I am cursed or blessed with an eidetic memory. Which is explained thus:


All that may be true, but what it means in my somewhat hectic and bizarre life, is that I can recall everything that has ever happened to me in acute detail, which further translates to this analogy:

"It's like walking around with the whole world inside your head."

It's tiring I tell you. Tiring to remember how the Palais Theatre in St. Kilda smelled in 1969, the first time I went there.(Sort of like warm apple pie in your favourite Auntie's slightly mossy parlour, and it still smells like this today. The Palais, not Auntie Millie's place)

Tiring to remember all the words to Ray Steven's 'Harry the Hairy Ape', & my 4 year old girlfriend from across the street mother's aghast face, after she fired my new Batman catapult with her adult bicep and it disappeared out of sight, and she realised that she would have to buy me another one. (She shouldn't get another grey Batman, so I had to settle for a black one.) And don't forget my home phone number from 1969-1984. (762 1076)

So these days, as is often happening, I catch up with old friends & comrades and listen indulgently as they wax on about the past escapades we had last millenium, and bite the inside the inside of my cheeks as I endure the inconsistencies and outright lies pertaining to what people remember, or more accurately, the way they remember.

But that's all cool. I could be wrong! I've been wrong before (1982 I think it was) and possibly will be again. People often ask me how I remember all the songs that I perform, with lyrics and chords & keys mostly intact, and the simple answer is: I'm eidetic! But it's also because I have allowed myself to wallow where others would fear to tread, or simply be indifferent. Once, coming home from a gig at the end of the world (Ringwood) at something like 4am, I rewound and re-played The Dells 'Run for Cover' approximately 48 times in a row, revelling in it's soul simplicity, all he way home to Elwood. And this is not the only time, believe me, that my sociopathic & teetering mind has overloaded without me even being aware of it. Sitting in my Ford, oblivious to the overloading transformer smell of my brain, as Isaac Hayes 'By the time I get to Phoenix', all 18 minutes of it, has finished. I hate leaving a classic song in mid stream.

So there you have it, my name is Phil and I'm an Eidetic...it's been 40 seconds since my last OCD fuelled realisation.

Next week, my first record, and how Ross D. Wyllie smiled at me through the TV.




  • Leave a comment: