Tim Fatchen sends me occasional emails that I usually read about 5.30am instead of going on my daily 10-metre run.
Somehow - and this is weird - there's always a title somewhere in the content of the Fatchen message. I'm not sure if he's using some supernatural power of suggestion or I'm simply not getting enough sleep.
But I'm not complaining.
This lyric came out of some Fatch-chat about copyright and all that legally weagley stuff.
In Australia musicians have, he tells me, what are known in the trade as "mechanical rights".
Which is great, but I couldn't shake away from where that sticky term was dragging me.
Turns out it's all probably far too Australian for most citizens to the north of the Equator to fully appreciate:
Falcons, sheds, 351s, drive-throughs, spot lights on hand-painted cars, all that.
So, oh well.
Anyhow, this title walks into an outer-suburban bar in South Australia...
Tim sez: these lyrics keep appearing with my name already down! I'm a marked man! I need some time to listen to others! My left fingerpads hurt! I keep forgetting where #F is on the bass!
lyrics
MECHANICAL RIGHTS
by Andrew Male & Tim Fatchen
By anyone’s guess
the old man’s shed was a mess
But there was one treasure wrapped up inside
When he passed over,
all the probate and stuff,
We sold his 351 when he died
That 351 was a monster
A Falcon from ‘74
Custom suspension
With marital tension
My dad followed her right out the door
Saw the car on the highway one Saturday
Hand-painted, all strung with spot lights
Had a spit to my mate who’s an ex-magistrate she said
You-should-have mechanical rights
Something about it just got to me;
His car, and all my parents’ old fights
I’d lie there in bed
That line in my head
About those mechanical rights
That 351 was a monster
A Falcon from ‘74
Custom suspension
Familial tension
My dad followed her right out the door
Early one morning I saw her,
still running, outside of a bar
Just before dawn that big engine so warm
Dad’s love was a getaway car
I took a shortcut through the drive-through
Took a quick look at the till
Two men - one pistol, one garden-stake;
One attendant demonstrably ill
Something about it just got to me
So I stood up there in his sights...
I lay there and bled That line through my head:
You-should-have-had mechanical rights
You-should-have-had mechanical rights
Yes for sure, my mechanical rights.
______________________________
[ORIGINAL LYRIC]
By anyone’s guess
the old man’s shed was a mess
But there was one treasure wrapped up inside
When he passed over,
all the probate and stuff,
We sold his 351 when he died
That 351 was a monster
Falcon from ‘74
Custom suspension
With marital tension
My dad followed her right out the door
Saw the car on the highway one Saturday
Hand-painted,
all strung with spot lights
Had a spit to my mate
who’s an ex-magistrate
She said you should have mechanical rights
You should have mechanical rights
Something about it just got to me;
His car,
and all my parents’ old fights
I’d lie there in bed
That line in my head
About those mechanical rights
That 351 was a monster
A Falcon from ‘74
Custom suspension
Familial tension
My dad followed her right out the door
Early one morning I saw her, still running,
left outside of a bar
Just before dawn
That big engine so warm
Dad’s great love was a getaway car
I took a shortcut
through the drive-through
Took a quick look at the till
Two men - one pistol, one garden-stake;
One attendant demonstrably ill
Something about it just got to me
As I stood up there in his sights
I lay there and bled
That line through my head:
You should have mechanical rights
The cutting satire, cruel humor, blue angst and general mayhem of the dark alter ego of Tim Fatchen. And the alter ego's
alter egos. And occasional or persistent collaborators, including strange shack dwellers from Wallaroo in the most recent release.
Where is Wallaroo? Nothing to see here, move along......more
