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Monday, December 24, 2012
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Friday, December 21, 2012
You're just a tall child holding a beer
"That’s why adults are confused a lot of the time. Adults are terribly confused, messed up people. That’s because they forget, really, that they don’t have to pretend all the time. Really, the fact is that you’re not an adult at all - you’re just a tall child holding a beer, having conversations you don’t understand… 'The Middle East? Yeah, I know it was really bad. I wouldn’t have done that. A hysterectomy? Yeah, very painful, the shoulder is a very painful area.'"
Dylan Moran - Like, Totally 2006
Dylan Moran - Like, Totally 2006
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Thursday, December 06, 2012
Safe places
In Canberra there is a room that is safe. It's a small room, with walls hospital white, and only three chairs, always empty. But despite its emptiness, or maybe because of it, it's a room that is filled with music, and film, and big ideas. It's safe. Separate from everything. And at lunchtime I sometimes go there, alone, so that I can be separate too.
The room I'm talking about is at the National Portrait Gallery. The film, which runs for about fifteen minutes, is called 'Portrait of Cate Blanchett' and is by video portrait artist, David Rosetzky. On one level, the film explores what it is to be an actress, but it's also about what it is to be layered, to have pointy edges to our personalities, and the idea of adaptation and manipulation of identity.
The opening of the film is mesmerising. The camera opens, locked tight on a pair of hands. One hand is inanimate, lifeless. As the camera slowly draws back, the person's other hand applies bursts of pressure to the inanimate hand in a gentle, steady rhythm. The bursts of pressure cause the inanimate hand to move, now this way, now that. Folding fingers, and then unfolding them again. Twisting a wrist, and turning the hand round on itself. One gesture after the other.
As the camera continues to pull back gradually, it reveals that the hands, the inanimate and the leader, both belong to Cate Blanchett. At first she doesn't acknowledge the camera. Her eyes are focussed downwards on the movement of her hands. Then, as the camera shot locks to a stop, Blanchett takes her inanimate hand, breaking the illusion that it cannot move on its own, slides it into her pocket, as if putting away some toy, and then raises her eyes to look straight down the camera, defiant.
It is a moment.
This short excerpt won't do the whole film justice. But that's ok. Maybe you're just going to have to find that room one day, all for yourself.
The room I'm talking about is at the National Portrait Gallery. The film, which runs for about fifteen minutes, is called 'Portrait of Cate Blanchett' and is by video portrait artist, David Rosetzky. On one level, the film explores what it is to be an actress, but it's also about what it is to be layered, to have pointy edges to our personalities, and the idea of adaptation and manipulation of identity.
The opening of the film is mesmerising. The camera opens, locked tight on a pair of hands. One hand is inanimate, lifeless. As the camera slowly draws back, the person's other hand applies bursts of pressure to the inanimate hand in a gentle, steady rhythm. The bursts of pressure cause the inanimate hand to move, now this way, now that. Folding fingers, and then unfolding them again. Twisting a wrist, and turning the hand round on itself. One gesture after the other.
As the camera continues to pull back gradually, it reveals that the hands, the inanimate and the leader, both belong to Cate Blanchett. At first she doesn't acknowledge the camera. Her eyes are focussed downwards on the movement of her hands. Then, as the camera shot locks to a stop, Blanchett takes her inanimate hand, breaking the illusion that it cannot move on its own, slides it into her pocket, as if putting away some toy, and then raises her eyes to look straight down the camera, defiant.
It is a moment.
This short excerpt won't do the whole film justice. But that's ok. Maybe you're just going to have to find that room one day, all for yourself.
Monday, December 03, 2012
Eli Jenkins' Sunset Poem (from under milk wood)
Every morning, when I wake,
Dear Lord, a little prayer I make,
O please to keep Thy lovely eye
On all poor creatures born to die.
And every evening at sun-down
I ask the blessing on the town,
For whether we last the night or no
I'm sure is always touch-and-go.
We are not wholly bad or good
Who live our lives under Milk Wood,
And Thou, I know, wilt be the first
To see our best side, not our worst.
O let us see another day!
Bless us this holy night, I pray,
And to the sun we all will bow
And say goodbye - but just for now!
Sunday, November 18, 2012
In a room with Glen Hansard
Sometimes, something happens, something so fortuitous, that you can't help but think about the existence of fate, or God, or angels - you can't help but think there's something out there looking after you.
I visited Paris recently, mainly to see old friends. That was the purpose. Days were spent wandering the city, visiting old haunts, and generally waiting for my friends to finish their work (real life - so inconvenient!). One particular night over a glass of red, an old friend dropped a bombshell.
"Did you know Glen Hansard is playing a secret gig in Paris tomorrow?", she said.
"Sorry what!", my 'when-in-france' cigarette dropping from my mouth.
"Yeah. It's on at a bookshop at lunchtime. You should go."
For those of you who know me, you'll know of my mild obsession with Glen Hansard and his music. It's raw, there's no veneer, no show biz filter. There's a desperation in his performance. A sense of fierce urgency. As if he's aware he only has a short amount of time to convince you of the importance of his secrets. As if he's spent a long time struggling to sing in a room without doors or windows, and that in that hour he has with you on stage, someone has punched a hole in one of the walls and allowed him to let his soul spill out.
I last saw him perform at the Sydney Opera House. The Swell Season were brought to Australia to perform as part of the Sydney Festival. The three thousand odd seats of the main concert hall sold out months in advance. About $150 a ticket. I saw Gough Whitlam there. Glen and Marketa - supported by The Frames - performed for about two hours, including a soaring desperate performance of "Say it to me now" as well as a rendition of "The Parting Glass" that I'm sure approached something resembling the religious for those that were there ("no regrets - no jealousy - no anger").
"Yeah. You should go", she said.
In the shadows of Notre Dame, the English book shop Shakespeare & Co, an expat institution in Paris, can best be described as... a fire hazard. A maze of prison-cell-sized rooms, walls thick with books, wooden beams protruding menacingly from the ceiling. The doors - which still stand at a dwarfish 18th century height - and the narrow pathways leading from one pile of books to another, double parked with relieved English speaking tourists and wannabe writers on sabbatical from this country or that ("Just staying in a little apartment in the marais... on a scholarship you know... Are you going to Rudolf's party?") give the shop an impression of impenetrability. It almost seems purposefully dysfunctional - maybe to guard the many secrets within from being uncovered too easily. Maybe to ensure that only the most worthy make it to their rightful destination.
The secret I sought was at the top of a stooped stair case, sitting in a room in front of a small window that backed onto the Seine. As he set up, a line of people anxiously jostled for pole position at the door. The room fit about twenty people. About fifty were lined up. As we filed in silently, anxiously, elbows high, finding what space we could on the floor, knees drawn up, pealed against the walls, shoulders awkwardly concertina'd, Glen sat, casually jotting down notes on what looked like an impromptu set list. I was third last into the room, and squeezed myself down between a couple of Americans who risked knee dislocation to enable a bit of space for me.
"I've got an afternoon voice on me" he apologised. "Lots of travelling takes a toll on the flesh, but not the soul. The voice may be broken but it's singing its heart out."
And it did, in a rendition of 'Bird of Sorrow'. It did, in 'Low Rising' (which I managed to record - apologies for some attempted singing. He made it sound deceptively easy).
For about forty-five minutes, Glen played and talked, like he was playing in his bedroom to a couple of mates, mucking around with a few odd chords on the guitar, trying out a few new harmonies, even singing one song a cappella. Just him and his old Takamine guitar - the one with the hole punched through it to let the sound spill out.
Tuesday, November 06, 2012
Rugby a touche, Paris
During my time working in Paris, I used to look forward to Thursday lunchtimes - the day when a group of french and expatriate rugbyphiles would gather in the shadows of the eiffel tower to play a bit of touch rugby.
