Let Didirri Tickle You Under There

Progress is a wicked concept.

We’re constantly being told to strive for it, and the really insidious thing about it is that it’s presented to us as the least effortful option.

It tends to be pitched after a conversation about comparative failure. You didn’t get the promotion. You didn’t become a lawyer. You didn’t get married. Your father hates you. Your mother neglected you. You’re going to die alone with a liver three times the size of one of John Goodman’s turds. But that’s alright. Because you’re human. The important thing is to keep going. Do small things to move forward. Don’t repeat the same destructive patterns. Try to be just a little bit less s****y. It’s all about a slow, sustained change. Relax.

But that is the least relaxing, most psychologically destructive seed to have planted in one’s mind. Because the person who got promoted is still the same old syphilis-riddled coke addict, your brother’s stuck in an unhappy marriage and regularly beats his wife, your father still hates you, your mother’s dead and there’s no need for us to even mention the goddamn lawyers. Everyone is repeating the same cycle of destruction every day. The illusion of escaping the cycle you’re in further ingrains a greater cycle of greater destruction. The people at the top, against whom you’ve comparatively failed, aren’t condescendingly told that “it’s about the little changes”. They’re rewarded with more coke, more flesh to bruise, more opportunities for venomous outbursts and an endless ocean of cases defending Johnson & Johnson.

So f**k the little changes and the big ones. If you’ve found a destructive cycle that somehow rewards you in some sense, you nail your feet to the little motorised train and you go around and around the track until the day you die.

And there’s no better soundtrack for your stubborn commitment to your own cycle of mediocrity than generic indie music. Presenting: Didirri.

Didirri is the son of a painter and childrens singer/songwriter. He first went on the road quite young, as a circus performer. As a teenager, he learned to play music on the piano and later when he completed high school he began a Bachelor of Music, where he picked up the guitar in earnest. It was at a time of his life where he was learning that letting people in is important, he began writing and soon after, busking on the streets of Melbourne. Taking his writing cues from family, philosophers, comedians, friends and lovers, Didirri reveals himself using words and music with unparalleled openness. He compares his songwriting to writing a personal self-help book, littered with advice and observations to avoid repeating mistakes.

We have nothing more to add. It’s perfect.



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