Testimonial

Written to accompany the release of the now-vanished (and eagerly sought-after) Damien Fitzsimmons mixtape, To All Those Who Have Disrespected Me, this piece was published in the ‘best new music’ column of the New Statesman. It shows Mr Kissinger in full flight as he paints a portrait of a flawed yet sincere artist at the nadir of his personal life and, paradoxically, the height of his creative expression. Two masters at work.

A founding member of the legendary Southend Rainbows, D. Fitzsimmons has spent three decades behind the scenes of Australian music, politics, and experimental marine biology. Fitzsimmons attempted a turbulent reformation of the Southend Rainbows, with a string of infamous shows and red-eyed recording sessions. This isn’t a guy that shows it, but he’s been through a lot: the band fight like dogs and for the last few years, they thought their guitarist Chonga was dead – sending his brother, bassist and producer Chooka into a rampage. The silence and the fury tore the band apart once again, and after a farewell show sponsored by RT they entered indefinite hiatus. The band recorded an album in this period: East of Eastlakes, arguably their magnum opus – which left them with an obvious dilemma: when you’ve come so far that you can see perfection in the distance, do you enjoy the view or do you make the final trek. It’s always the latter. The band think it will see the light of day late 2018, but who can be sure. It’s up to Chooka and the session musicians.

To All Those Who Have Disrespected Me is a warning shot straight across the collective bow of the critics and naysayers. It’s a raw mixtape straight from the gut of D. Fitzsimmons – part-improvised, part-written in a fugue state while his yacht was anchored off the Kvarner Gulf. These are songs about betrayal, anger, and jealousy – songs questioning whether the fame is really worth it. Bittersweet reflections on old, former friends – KJC, you know who you are – and what went wrong. The varnish of hatred towards STIFI and Client enamours a softer core, and in the haste, Damo offers some of his most tender and honest moments. Recording the last few songs, he got a cold, started losing his voice. Most would rerecord when they’re feeling better. Damo, dead-eyed, offered a brief summation of his feelings: “They don’t call me one-take Damo for nothing. Now get out of here. This interview is fucking over.” This was the first and last question. Provided over the following pages are lyrics from Damo, some clearly earlier versions that what appeared on the tape, but providing a valuable companion to the listening experience nonetheless. It was a joy to listen to this disgusting mixtape and I hope to enjoy it many more times. I sincerely hope you take as much from it as I did.

– Henry Kissinger, Transnistria, 2019

Damo, lost in thought

Kissinger, listening to the mixtape