Having spent the best part of two weeks figuring out how to transfer content from six blogger pages to this, the new international webportal and virtual headquarters of Davey Dreamnation Enterprises, it came as no surprise today when an unnamed junior technician, midway through eating a bar of turkish delight, inadvertantly hit delete while navigating the FTP interface, with the end result that all [d/dn v.10] services and facilities suffered an immediate “brown-out” whose devastating effect, comparable to a cookie crumb becoming lodged in a ventilation fan on board the International Space Station, was only minutes ago reversed, thanks to the diligence and superior brainpower of Davey Dreamnation himself, who is now considering changing his name to Davey Damnation, in apparent reference to words exchanged between himself and said junior technician, who now finds himself “cooling his jets” somewhere on the perimeter of the Camp Davey compound, along with Mr D’Nation’s insufferable llama Scaramouche, the Kiwi Sting impersonator Stung and various luminaries from the 1980s including Sir Chris de Burgh, Sir Bros, Sir Nik Kershaw, Sir Howard Jones aka Hojo and Sir Tears For Fears, who threatened to eat his own head should such a catastrophe ever befall Davey Dreamnation Enterprises again, a threat interpreted hopefully by those assembled as a promise whose fulfillment all now eagerly look forward to, much as we mere mortals look ahead with delight to the appearance of a comet on the western horizon, itself a symbol of all we have come to love and cherish, in short, home, though faraway on a cold planet, seemingly immune to static.
Category: Davey Dreamnation (page 5 of 31)
Davey Dreamnation (not pictured) was conceived during the playing of a Genesis L.P. in April 2001. A legend in his own signature drawstring jarmies, a colossus of lo-fidelity, a harbinger of jitches and drum fills and ‘the Skylab of his generation’, Davey describes himself as an Australasian pirate who lives in the third person, and that’s good enough for us. Davey is apparently fluent in Esperanto and enjoys ice hockey and Joy Division. Read posts from the last five or ten years, then consider for a moment a world without Davey. Sad, isn’t it?
DNRC073 | EP | 2010 Read more
DNRC069 | LP | 2010 Read more
Josi! You are luscious! I watch you every week on Chartbusting Eighties just because you are so luscious. You make me want to slur my words and say eighdies. I feel fat in my Tears For Fears outfits, especially this gigantic panda jumper but I don’t care because I want to shout, pout and let other stuff out of my body at the same time. There is a beach I walk along each morning. In the top right hand corner of the inside of my mirrorshade Le Specs I’ve got a little pop-up window set to play continuous CB80s re-runs. I am too shy to participate in the CB80s audience. Did I mention the beach I walk along in my greatcoat and tight-fitting black boots. Josi, you are so rude to your audience members. That makes me excited. I refuse to communicate with you via email. The despicably ugly film clips from our deadbeat generation onyl serve to make you look attractive. Please tell the goons in the studio to desist with the smoke machine. It distracts my eye from its contemplation of you. Yes, I have only one eye. It is located in the middle of my forehead. I do not require an eyepatch, as I am blessed with several bandannas and a rather girlish quiff. Walking along the ebach in a greatcoat and boots can be hard, especially now that my Walkman is broken, and the elastic band holding my headphones together has also broken. Everybody wants to rule your world, Josi, except me. I want to rool with you. The two of us, together, in a film clip with no name. Exasperating the studio hacks with our cut-up trickery, our mirrorshades, our bike pant flower arrangements, our ineffable badness, weirdness. Let’s write songs from the big chair of your lap, you on keyboards, me on bass, some NMIT music student on guitar, production by Bros. Hair by Brian. Let us buy a house in Reservoir, and coat the walls with L.P. covers, forge a path to the Hills Hoist out of vinyl 12″ circles, leave complimentary head cleaners in the bathroom for our guests. I will draw George Michael stubble on my cheeks, bleach my teeth “Choose LIfe” white. I love raging and long walks on the beach. I love your teasing manner and your generous bust. I see you in the top left hand corner of my heart, standing still as the video recorder runs through its paces, taping over all my old sitcom flames, erasing the sevendies, the ninedies, the naughdies. Only eighdies remain. Chartbusting eighdies. Heartbusting eighdies. Pantbusting eighdies. Josi!
DNRC066 | LP | 2008 Read more