At the time it seemed so normal. Just a bunch of guys passing a ball around to work out some of the stress of the working week. It didn't matter that it was in the middle of paris, or that the touch lines were practically marked out by the seine on one side, the australian embassy on the other, the eiffel tower, and an 18th century Haussmannian building.
On my recent trip to Paris I trundled down to the park on a Thursday at lunchtime, half expecting it to be empty, half expecting to have to trundle back home to Max's house, now dealing with the shame of having hoped so ludicrously to be able to relive a past now three years gone.
But no, as I rounded the corner of the oval, it fast became apparent that absolutely nothing had changed - the same faces and short-shorts graced the field, the same people passing the ball forward, the same people arguing about whether the pass was forward, the same people laughing at those arguing, the same people throwing 30 metre hero passes to no one, the same blokes treating it as an international championship match between the wallabies and the all blacks. And there was the french bloke who had once tried to fly kick someone for threatening to disallow his try, and the new zealander was also there, the one who, three years ago, I was sure I was friends with, only to realise that we'd never really said anything to each other, other than 'see you at touch on thursday'.
Three years on, I have to admit, it still felt normal. Unexceptional even. And I couldn't help but love it.
At the time it seemed so normal. Just a bunch of guys passing a ball around to work out some of the stress of the working week. It didn't matter that it was in the middle of paris, or that the touch lines were practically marked out by the seine on one side, the australian embassy on the other, the eiffel tower, and an 18th century Haussmannian building.
On my recent trip to Paris I trundled down to the park on a Thursday at lunchtime, half expecting it to be empty, half expecting to have to trundle back home to Max's house, now dealing with the shame of having hoped so ludicrously to be able to relive a past now three years gone.
But no, as I rounded the corner of the oval, it fast became apparent that absolutely nothing had changed - the same faces and short-shorts graced the field, the same people passing the ball forward, the same people arguing about whether the pass was forward, the same people laughing at those arguing, the same people throwing 30 metre hero passes to no one, the same blokes treating it as an international championship match between the wallabies and the all blacks. And there was the french bloke who had once tried to fly kick someone for threatening to disallow his try, and the new zealander was also there, the one who, three years ago, I was sure I was friends with, only to realise that we'd never really said anything to each other, other than 'see you at touch on thursday'.
Three years on, I have to admit, it still felt normal. Unexceptional even. And I couldn't help but love it.
La tour eiffel, vue de la place du Trocadero
Monday, October 29, 2012
Hey Rosetta!
What do you do when you wake up jet lagged at 3am in Kuala Lumpor and can't get back to sleep?
Well, you start searching music blogs for new music, of course. And once you have listened to every rendition of a Bon Iver song recorded by a non-proscription-rayban-wearing hipster film-editor who has a penchant for HD and soft focus, you stumble across something that causes you to spend the early hours of a muggy Malaysian Monday searching the background of the band and going through their music catalogue.
Yep - that's what happened.
Here's the culprit: Young Glass by Canadian band Hey Rosetta! Check out the live performance recorded in Melbourne when the band was out in Australia touring with The Jezebels.
Love this first stanza:
from under your sheets out into the hall
you sleepwalk through the rooms where you grew up
out through the porch and the old front doors
carried by words that you learned when you were small
Well, you start searching music blogs for new music, of course. And once you have listened to every rendition of a Bon Iver song recorded by a non-proscription-rayban-wearing hipster film-editor who has a penchant for HD and soft focus, you stumble across something that causes you to spend the early hours of a muggy Malaysian Monday searching the background of the band and going through their music catalogue.
Yep - that's what happened.
Here's the culprit: Young Glass by Canadian band Hey Rosetta! Check out the live performance recorded in Melbourne when the band was out in Australia touring with The Jezebels.
Love this first stanza:
from under your sheets out into the hall
you sleepwalk through the rooms where you grew up
out through the porch and the old front doors
carried by words that you learned when you were small
Saturday, October 06, 2012
Your words - Battleships
Lovely song from Sydney-based band Battleships. Have a listen to the words. Some cracking lines in there. This is probably my favourite.
Can't you feel there's more than this?
More than just what you now see,
Ignorance is not quite bliss
After this eternity
Can't you feel there's more than this?
More than just what you now see,
Ignorance is not quite bliss
After this eternity
Thursday, October 04, 2012
Blank Joy - Rainer Maria Rilke
She
who did not come, wasn't she determined
nonetheless to organize and decorate my heart?
If we had to exist to become the one we love,
what would the heart have to create?
Lovely joy left blank, perhaps you are
the center of all my labors and my loves.
If I've wept for you so much, it's because
I preferred you among so many outlined joys.
nonetheless to organize and decorate my heart?
If we had to exist to become the one we love,
what would the heart have to create?
Lovely joy left blank, perhaps you are
the center of all my labors and my loves.
If I've wept for you so much, it's because
I preferred you among so many outlined joys.
Wednesday, October 03, 2012
Armando Iannucci
Two great speeches by Scottish comedian and satirist Armando Iannucci - author of The Thick of It and HBO series VEEP. One on modern politics and spin doctoring at an Institute of Public Administration conference in Australia:
And one from the 2012 BAFTA Television Lecture on the current state of television in Britain, what makes TV execs tick, and the need for writers to keep pushing boundaries:
I would love to write like this one day.
And one from the 2012 BAFTA Television Lecture on the current state of television in Britain, what makes TV execs tick, and the need for writers to keep pushing boundaries:
I would love to write like this one day.
Tuesday, October 02, 2012
Monday, September 24, 2012
Monday, September 10, 2012
The naked critic: memories of Robert Hughes
Nice piece by Tim Flannery in The Monthly on the late critic Robert Hughes. I particularly like the final few paragraphs on the transience of even great lives: 'A man as smart and sensitive as Hughes knew that we're all leaves in the wind.'
Read it here.
Read it here.
Sunday, September 09, 2012
Tuesday, September 04, 2012
Bon Iver... just for a change
I know this has been doing the rounds, and I'm not the first to post about it, but what the hell. Great musicianship should be celebrated. And for the record, I love that Bon Iver seem to approach their melodies and harmonies as being permanently malleable.
But first - a prayer to vimeo.
Oh vimeo, ooooh you are so beautiful,
So absolutely clear.
Gosh we're all really impressed down here, I can tell you,
Because you're so beautiful and, well, just so super.
In the name of google,
Amen
But first - a prayer to vimeo.
Oh vimeo, ooooh you are so beautiful,
So absolutely clear.
Gosh we're all really impressed down here, I can tell you,
Because you're so beautiful and, well, just so super.
In the name of google,
Amen
Sunday, September 02, 2012
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Feel inside (and stuff like that)
This is worth it - for nothing else than Murray's filing system.
"I'm actually, at this point, at an 'eh?'... cause I'm confused. I'm kind of halfway between an 'in' and mmm'. So 'eh?' I've got a lot of stuff in there already... but we can transfer it to 'in'."
Genius.
"I'm actually, at this point, at an 'eh?'... cause I'm confused. I'm kind of halfway between an 'in' and mmm'. So 'eh?' I've got a lot of stuff in there already... but we can transfer it to 'in'."
Genius.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Monday, August 20, 2012
For Peter Norman
Just wanted to say thank you to Peter Norman. History is littered with bad things happening to good people who's only crime was that they believed in a world beyond their time. Glad Australia has finally decided to recognise his bravery.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
the winter list
Almost a year ago, Silver Cinder played its last gig at The Sando in Newtown. Last Saturday, Tam and I decided to get together and play and record a few songs. I guess you could say it was 'for old time's sake'. But we ended up enjoying it so much that we've decided to try and do it more regularly. And so The Winter List is born. It's pretty exciting.
We'll be putting up a new song each week for the next little while. Here's the first one. A big thanks to Peter Pigott who did such a great job with the camera. Thanks mate!
Hope you like it.
