Rob Hirst knows he's dying but doesn't let it get in the way of kicking back.
Hold tight - we’re checking permissions before loading more content
The co-founder, drummer and driving force of Midnight Oil is enjoying a sunny afternoon in Sydney, relaxing on an old-school banana lounge, soaking in Vitamin D.
But even when he's putting his feet up, the songs don't stop coming.
"Especially now! More than ever now! They still ping around my brain all night," he says.
Hirst's role as one of the primary songwriters in the Oils has not always been properly appreciated, with attention gravitating towards the band's commanding frontman, Peter Garrett.
Yet most of the band's long list of hits bear Hirst's songwriting signature: Beds Are Burning, The Dead Heart, Blue Sky Mine, Power and the Passion and too many more to mention.
The band finished up for good in 2022, signing off with a show lasting close to four hours at the Hordern Pavilion in Sydney, ploughing through a setlist Hirst likens to the Dead Sea scrolls.
Six months later, he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The prognosis was short: maybe another six months, if he was lucky.
No one around Hirst, as fit as a racehorse, ever saw that curve ball coming.
Who could? He can crack jokes about it now. "What makes God laugh? You tell him your plans!"
There was no family history.
"I always thought that if I kept fit, had a pretty good diet, got enough sleep and didn't get pulled out by my ankles from (legendary Kings Cross dive) the Manzil Room too often, I would spend less time in hospital waiting rooms and more time enjoying life," he says.
He's been more than lucky. Hirst is still here and (thanks to those pesky songs, still pinging around his brain) still a creative force, with the release of a new EP, A Hundred Years or More.
The four songs have Hirst's name once again alongside his old songwriting partner in the Oils, guitarist Jim Moginie, and distinguished drummer and percussionist Hamish Stuart.
There are also vocal cameos from his daughters Gabriella, who takes a surprise lead turn on the title track, and Lex.
There's also Hirst's other band, blues trio the Backsliders, who have gigs booked through to Bluesfest in April - despite there being no guarantee he'll make it that far.
"I don't have much breath power, so I can't play the big rock 'n' roll kit anymore but I can strum away and write songs and I'm lucky that I can still do that," he says.
But the graph, he says, is up and down. Asked his priority as he approaches each day, his response is two words: "Feeling good."
Prodded, he adds two more: "It's underrated."
He's learned to seize the moments when he's not in pain or his brain is otherwise dulled by painkillers.
The aforementioned big rock 'n' roll kit - the black Ludwig he played in the Oils since 1979 - recently became the subject of both celebration and controversy when it was auctioned for charity.
It was purchased for $77,500 by members of Midnight Oil's fan club page, Powderworkers, and donated to the Australian Music Vault at Melbourne Arts Centre.
Sydney's Powerhouse Museum was later criticised by the NSW arts minister for missing the opportunity to snap up a major piece of memorabilia from the legendary Sydney band.
Hirst doesn't buy into the surrounding kerfuffle.
"It's found a very good home in Melbourne and I'm just glad it didn't go overseas to some tech bro in Silicon Valley," he says.
But the old fire in the belly that powered so many Midnight Oil songs hasn't dimmed and Hirst laments that the band's songs have lasted, in many cases, for the wrong reasons.
He ruefully channels Barry Humphries' character of Sir Les Patterson in questioning how much a protest song can achieve.
"People in the yartz can only do so much. It's the people in control that run the show, for better or worse," he says.
"I think those of us in Midnight Oil go very quiet when we think about the fact that a lot of the subject matter of our songs are even more relevant now, and not in a good way."
At home, he listens to gentler music: love songs to kin and country by Gene Clark, Gurrumul and Suzannah Espie.
"I guess that's where I am emotionally now."
His own voice, which once provided high, on-point backing vocals alongside the late Bones Hillman (who died in 2020) is a bit rougher around the edges.
But that, too, is a positive.
"People have commented that they actually quite like the more fragile, melodic version of my vocal against the rawness of some of the tracks," he says. "Maybe I found a new thing."
Having just turned 70, Hirst has already outlasted all predictions of his likely longevity.
His songwriting peer Paul Kelly has likewise turned 70, and has just released an album by the same name to celebrate it.
Kelly claims septuagenarians have no right to feel cheated.
"I didn't think I'd make it," Hirst says.
"I really wanted to, obviously. I also wanted to meet my new grandchild, Felix (Lex's son), who's now four months old.
"I'm two and a half years down the track since diagnosis. I feel very fortunate that I've got to this point - and who knows, I might have a bit longer, which will be a bonus."