n'roll band and a sly grip on bourbon-breathing blues and down-at-heel country cliches. And maybe his next record is gonna be more now, more '80s, more Interpol-meets-Blackeyed Peas with some of that Millencolin punk attitude.

I don't happen to think so (see "faith in rock'n'roll", above).

All I know from experience is that Tim Rogers is a genuine geezer who will buy an overbearing fan a drink. He will consistently dress with elegance in inelegant surrounds and he will indulge a near stranger's angst with a certain worldly compassion more compatible with a proper poet or philosopher than the damn rock star I read about in the music press.

The rest I extrapolate from song. More than ever, I'm amazed there's so much to tell.


Michael Dwyer
August 2005


Ghost Songs / Dirty Ron Lyrics