Hope you like it.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Friday, August 17, 2012
Clarke and Dawe: penetrating the Australian psyche
Clarke and Dawe once again penetrate the fragile Australian soul, peel off our layers of insecurity, and leave us all naked, staring in the mirror, slightly embarrassed: check it here.
Monday, August 13, 2012
I remember when...
On today my 30th birthday (at time of writing), it's time to play a game called I remember when. The rules are, for each decade that you've been alive, name three moments that you can clearly remember as if you were there. They don't have to be moments that changed your life. They just have to be moments that you remember vividly ; Memories that, when you put your mind to it, you can actually feel, see and smell.
Here are mine:
0 - 10
1. I remember running to line up to buy 5 cent 'zooper doopers' from the canteen in kindergarten. Mum or Dad would give us 20 cents for the week, or maybe it was 10 cents, and it was the most precious thing in the world. We'd race each other out of class to be at the front of the canteen line at play lunch. I can still feel the anticipation.
2. I remember playing 'statues' in my Nana's garden. When Mum and Dad arrived to pick us up, Fiona and I used to pretend we were a permanent part of Nana's front garden so that we didn't have to go home. Nana would play along, feigning that she hadn't noticed us, and telling our parents that she didn't know where we were and that they should probably head on home without us.
3. I remember Mrs Bain turning Chris Ewan upside down after he'd swallowed a 10 cent coin and performing the heimlich manoeuvre to save his life. It was the most impressive thing I'd ever seen.
10 - 20
4. I remember waking up in hospital from my first epileptic fit to see my Uncle sitting opposite me. The look on my Uncle's face was one I'd not seen before and one I'll never forget.
5. I remember singing in Mrs Swain's last chapel service. At the end of Like as the Hart there are three lingering chords on the organ. Although I didn't know it then, those chords marked the end of my period below time.
6. I remember wagging school with Yi-Lee to watch the sun rise over the opera house. I wasn't exactly sneaking off to take heroin, but it felt dangerous and worthwhile.
20 - 30
7. I remember sitting in on judicial deliberations at the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia. It confirmed that this fragile life of ours is governed by laws that are made by human beings; that the type of society we live in is shaped by ideas; and that you have to participate in those ideas if you want to create change.
8. I remember sitting in a field of long grass in front of the Mont St Michel with someone I knew that I loved. The sun turned the grass a golden yellow as the wind threatened to turned the pages of our sketch books. I learned that day that love is the most powerful gift someone can ever give you.
9. I remember singing Wolves by Bon Iver at The Vanguard. The room was silent for the final song. The guitar was slightly out of tune. But when the audience joined in on the chorus, that was a moment, and everything else ceased to exist.
So many more I could mention... but yeah, that's how you play I remember when. Feel free to send through your answers!
Thursday, August 09, 2012
La Blogotheque
If you haven't already discovered La Blogotheque you should probably just go ahead and clear your afternoon and check it out. Beautifully shot videos of your favourite or soon to be favourite bands playing your favourite songs live, acoustically and in public.
Check out the effort by Phoenix, filmed under a bridge in Paris beside the Seine.
Just in case there is any doubt, this is hipster porn.
Check out the effort by Phoenix, filmed under a bridge in Paris beside the Seine.
Just in case there is any doubt, this is hipster porn.
Tuesday, August 07, 2012
Why is it hard to make friends over 30?
Great article in the NY Times looking at the three conditions considered crucial to making close friends (proximity; repeated, unplanned interactions; and a setting that encourages people to let their guard down and confide in each other,) and why it is so hard to make good friends after the age of... ahem... 30.
Check it out here: Friends of a Certain Age
Thanks to Hughmus for the heads up.
Check it out here: Friends of a Certain Age
Thanks to Hughmus for the heads up.
Grizzly Bear - Yet Again
For me, this song is probably more accessible than the songs served up on their last album Veckatimest. It'll be interesting to see if that's indicative of the album more generally. That drum beat (a clever mix of accoustic and electric drums) is pretty darn catchy. And the growling threat of distortion on the heavily reverbed guitar riff is honeycomb for the ears. Love it.
But hey, that's just... like... my opinion, man. What do you think?
...ahem.
...HEY! Participate damn you!
Saturday, August 04, 2012
Friday, August 03, 2012
Clarke and Dawe : The Olympics
Clarke and Dawe are back with their take on the Olympics, and Australia's lack of success.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Hyperlinks: The Future of Journalism?
A mate and I were recently discussing the enormous increase in the use of hyperlinks in online media (I know - we're awesome, right?!). It seems that hyperlinks are no longer reserved for single words. These days, they are used across whole sentences. Is it just me, or is the overuse of hyperlinks getting a little ridiculous?
With cuts being made to editorial jobs in newspapers all over the world, it seems that the trend in online media is for news articles to contain a single topic sentence describing the general situation, followed by a bunch of links to the opinions of other people on that topic. Check out this effort from The Economist:
Perhaps in the future the news will just end up being a single sentence hyperlinked to google - ie 'There is a war in Syria' - followed by a final disclaimer saying: ‘We can no longer afford to pay our journalists. The news is out there somewhere. Please figure it out yourself’.
With cuts being made to editorial jobs in newspapers all over the world, it seems that the trend in online media is for news articles to contain a single topic sentence describing the general situation, followed by a bunch of links to the opinions of other people on that topic. Check out this effort from The Economist:
"Our health-care correspondent sums up the questions before the court and the arguments being made, and says the case could transform the power of the federal government. M.S. explains why the slippery-slope arguments against Obamacare don't make much sense. W.W. says forced business between taxpayers and private companies is forced business whether or not government touches the money. Donald Berwick, the former administrator of Centers of Medicare and Medicaid Services, explains what might happen if some or all of Obamacare is repealed. Our correspondent adds to those thoughts. And Lexington says that even if the Supreme Court strikes down Obamacare, there could be a silver lining for the president."
Perhaps in the future the news will just end up being a single sentence hyperlinked to google - ie 'There is a war in Syria' - followed by a final disclaimer saying: ‘We can no longer afford to pay our journalists. The news is out there somewhere. Please figure it out yourself’.
Friday, July 06, 2012
Thursday, July 05, 2012
Sir Ken Robinson : Do schools kill creativity?
Is this the most watched TED talk because of the message, or because of the way it's delivered? Or is it both?
The 'busy' trap
Fantastic article on NY Times Opinionator blog website by Tim Krieder : The 'busy' trap.
My favourite lines:
'The space and quiet that idleness provides is a necessary condition for standing back from life and seeing it whole, for making unexpected connections and waiting for the wild summer lightning strikes of inspiration.'
'My own resolute idleness has mostly been a luxury rather than a virtue, but I did make a conscious decision, a long time ago, to choose time over money, since I’ve always understood that the best investment of my limited time on earth was to spend it with people I love.'
My favourite lines:
'What she had mistakenly assumed was her personality —
driven, cranky, anxious and sad — turned out to be a deformative effect of her
environment.'
'The space and quiet that idleness provides is a necessary condition for standing back from life and seeing it whole, for making unexpected connections and waiting for the wild summer lightning strikes of inspiration.'
'My own resolute idleness has mostly been a luxury rather than a virtue, but I did make a conscious decision, a long time ago, to choose time over money, since I’ve always understood that the best investment of my limited time on earth was to spend it with people I love.'
Love it.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
What Are We Gonna Do - Glen Hansard
Glen Hansard has recorded a new album, Rhythm and Repose.
After an initial listen, this song instantly stood out for me. Glen's voice is, as always, raw and desperate. Marketa Irglova's thick vocal harmonies make for an aching conversation between these ex-lovers.
What are we gonna do / if we lose that fire, he asks.
Her reply:
I don't want to change you / But you're a long, long way from the path you came
I'm trying to show you something / And a good, good heart will always find a way
I love the production on this track. The single kick drum under "I don't want to change you" took my breath away. It cuts right through, giving a sense of finality to that simple admission and the depth of its implications.
