This little video got made for one of my favourite Bombazine Black songs, 'Confessional', off the first album. It gave me neat little frissons all up my bunny back. There is something lovely about an olden-day stripper, don't you think? She is shy, but she's having a lovely time. I would too with those boobs. The boobs hang down in a different way to the way they do in this day and time, at least I think so - am I right? Boobs seemed to have a different shape back then, more... breasty. Were the bras really all that different? Of course they were sort of conical and more boulder-holderish, but surely that couldn't have made that much difference, they still did their job - lift and separate. I suppose the women were just more voluptuous.
I always liked 'Confessional', it took me into a carpeted place of my childhood - Nan's house, where there was an old black and white telly on a dresser somewhere deep in the living room with all its swirling browns and beiges and grass greens. There was a grandfather with an excellent moustache reclining on a weird sofa that if you pushed a button clicked a footrest up and next to him was a spiral ashtray that you could push and pull away from you. Grandpa Laws smoked a pipe so I don't think he used the ashtray. He had a lovely, angular face and big, handsome eyebrows. I must have been very young because he died when I was three. But I remember the room. There was usually some TV show on, with a theme that sounded a bit like Confessional, or perhaps that was coming from the record player or the old dusty transistor radio.
Down the hall was Grandpa McLean, Grandpa Laws's dad, who was very very old and dying in a bed with tubes and stuff twisted all around it. Grandpa McLean was awesome because he always had barley sugar and gave you heaps of it. And he would pull you up on the bed and tickle you. I wasn't scared.
All through the house the Confessional-type song would echo, even into the night. Then, deep one night I was awoken with a fright by a different, terrifying sound - something so awfully threatening I couldn't be sure we were still on earth. The sound was animal, wild, and it got louder and louder and then - suddenly - it would be gone. Then it would be back, rising, pulsating through the rooms of the house, no Confessional to be heard now, just the Monster. I longed for the sound of the tranny, its velvety, comforting hum, that warm feeling of nestling into the neverending chasm between Nan's breasts (good old-fashioned ones) as she sat me on her knee while she did her cryptic. I started to cry. 'Mummy... Mum!' But she was safe in Melbourne and I was at Nan and the Grandpas where they used real butter from a cow on their toast. There it was again, louder this time, coming to get me. A decision to be brave. I clambered down off the enormous bed and pattered my way through the halls of the big, airy house. The floorboards under the carpet creaked and the noise coming from the end of the hallway was louder than ever - the monster - had it already gotten to Grandpa McLean? Was everyone dead?
The early morning sun shone coolly over Grandpa McLean's bed and there he was, safe and breathing with that big plastic thing over his face. I continued down to the end of the hallway, where the sound was loudest. I trembled all over and some saliva probably dripped down my chin as I summonsed the courage to push open the door to Nan and Grandpa Laws's room.
They were both still there, alive. At that moment, the clock radio clicked over and music came on - an old Confessional-like song. Grandpa Laws sat up and looked over at me standing in my nightie, face ashen in the morning light.
And Nan, beside him, snored away like a chainsaw.