So, who is Grumpy Neighbour? And a fair question if you’ve just landed here and you’re not familiar with the name or music. There seems to be a few of you dropping by these days. Grumpy Neighbour, the act has, at various stages, been a band, a duo, a trio, an ensemble, but perhaps more than anything else, Grumpy Neighbour is a mindset. The duo at the core of the band were friends for decades before the advent of their musical collaboration. Grumpy Neighbour is, in that sense, the manifestation of a shared artistic perspective, but there are connections in the mix that go beyond the music and art. These are founded in the bedrock of the island state we consider home. Tasmania. We have been told a number of times, usually after our live shows, that our music is ‘filmic’, our songs make little movies in people’s heads. To be honest, if we’ve got our grumpy properly on, that’s exactly what’s meant to happen. Our songs, in film speak, are meant provide a script outline, using words and melody to create a plot perspective, and then the listener’s imagination can take over, cast the roles, direct the action, and make the movie in real time, soundtrack and all. While we acknowledge that a fair proportion of general listeners aren’t overly concerned with lyrics, we are. The quality of the writing is as important to us, as that of the musical composition. If our songs are to achieve what we want them to, there has to be a sense of belonging between the two. Even if the story is not so apparent, as in an oblique aside turned into a song, the lyric still has to feel like an irreducible part of the whole, as a bare minimum standard. And words are so... flexible, playful, meaningful, comical, lateral, surreal, contradictory even, the opportunities are endless. Lyrics are also a great opportunity to deploy that essential tool of musical story-telling, the hook. Then there are the times, most often on tour, when it feels like all the planets are aligned, all the wu that ever was is connected up, and the feeling that the audience and act are not only on the same page, but reading the exact same passage. These performances are usually marked by a feeling that we’ve all ended up leaving a different place than when we arrived. The feeling of having been on some sort of journey, arriving inexplicably drained and a little fuzzy, as the stage lights go down and house lights go up. Like the Van Diemonians we are, though, we know a good opportunity when we see one. After such encounters, some of you may find your heart missing next time you check. We’ll give it back, promise. All the best for 2024