After an initial listen, this song instantly stood out for me. Glen's voice is, as always, raw and desperate. Marketa Irglova's thick vocal harmonies make for an aching conversation between these ex-lovers.
What are we gonna do / if we lose that fire, he asks.
Her reply:
I don't want to change you / But you're a long, long way from the path you came
I'm trying to show you something / And a good, good heart will always find a way
I love the production on this track. The single kick drum under "I don't want to change you" took my breath away. It cuts right through, giving a sense of finality to that simple admission and the depth of its implications.
Friday, June 22, 2012
The Biggest Loser : Music as Soul Food
I'm reposting an article that I recently had published in ABC's The Drum on the power of music. To check it out on the Drum's website, go here.
In light of the Australian National University's decision to spill tenured and permanent positions in its School of Music, as well as the ongoing union fightback, it's worth reconsidering the value of music, and what we have to lose.
Some weeks ago I was offered some cheap tickets to go and see Canberra's Symphony Orchestra play Beethoven's 3rd Piano Concerto and Tchaikovsky's "Pathetique" Symphony.
On my way to Canberra's Llewellyn Hall, a cluster of posters advertising the concert caused me to question my expectations. "CSO concerts are an inspiring experience that feeds the soul and affirms our creative imagination," read the quoted review. Righteo.
Once inside, I located my seat just two rows back from an enormous Steinway grand piano which lay beached centre-stage. It looked ungainly, simultaneously powerful and uselessly impotent without its pianist (how could something so inanimate be capable of telling such stories?).
I cast my eye over the audience behind me. Waves of dark suit jackets and evening dresses peaked into crops of white hair. Around me, the sweet fragrance of ladies' perfume. Eau de 'special occasion'.
The lights dimmed and I nestled down slightly into my seat. To rapturous and instantaneous applause, conductor Nicholas Milton strode to the podium and turned to address us. "I'm so glad you're here tonight," he said. "We're about to go on a marvellous journey together."
He paused briefly, as if to check his words had hit their mark. Then, with a smile, he turned quickly on his heels, the tails of his coat flashing behind him, and raised his arms to attention, his baton poised for attack.
There was a moment's silence. The orchestra seemed to breathe in. And then, with Milton's baton stinging into action, the strings let out a collective sigh and Beethoven's opening theme rode to the back of the hall. As if awoken by the orchestra's lead and with the gentlest of touches from Gerard Willems, the great whale in front of me began to sing.
We were away.
That night, the orchestra played itself into life. It played its collective soul out on to the stage. And in doing so, it seemed to feed itself, to spur itself and all of us on the journey, growing ever more confident, ever powerful.
The players were alight. I watched them, their feverish eyes locked on their conductor, willing him to lead them. And I held my breath as he lifted them up over us.
He held them there. Safely. Allowing them to do together something that they could not do on their own. And in return they transformed the marks on the pages in front of them into a whole lifetime of stories - into a thrashing Russian prince, a grand marching army, a drunken boisterous bearded wretch dashing his empty glass on a cold stone floor and, in one particular instant, into a desperate gasping stillness. I saw them all, those things.
I feel very strongly that good music is about the sharing of souls. And that experience of sharing is so much more palpable when it is live. It's as if by creating something together in one another's presence, something that is bigger than all of our individual parts, we reach out to each other and say, "Well, there you are! That thing I always knew, but couldn't describe. There you are. And there you've always been!"
And all along, there is an awareness that that feeling cannot be kept. It's a fleeting glimpse of the road we are each of us on. And that's what makes it precious. It is a gift. A going away present from beyond time, to carry with us through time, to lighten our steps as we go.
I was reminded of two things that night. The first thing is this: music is written to be played. It is written to be played. Because it is in the playing that we unlock its secrets. And perhaps even more importantly, it is in the playing that we allow the music to unlock whatever it is in us that we could never have gotten to on our own.
It's as if by playing out our souls to each other, we create a space to allow something else in. And whatever that 'something' is that we allow in, it is different for every one of us, I'm sure. For me it is a sense that what I'm experiencing is very important. Perhaps the most important thing I'll ever experience. As if, when my life finally burns out like a match, I'll remember these moments most of all.
The second thing I was reminded of derives from the fact that the Canberra Symphony Orchestra is made up of members who work in jobs by day, and play music by night. This music wasn't just written to be played by prodigies. It was written to be played by the people. Which goes against much of the historical context it was created in.
It wasn't created to be looked at, to be kept behind glass and locked up at night. It wasn't written to be wondered at from a distance, like an alter in a church. Because music wasn't written to prove to people how small they were, but to remind them how great and full of wonder and terrifying they could be. It was written to raise them up and to unlock their secrets. It was written to be shared, delved into, questioned, swum in and sifted through one's teeth like wine.
It's as if those great composers, those interpreters of secrets - who in one of life's cruel jokes were forced to eke out their wretched livelihood off the whims of princes and nobles - were able to see something we couldn't all of us see, capture it, and bring it back for us to relive.
At the end of the concert, as the orchestra filed off stage, the doors to the Llewellyn Hall were swung open and the dark suits and evening dresses washed through them until the auditorium was empty. I looked up at the empty stage. It was if nothing had ever happened there.
On my way out, I walked past the same cluster of posters I had passed on my way in. The words of Nicholas Milton rang in my ears. "We're about to go on a marvellous journey together."
If you had looked at me you wouldn't have been able to see a change, but my steps were lightened that night, and I carried with me a new gift for thejourney.
~~~~~~~~~~~
In light of the Australian National University's decision to spill tenured and permanent positions in its School of Music, as well as the ongoing union fightback, it's worth reconsidering the value of music, and what we have to lose.
Some weeks ago I was offered some cheap tickets to go and see Canberra's Symphony Orchestra play Beethoven's 3rd Piano Concerto and Tchaikovsky's "Pathetique" Symphony.
On my way to Canberra's Llewellyn Hall, a cluster of posters advertising the concert caused me to question my expectations. "CSO concerts are an inspiring experience that feeds the soul and affirms our creative imagination," read the quoted review. Righteo.
Once inside, I located my seat just two rows back from an enormous Steinway grand piano which lay beached centre-stage. It looked ungainly, simultaneously powerful and uselessly impotent without its pianist (how could something so inanimate be capable of telling such stories?).
I cast my eye over the audience behind me. Waves of dark suit jackets and evening dresses peaked into crops of white hair. Around me, the sweet fragrance of ladies' perfume. Eau de 'special occasion'.
The lights dimmed and I nestled down slightly into my seat. To rapturous and instantaneous applause, conductor Nicholas Milton strode to the podium and turned to address us. "I'm so glad you're here tonight," he said. "We're about to go on a marvellous journey together."
He paused briefly, as if to check his words had hit their mark. Then, with a smile, he turned quickly on his heels, the tails of his coat flashing behind him, and raised his arms to attention, his baton poised for attack.
There was a moment's silence. The orchestra seemed to breathe in. And then, with Milton's baton stinging into action, the strings let out a collective sigh and Beethoven's opening theme rode to the back of the hall. As if awoken by the orchestra's lead and with the gentlest of touches from Gerard Willems, the great whale in front of me began to sing.
We were away.
That night, the orchestra played itself into life. It played its collective soul out on to the stage. And in doing so, it seemed to feed itself, to spur itself and all of us on the journey, growing ever more confident, ever powerful.
The players were alight. I watched them, their feverish eyes locked on their conductor, willing him to lead them. And I held my breath as he lifted them up over us.
He held them there. Safely. Allowing them to do together something that they could not do on their own. And in return they transformed the marks on the pages in front of them into a whole lifetime of stories - into a thrashing Russian prince, a grand marching army, a drunken boisterous bearded wretch dashing his empty glass on a cold stone floor and, in one particular instant, into a desperate gasping stillness. I saw them all, those things.
