Buddy Glass was born in Santiago, Chile during a time when Pinochet’s military dictatorship still imposed a strict 7pm curfew. He was born at 1am. This hankering for being out when he shouldn’t, has stayed with him ever since.

In 1983 he moved to Sydney, Australia with his parents. Ten years later he started a band with his high school friends. They wrote some songs, released some albums, did some tours. Then something happened.

Booze and narcotics took his mind and soul hostage and Buddy Glass became a moral, creative and intellectual guttersnipe. No more songs. The depravity went on for years.

Eventually, with his brain still on strike and yet another relationship making its way down the S-bend, Buddy Glass packed his bags and moved to Lyon, France, where a bitterly cold European winter and some healthy isolation from people and technology (there might have been some cheap French wine involved, too) finally broke him free from the shackles of unproductive degeneracy.

The result was a lengthy list of songs, ten of which you will find on this his debut, self-titled album. Road-tested in the bars of Lyon and recorded and mixed by Tim Kevin upon Buddy’s return to Sydney a year later, Buddy Glass highlights the musical and lyrical surge Buddy had while he was in Franco-captivity. “I came to Lyon to stick my fingers down my creative throat, and up came this album. I think I’ve thrown up worse things”, Buddy wrote to me on the back of a bar coaster.

From the ‘love in the time of environmental apocalypse’ theme of The Spinning Titanic & The Plan, to the joyous proclamation of Godlessness of Time is a Serpent & Ain’t You Glad it’s Not You, this is a lyrically-heavy (but not earnest) album, largely touching on the questions of “what the hell are we doing here?” and “how can we make it bearable?”

There’s a light sprinkle of love-on-the-rocks (Tar Me Up, Khloris & I) as well as an ode to Buddy’s lost years in the form of This Strange Life. The fictitious scenario of Woody Allen playing Pagliacci is used to explore Buddy’s own dark side in Just me & the Dark, while the challenges of conquering a foreign city are explored in Goodbye, Goodbye.

The album ends with Stranger Waiting at my Front Door - a song-noir inspired by an otherworldly, beautifully violent painting (the album’s cover, in fact), which Buddy found stuck to his front door upon his return from a night out. Drunk, perplexed and enamoured with the painting and its artist - a beautiful French woman living in the same building - he walked inside and wrote the song as a return gift, but when he went looking for her the next day, he discovered her apartment empty, leaving him to wonder what was real and what was dream.

This is an album that requires active listening, so please pour yourself a glass of wine, sit down and enjoy the debut, self-titled album by Buddy Glass.

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