I feel very strongly that good music is about the sharing of souls. And that experience of sharing is so much more palpable when it is live. It's as if by creating something together in one another's presence, something that is bigger than all of our individual parts, we reach out to each other and say, "Well, there you are! That thing I always knew, but couldn't describe. There you are. And there you've always been!"
And all along, there is an awareness that that feeling cannot be kept. It's a fleeting glimpse of the road we are each of us on. And that's what makes it precious. It is a gift. A going away present from beyond time, to carry with us through time, to lighten our steps as we go.
I was reminded of two things that night. The first thing is this: music is written to be played. It is written to be played. Because it is in the playing that we unlock its secrets. And perhaps even more importantly, it is in the playing that we allow the music to unlock whatever it is in us that we could never have gotten to on our own.
It's as if by playing out our souls to each other, we create a space to allow something else in. And whatever that 'something' is that we allow in, it is different for every one of us, I'm sure. For me it is a sense that what I'm experiencing is very important. Perhaps the most important thing I'll ever experience. As if, when my life finally burns out like a match, I'll remember these moments most of all.
The second thing I was reminded of derives from the fact that the Canberra Symphony Orchestra is made up of members who work in jobs by day, and play music by night. This music wasn't just written to be played by prodigies. It was written to be played by the people. Which goes against much of the historical context it was created in.
It wasn't created to be looked at, to be kept behind glass and locked up at night. It wasn't written to be wondered at from a distance, like an alter in a church. Because music wasn't written to prove to people how small they were, but to remind them how great and full of wonder and terrifying they could be. It was written to raise them up and to unlock their secrets. It was written to be shared, delved into, questioned, swum in and sifted through one's teeth like wine.
It's as if those great composers, those interpreters of secrets - who in one of life's cruel jokes were forced to eke out their wretched livelihood off the whims of princes and nobles - were able to see something we couldn't all of us see, capture it, and bring it back for us to relive.
At the end of the concert, as the orchestra filed off stage, the doors to the Llewellyn Hall were swung open and the dark suits and evening dresses washed through them until the auditorium was empty. I looked up at the empty stage. It was if nothing had ever happened there.
On my way out, I walked past the same cluster of posters I had passed on my way in. The words of Nicholas Milton rang in my ears. "We're about to go on a marvellous journey together."
If you had looked at me you wouldn't have been able to see a change, but my steps were lightened that night, and I carried with me a new gift for thejourney.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Monday, June 04, 2012
Team Me - Weathervanes and Chemicals
I was recently challenged to write some upbeat music. Annoyingly, it's proving harder than I would like to admit.
Enter these guys. Check out this review in The Guardian:
"Their music has the orchestral grandeur of Arcade Fire but it's less po face, and there is male-female unison singing reminiscent of early Broken Social Scene, only the songs are more poppy. As someone wrote of Team Me, it's hard to imagine them writing a sad song, let alone one fuelled by dark urges. They make Polyphonic Spree seem like a Norwegian black metal band."
What's that? Arcade Fire without the 'po'? Tick. A-what-did-you-say? Reminiscent of early Broken Social Scene? Oh God yes, continue. Recently won the Norweigian grammy's for Best Album (their debut effort 'To the treetops')? A-scando-says-what?! Bring it in for the real thing!
Welcome to the bouncy-castle-esque world of Team Me.
Enter these guys. Check out this review in The Guardian:
"Their music has the orchestral grandeur of Arcade Fire but it's less po face, and there is male-female unison singing reminiscent of early Broken Social Scene, only the songs are more poppy. As someone wrote of Team Me, it's hard to imagine them writing a sad song, let alone one fuelled by dark urges. They make Polyphonic Spree seem like a Norwegian black metal band."
What's that? Arcade Fire without the 'po'? Tick. A-what-did-you-say? Reminiscent of early Broken Social Scene? Oh God yes, continue. Recently won the Norweigian grammy's for Best Album (their debut effort 'To the treetops')? A-scando-says-what?! Bring it in for the real thing!
Welcome to the bouncy-castle-esque world of Team Me.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Winter music - Talk Talk
When I woke up this morning in this fair city of Canberra, it was -4 degrees Celsius. This is colder than anything I've ever experienced in Australia, and quite frankly, something I didn't expect to have to put up with in this country. You can call us Australians what you want - small-minded, backward, racist, uncooth, parochial, antipodean, unwashed convicts - but at least the weather's great here all year round!
Well, no more.
Anyway - with cold weather comes a need for winter music, and there's no better than this track by Talk Talk. Enjoy all nine minutes and forty seconds. Just long enough to light a fire, knit a beenie, slip on the ugg boots, work your way through a couple of glasses of Lagavulin and think of how many different people you could ring to say, "&*$! me, it's cold".
Well, no more.
Anyway - with cold weather comes a need for winter music, and there's no better than this track by Talk Talk. Enjoy all nine minutes and forty seconds. Just long enough to light a fire, knit a beenie, slip on the ugg boots, work your way through a couple of glasses of Lagavulin and think of how many different people you could ring to say, "&*$! me, it's cold".
Monday, May 14, 2012
Bill Callahan - Too Many Birds
To get you through your monday, a bit of Bill Callahan:
"If... If you... If you could... If you could only... If you could only stop... If you could only stop your... If you could only stop your heart... If you could only stop your heart beat... If you could only stop your heart beat for... If you could only stop your heart beat for one heart... If you could only stop your heart beat for one heart beat."
"If... If you... If you could... If you could only... If you could only stop... If you could only stop your... If you could only stop your heart... If you could only stop your heart beat... If you could only stop your heart beat for... If you could only stop your heart beat for one heart... If you could only stop your heart beat for one heart beat."
Friday, May 11, 2012
Jamison Inc turns 25,000
From its humble beginnings as a poorly written and largely unattended travel blog, this website has managed to play a strangely important role in my life: a place for me to record things that I love and things that move me. Add to this the fact that Jamison Inc is now in its 6th year, and its become quite the annal of things that have excited me over the years.
Part of the excitement of Jamison Inc is not knowing who you all are. So whoever you are and wherever you are on this vast planet of ours - thanks for visiting.
Wednesday, May 09, 2012
Let's talk about the front page of The Australian
This article was original posted on The Vine. It. Is. Awesome. No introduction needed, just read it.
Thanks to Ollie for alerting me.
Thanks to Ollie for alerting me.
by lukeryan on May 09 2012, 11:34AM
Look, I know journalism is a difficult
calling in the modern age. I know that commercial interests have long since
overtaken a policy of strict journalistic objectivity. I know that editorial
policy is often dictated by people far above you in the food chain. I know that
trying to make yourself completely devoid of political inclincation is almost
impossible. And I know that much of modern journalism is a debasing, hurried
business.
But none of these realisations, nothing in the past 26 years of steadily accumulating journalistic cynicism could have prepared me for what The Australian, our paper of national repute, put on its front cover today in response to the Budget:
I want you to pause and savour that sight for a moment. Drink in all the myriad details. Alright, got it? Then let's discuss:
The Cartoon
This consumes almost a quarter of the page. It's the first thing anyone looking at this paper would see. If you were to make a snap judgment about the content of this paper based on the cartoon alone, you would have to assume that overnight Wayne Swan and Julia Gillard revealed themselves to be time-travelling Soviet agents and while we were sleeping they opened the gates and invited the rest of the Red Army into our fair country. There are war planes flying overhead. WAR PLANES. I feel that, beyond the unpleasantly violent associations, this attributes far too much excitement to the announcement of the Budget, an evening of policy saturation that is usually as entertaining as a flight with Tiger Airways. Moreover, the inclusion of a hammer and sickle suggests a far from comprehensive understanding of the particularities of Soviet policy, as I would suggest that a Budget whose primary thrust could probably be described as a severe reduction in Government spending is a fair way away from a totalitarian regime that didn't believe in free enterprise. I wonder if there's a spending sub-heading entitled "Gulags" buried deep on page 922.
Minor details that aid and abet the overall impression of imminent Soviet invasion: the horde of angry peasants, scythes in hand, following Wayne and Julia as they storm the Treasury; Wayne's zeitgeist-y wearing of an "Occupy Treasury" t-shirt; the uses of yellow and red which manages to channel both the Yellow Menace and the Red Peril; and the polluting factories in the background, evidently alive and well despite the crippling effects of the carbon tax.
A tweet from @MattCowgill sums it up: I believe it was Stalin who said "we will allow businesses to carry tax losses back & introduce an instant asset write off"
The Headline
Smash the rich, save the base. So, I'm going to presume that because the Government has reneged upon a 1% cut in the company tax rate it is, in fact, smashing the rich. The thing is, it's not even like I have a particularly strong opinion either way on the necessity of a 1% cut in our company tax rate, but smashing? Really? When I hear smashing, I see a giant, green, muscle-bound figure in remarkably stretchy underwear ripping the rich apart, limb-by-limb. I do not see a marginal cut in a not particularly onerous (at least if you're comparing it to other OECD nations) corporate tax rate, the effect of which will probably be marginal because our nation – with its world-leading economy, robust legal safeguards, relative lack of bureaucracy, high degree of disposable income and plentiful natural resources – is such an incredibly attractive place to invest. Methinks this sub-editor needs to go away and smash themselves up a degree of perspective.
But, hey, at least they know who the base is: the scythe-wielding peasantry. Although, given Labor's recent polling levels, this could well be all that remains of their core constituency.
The Columns
If The Australian had ever thought of itself as a fair and balanced paper – and it often makes that argument – then the inclusion of not one, not two, but three inflammatory and critical sub-headings on the front cover should probably put that myth to bed. And by put it to bed, I mean drown it in a pit of liquid asphalt.
First we have "Swan's making a values judgment", a fantastically insidious headline that transforms what was, by most measures, an exceedingly dull budget built out of an endless sequence of minor cost-cutting measures into a US-style class warfare campaign where the political parties are irredeemably split by a 1% shift in the corporate tax rate and a couple of tax increases on the very wealthy. Although, on the flip side, at least this makes the Labor Party look as if they actually have an ideological position to call on.
Second, there's "Treasurer matches PM's breach of faith with his own". Oh yes, very good. Gillard's backflip on the carbon tax is exactly the same as reneging on a corporate tax break. Does no-one in the Opposition (or its various ideologues) see the irony in spending most of their time bitching about non-existent cost of living increases only to accuse the Government of betraying the Australian people when it decides not to give corporations a tax break so that it can give money to people to help with the increased cost of living?
And third we have "Big business foots Wayne's welfare bill". More of the same, but it manages to sneak in the word "welfare", which as we all know, everybody hates, despite almost everybody who would profess to hate it being on the receiving end of some amount of welfare without ever acknowledging it. I'm looking at you, Family Tax Benefit.
Also, it should be noted that opinions about the Budget are given as much, if not more space on the front cover than information about the Budget itself.
But the truly hilarious thing about it all is that this cover successfully articulates the Liberal Party's Budget policy far better than Tony Abbott or Joe Hockey ever could. This is also the most depressing thing about it all.
The Headshots
There are nine on the front cover. All of their own journalists. Now there's the mark of a paper that is a little too self-satisfied with itself. This is less an exercise in front line journalism than it is the Editor in Chief wanking while we watch.
The Ad
And then, at the bottom of it all, there's an ad for Lexus. Go fucking figure.
Conclusion
This isn't intended as a defence of the Government's Budget (I'm not enthused) or some partisan shot across the bows of the Liberal Party or even a real engagement with the content of the paper itself, but rather to suggest that if anyone involved in the production of this front cover looked at it and thought "You know what? This is exactly what a newspaper is meant to be" then they have no business using the title journalist. Just call yourselves propagandists and be done with it, because this thing is closer to the output of a Stalinist regime than anything contained in the 2012 Budget.
But none of these realisations, nothing in the past 26 years of steadily accumulating journalistic cynicism could have prepared me for what The Australian, our paper of national repute, put on its front cover today in response to the Budget:
I want you to pause and savour that sight for a moment. Drink in all the myriad details. Alright, got it? Then let's discuss:
The Cartoon
This consumes almost a quarter of the page. It's the first thing anyone looking at this paper would see. If you were to make a snap judgment about the content of this paper based on the cartoon alone, you would have to assume that overnight Wayne Swan and Julia Gillard revealed themselves to be time-travelling Soviet agents and while we were sleeping they opened the gates and invited the rest of the Red Army into our fair country. There are war planes flying overhead. WAR PLANES. I feel that, beyond the unpleasantly violent associations, this attributes far too much excitement to the announcement of the Budget, an evening of policy saturation that is usually as entertaining as a flight with Tiger Airways. Moreover, the inclusion of a hammer and sickle suggests a far from comprehensive understanding of the particularities of Soviet policy, as I would suggest that a Budget whose primary thrust could probably be described as a severe reduction in Government spending is a fair way away from a totalitarian regime that didn't believe in free enterprise. I wonder if there's a spending sub-heading entitled "Gulags" buried deep on page 922.
Minor details that aid and abet the overall impression of imminent Soviet invasion: the horde of angry peasants, scythes in hand, following Wayne and Julia as they storm the Treasury; Wayne's zeitgeist-y wearing of an "Occupy Treasury" t-shirt; the uses of yellow and red which manages to channel both the Yellow Menace and the Red Peril; and the polluting factories in the background, evidently alive and well despite the crippling effects of the carbon tax.
A tweet from @MattCowgill sums it up: I believe it was Stalin who said "we will allow businesses to carry tax losses back & introduce an instant asset write off"
The Headline
Smash the rich, save the base. So, I'm going to presume that because the Government has reneged upon a 1% cut in the company tax rate it is, in fact, smashing the rich. The thing is, it's not even like I have a particularly strong opinion either way on the necessity of a 1% cut in our company tax rate, but smashing? Really? When I hear smashing, I see a giant, green, muscle-bound figure in remarkably stretchy underwear ripping the rich apart, limb-by-limb. I do not see a marginal cut in a not particularly onerous (at least if you're comparing it to other OECD nations) corporate tax rate, the effect of which will probably be marginal because our nation – with its world-leading economy, robust legal safeguards, relative lack of bureaucracy, high degree of disposable income and plentiful natural resources – is such an incredibly attractive place to invest. Methinks this sub-editor needs to go away and smash themselves up a degree of perspective.
But, hey, at least they know who the base is: the scythe-wielding peasantry. Although, given Labor's recent polling levels, this could well be all that remains of their core constituency.
The Columns
If The Australian had ever thought of itself as a fair and balanced paper – and it often makes that argument – then the inclusion of not one, not two, but three inflammatory and critical sub-headings on the front cover should probably put that myth to bed. And by put it to bed, I mean drown it in a pit of liquid asphalt.
First we have "Swan's making a values judgment", a fantastically insidious headline that transforms what was, by most measures, an exceedingly dull budget built out of an endless sequence of minor cost-cutting measures into a US-style class warfare campaign where the political parties are irredeemably split by a 1% shift in the corporate tax rate and a couple of tax increases on the very wealthy. Although, on the flip side, at least this makes the Labor Party look as if they actually have an ideological position to call on.
Second, there's "Treasurer matches PM's breach of faith with his own". Oh yes, very good. Gillard's backflip on the carbon tax is exactly the same as reneging on a corporate tax break. Does no-one in the Opposition (or its various ideologues) see the irony in spending most of their time bitching about non-existent cost of living increases only to accuse the Government of betraying the Australian people when it decides not to give corporations a tax break so that it can give money to people to help with the increased cost of living?
And third we have "Big business foots Wayne's welfare bill". More of the same, but it manages to sneak in the word "welfare", which as we all know, everybody hates, despite almost everybody who would profess to hate it being on the receiving end of some amount of welfare without ever acknowledging it. I'm looking at you, Family Tax Benefit.
Also, it should be noted that opinions about the Budget are given as much, if not more space on the front cover than information about the Budget itself.
But the truly hilarious thing about it all is that this cover successfully articulates the Liberal Party's Budget policy far better than Tony Abbott or Joe Hockey ever could. This is also the most depressing thing about it all.
The Headshots
There are nine on the front cover. All of their own journalists. Now there's the mark of a paper that is a little too self-satisfied with itself. This is less an exercise in front line journalism than it is the Editor in Chief wanking while we watch.
The Ad
And then, at the bottom of it all, there's an ad for Lexus. Go fucking figure.
Conclusion
This isn't intended as a defence of the Government's Budget (I'm not enthused) or some partisan shot across the bows of the Liberal Party or even a real engagement with the content of the paper itself, but rather to suggest that if anyone involved in the production of this front cover looked at it and thought "You know what? This is exactly what a newspaper is meant to be" then they have no business using the title journalist. Just call yourselves propagandists and be done with it, because this thing is closer to the output of a Stalinist regime than anything contained in the 2012 Budget.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Daughter - Medicine
UK singer-songwriter Elena Tonra sings with her boyfriend Igor Haefeli under the name of Daughter. The band put out their debut EP - The Wild Youth EP. Check out this single, Medicine. It's safe to say that this song will never make your pre-party Friday night mix, but the production on it is great and it's a great contender for the Lights Down Low - Music Up Loud - Red Wine In Hand Award.
Gentle ladies and men, may I present: Daughter.
Gentle ladies and men, may I present: Daughter.
Friday, April 13, 2012
The Bamboos
Australia's dominant musical contribution to the world is probably still best identified by those overseas as hard, sweaty, pub rock - think ACDC, Cold Chisel, Midnight Oil, The Church, Silverchair, Jet, The Vines, Wolfmother. More recently however, we've softened things up slightly with bands like The Temper Trap and Angus and Julia Stone getting widespread attention in Europe and the US. However, for whatever reason, one genre that just doesn't seem to have taken off here in Oz is funk. This is something that I've found baffling. But more often than not, Australian funk/soul bands are only thought of in the ignominious context of weddings - the occasion where white people get sufficiently drunk/amourous to unashamedly break out the soul dance moves.
The Bamboos are a funk band out of Melbourne and have been getting rave reviews for their live shows for a couple of years now. They are about to put out their second album, entitled Medicine Man, which features a number of tracks with guest vocalists, including this one featuring Tim Rogers. Australians will be well aware of Tim Roger's back catalogue with iconic Sydney rock outfit You am I. Here he lends his raspy vocal talents to The Bamboos' incredibly disciplined and James Brownesque guitar led licks. The result is this very catchy, and surprising "unAustralian" sounding single, I Got Burned.
I first heard this song on Triple J, not knowing who the vocalist was. It sounded too vulnerable to be Tim Rogers, too sensative... and frankly, too in tune. Apparently, Tim Rodgers was born to sing soul. Who knew?
This one is for the Dje.
The Bamboos are a funk band out of Melbourne and have been getting rave reviews for their live shows for a couple of years now. They are about to put out their second album, entitled Medicine Man, which features a number of tracks with guest vocalists, including this one featuring Tim Rogers. Australians will be well aware of Tim Roger's back catalogue with iconic Sydney rock outfit You am I. Here he lends his raspy vocal talents to The Bamboos' incredibly disciplined and James Brownesque guitar led licks. The result is this very catchy, and surprising "unAustralian" sounding single, I Got Burned.
I first heard this song on Triple J, not knowing who the vocalist was. It sounded too vulnerable to be Tim Rogers, too sensative... and frankly, too in tune. Apparently, Tim Rodgers was born to sing soul. Who knew?
This one is for the Dje.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Bon Iver - Calgary
Sometimes the rules of this blog get me in tangles. Essentially, if I like something, it has to go up here. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean that you always get diverse, culturally relevant content. The below video, for example, follows on from the Bon Iver cover of Coming Down that I posted a couple of weeks ago. Having worn out my "listens" on that song, I moved on to a related video of Bon Iver performing Calgary for Triple J.
This stripped back performance is, again, so sensitively delivered, and so different to the original. Bon Iver tends to do a lot of the falsetto wailing. Somehow, this gravelly, earnest, chest voice gives the song an increased sense of sincerity. I luv luv luv it. Listen out for the treatment of the line, "Swollen orange and light let through, your one piece swimmer stuck to you." I don't even know who's one-piece swimmer it is, or why it was memorable... but the way he sings it, I wish I was there.
Editors note: When I played this song to my Mum, her response was, "My Dad always used to say to me: A girl in a bikini, I'll look once. A girl in a one-piece, I'll keep looking." Thanks Mum. Compelling, and rich.
This stripped back performance is, again, so sensitively delivered, and so different to the original. Bon Iver tends to do a lot of the falsetto wailing. Somehow, this gravelly, earnest, chest voice gives the song an increased sense of sincerity. I luv luv luv it. Listen out for the treatment of the line, "Swollen orange and light let through, your one piece swimmer stuck to you." I don't even know who's one-piece swimmer it is, or why it was memorable... but the way he sings it, I wish I was there.
Editors note: When I played this song to my Mum, her response was, "My Dad always used to say to me: A girl in a bikini, I'll look once. A girl in a one-piece, I'll keep looking." Thanks Mum. Compelling, and rich.
Friday, April 06, 2012
Le Skylab
Le Skylab : non-stop smoking and never-ending pastis, a rapey paramilitary uncle, johnny haliday reference, exploration of pre-pubescent sexuality, family sings dalida's bambino, 'l was there in may 68', gratuitous boobs, gauchist wankers, arab-hating facho, muff, unnecessary ten minute ending. Le cinema francais quoi.
Tuesday, April 03, 2012
We're just kids playing grown-ups.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Oh, you used h-u-m-o-u-r to l-i-g-h-t-e-n the mood.
This is about 9 years out of date, but it still makes me laugh out loud - he said, clearly still enjoying his own work and living off the golden syropy goodness of days long past. I can remember watching this performance when we filmed it. This guy wasn't so much acting, as channeling his marraige. It was amazing.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
I just don't think I'll ever get over you
Can a song be a break-up song and a love song at the time? Words are printed here because, well, they're awesome.
This one, for David Gault.
I drink good coffee every morning
Comes from a place that's far away
And when I'm done I feel like talking
Without you here there is less to say
I don't want you thinking I'm unhappy
What is closer to the truth
That if I lived till I was 102
I just don't think I'll ever get over you
I'm no longer moved to drink strong whisky
'Cause I shook the hand of time and I knew
That if I lived till I could no longer climb my stairs
I just don't think I'll ever get over you
Your face it dances and it haunts me
Your laughter's still ringing in my ears
I still find pieces of your presence here
Even after all these years
But I don't want you thinking I don't get asked to dinner
'Cause I'm here to say that I sometimes do
Even though I may soon feel the touch of love
I just don't think I'll ever get over you
This one, for David Gault.
I drink good coffee every morning
Comes from a place that's far away
And when I'm done I feel like talking
Without you here there is less to say
I don't want you thinking I'm unhappy
What is closer to the truth
That if I lived till I was 102
I just don't think I'll ever get over you
I'm no longer moved to drink strong whisky
'Cause I shook the hand of time and I knew
That if I lived till I could no longer climb my stairs
I just don't think I'll ever get over you
Your face it dances and it haunts me
Your laughter's still ringing in my ears
I still find pieces of your presence here
Even after all these years
But I don't want you thinking I don't get asked to dinner
'Cause I'm here to say that I sometimes do
Even though I may soon feel the touch of love
I just don't think I'll ever get over you
Monday, March 19, 2012
Bon Iver - Coming Down
When I listen to Bon Iver perform, I have the strong sense of being in the presence of genius. When I watch him perform, that sense is confirmed.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
People get so lonely, but Love is the only one
Just heard this song on Guy Garvey's Finest Hour. How did I go so long without ever running into this sweet and unassumingly truthful song?
For me, it captures the bittersweet experience of breaking up with someone so perfectly. If love is the losing and finding of the self in the paradise of another, breaking up is, I believe, a mixture of a mourning for the loss of that paradise, and all that it presented itself to be, and an at first unfamiliar sense of excitement at the still far off prospect of hope that it might one day again be possible to lose and find yourself in the paradise of another again.
What am I to do
Someone here is really not happy
Put myself on a line
It seems I never got through to you
So I wean myself off slowly
Beautiful.
For me, it captures the bittersweet experience of breaking up with someone so perfectly. If love is the losing and finding of the self in the paradise of another, breaking up is, I believe, a mixture of a mourning for the loss of that paradise, and all that it presented itself to be, and an at first unfamiliar sense of excitement at the still far off prospect of hope that it might one day again be possible to lose and find yourself in the paradise of another again.
What am I to do
Someone here is really not happy
Put myself on a line
It seems I never got through to you
So I wean myself off slowly
Beautiful.
Thursday, March 08, 2012
Kony 2012
I wrote my Masters' thesis on the International Criminal Court's arrest warrant for Joseph Kony and its overall ineffectiveness in preventing atrocities in Uganda, so this video jumped out at me.
I've signed the pledge. I've ordered the Kony 2012 Action Kit. But posting it here is the very least I could do.
"Humanity's greatest desire is to belong and connect". The older I get, the more deeply I believe this to be the core driver of who we are and what we do.
Check it out and help shape human history.
I've signed the pledge. I've ordered the Kony 2012 Action Kit. But posting it here is the very least I could do.
"Humanity's greatest desire is to belong and connect". The older I get, the more deeply I believe this to be the core driver of who we are and what we do.
Check it out and help shape human history.
Sunday, March 04, 2012
Shit Comedians Say
Having just returned from the Adelaide Fringe Festival, this caricature of insecurity, self-doubt, vanity and desperation couldn't be more accurate. Welcome to the world of the fragile comic.
Bref. Je suis veille.
This series is énorme. It has the capacity to be both incredibly silly and genuinely touching, all at the same time.
I particularly love this episode.
"Un jour, j'ai eu son âge. Parfois, ca me rend triste... épuis j'oublie."
I particularly love this episode.
"Un jour, j'ai eu son âge. Parfois, ca me rend triste... épuis j'oublie."
This old routine...
Ah, I just haven't been able to get this one out of my head.
This old routine will drive you mad.
It's just a mumble never spoken out loud.
This old routine will drive you mad.
It's just a mumble never spoken out loud.
Wednesday, February 08, 2012
The Downfall of Australian music
These Downfall parodies have been done to death, but what the hell - this one is pretty good.
"You're not a hipster. You're just a nazi."
Genius.
"You're not a hipster. You're just a nazi."
Genius.
Friday, February 03, 2012
Top five regrets of the dying.
Great article in The Guardian about the top five things that people in palliative care say they will regret about dying.
Food for thought for the living! Check it out here
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Happy Australia Day
Australians struggle to take anything seriously, even their own National Day.
The Melbourne based boys at The Juice Media have been rapping the news for a while now. They've attracted comments from The Guardian, and even managed to have Julian Assange appear in one of their videos.
Check out their take on Australia Day. Or should that be Invasion Day?
I should just add, it contains strong language, so if you like your satire clean, it might not be for you.
For those who are not easily offended, check out the extended version of "Australia Day, yeah c*nt". I particularly like the subliminal kangaroo.
The Melbourne based boys at The Juice Media have been rapping the news for a while now. They've attracted comments from The Guardian, and even managed to have Julian Assange appear in one of their videos.
Check out their take on Australia Day. Or should that be Invasion Day?
I should just add, it contains strong language, so if you like your satire clean, it might not be for you.
For those who are not easily offended, check out the extended version of "Australia Day, yeah c*nt". I particularly like the subliminal kangaroo.
Bref, j'étais à côté de cette fille
This is the final episode of series 1 of the French comedy short Bref. The kiss is good. The music is better. The graphics behind the kiss, better still. Overall, it's magnifical.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Over the hill, I met the sea
Last weekend whilst in Berry, I managed to find time to do part of the Kiama Coast Walk from Werri Lagoon to Kiama. Unlike in the UK, Australian farmers don't usually allow 'ramblers' to walk across their land. However, the local council has managed to come to an arrangement with local farmers and landowners to allow public access to the coastline.
I was almost the only person on the trail that day. The sight of the swell rolling in from the horizon, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below, the smell of sea salt rising up over the cliffs and the rustle of the wind as it flew over the long grass that coated the hills: there was absolutely nothing man made to be seen. I felt like a privileged intruder in this foreign landscape. As if I was being allowed to experience it as it would be when no one was looking, when it was alone. The rocks wore the marks of a million year old conversation between the land and the sea. It was a stark reminder of the unerring endurance of this place, and of my own transience in it. But for the high-pitched chatter of the sea-gulls that hung only metres above the ocean, I could have believed that no one had noticed me. But the sea saw me on the hill.
I was almost the only person on the trail that day. The sight of the swell rolling in from the horizon, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below, the smell of sea salt rising up over the cliffs and the rustle of the wind as it flew over the long grass that coated the hills: there was absolutely nothing man made to be seen. I felt like a privileged intruder in this foreign landscape. As if I was being allowed to experience it as it would be when no one was looking, when it was alone. The rocks wore the marks of a million year old conversation between the land and the sea. It was a stark reminder of the unerring endurance of this place, and of my own transience in it. But for the high-pitched chatter of the sea-gulls that hung only metres above the ocean, I could have believed that no one had noticed me. But the sea saw me on the hill.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Jamison... present!
As Death Cab for Cutie once sang: "So this is the new year. But I don't feel any different."
Well, it may be a new year, but just to prove that nothing has changed too drastically, here's my new favourite Buechner quote:
Well, it may be a new year, but just to prove that nothing has changed too drastically, here's my new favourite Buechner quote:
"What I had not found, I could not name. And for the most part, knew only through my sense of its precious, and puzzling and haunting absence. And maybe we can never name it by its finale, true and holy name. And maybe its largely through its absence that this side of paradise, we will ever know it."So what had he not found?
Monday, January 09, 2012
Connecting you now...
It has, I guess, always been my secret hope that my random musings on this blog would spark some sort of sense of connection with others as they go about the task of reflecting on their own lives.
About six months ago, I received an email from a girl completely out of the blue, saying that she had followed this blog for about a year; that the writing on here resonated with her; and that it gave her some comfort to know that there was someone else out there "wondering about these things".
Wondering about things can sometimes be a lonely business. Sometimes it feels like the world has little time for people who wonder. Sometimes it's just nice to know that other people are out wondering too.
Well Bronwyn and I have kept in touch, (and in a strange twist of fate, actually ended up working together for a little while), and I have finally, after much coaxing, convinced her to post some of her own musings here. Stay tuned...
About six months ago, I received an email from a girl completely out of the blue, saying that she had followed this blog for about a year; that the writing on here resonated with her; and that it gave her some comfort to know that there was someone else out there "wondering about these things".
Wondering about things can sometimes be a lonely business. Sometimes it feels like the world has little time for people who wonder. Sometimes it's just nice to know that other people are out wondering too.
Well Bronwyn and I have kept in touch, (and in a strange twist of fate, actually ended up working together for a little while), and I have finally, after much coaxing, convinced her to post some of her own musings here. Stay tuned...
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