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Bank lady in conversation with Dale Slamma
BL: Why do you only have a part-time job?
DS: I have other jobs but they are sporadic and somtimes I don't get paid.
BL: What are the job titles of these 'other jobs'?
DS: Writer, freelance music journalist, arts reviewer, columnist, magazine editor, portrait model and twitterer.
BL: Do you think you should be doing that? I don't understand how being a twit is a job.
DS: Well you just have to write very short sentences then press publish.
BL: What do you mean writer?
DS: I write things.
BL: Like books?
DS: Yes, I have a manuscript in progress.
BL: Where do you write this 'manuscript'?
DS: In my bedroom but sometimes I need to walk around or sit in a cafe and see if that helps.
BL: I see. What about portrait model? How do you do that?
DS: That's easy, you just have to sit very still and sometimes have knitting needles in your hair.
BL: Why do you do that?
DS: The artist thinks I'm interesting looking and offered to pay me money.
BL: No, I meant the knitting needles.
DS: I'm not sure really, I think she likes painting them.
BL: I see. What about music journalist? What does that entail?
DS: I go see bands and then write about them.
BL: Do you mean rock music? In pubs?
DS: Yes. Rock music. In pubs.
BL: I see. What about magazine edior?
DS: I am the editor of a new independent magzine.
BL: What is your income from editing the magazine?
DS: Nothing yet, it's my magazine and we haven't launched issue #1 yet. It's possible that it may not earn any money.
BL: How many hours a week do you work on the magazine?
DS: About sixty.
BL: Why do you do that?
DS: Well the magazine isn't going to edit itself.
BL: I see. So what you are telling me is that you work one hundred hours a week, get paid for twenty hours a week and sometime for a couple of hours on top of that, sporadically. Your workplaces include your house, pubs, artist studio, the footpath and cafes.
DS: Yes.
BL: I see. Are you married?
DS: No.
BL: We will not be able to process your application at this time. It is more usual in these cases for a person like you to have a husband earning a reliable income.
DS: But..
BL: You might like to think about getting a proper job.
DS: I don't think...
BL: In fact you might like to think about what you are doing in general.
DS: It's not your...
BL: Sometimes a person has to go out and make an effort to fit in and have more normal activities otherwise ....
DS: [hangs up phone, turns on kettle, has a lovely cup of tea and a little sit down]
DS: I have other jobs but they are sporadic and somtimes I don't get paid.
BL: What are the job titles of these 'other jobs'?
DS: Writer, freelance music journalist, arts reviewer, columnist, magazine editor, portrait model and twitterer.
BL: Do you think you should be doing that? I don't understand how being a twit is a job.
DS: Well you just have to write very short sentences then press publish.
BL: What do you mean writer?
DS: I write things.
BL: Like books?
DS: Yes, I have a manuscript in progress.
BL: Where do you write this 'manuscript'?
DS: In my bedroom but sometimes I need to walk around or sit in a cafe and see if that helps.
BL: I see. What about portrait model? How do you do that?
DS: That's easy, you just have to sit very still and sometimes have knitting needles in your hair.
BL: Why do you do that?
DS: The artist thinks I'm interesting looking and offered to pay me money.
BL: No, I meant the knitting needles.
DS: I'm not sure really, I think she likes painting them.
BL: I see. What about music journalist? What does that entail?
DS: I go see bands and then write about them.
BL: Do you mean rock music? In pubs?
DS: Yes. Rock music. In pubs.
BL: I see. What about magazine edior?
DS: I am the editor of a new independent magzine.
BL: What is your income from editing the magazine?
DS: Nothing yet, it's my magazine and we haven't launched issue #1 yet. It's possible that it may not earn any money.
BL: How many hours a week do you work on the magazine?
DS: About sixty.
BL: Why do you do that?
DS: Well the magazine isn't going to edit itself.
BL: I see. So what you are telling me is that you work one hundred hours a week, get paid for twenty hours a week and sometime for a couple of hours on top of that, sporadically. Your workplaces include your house, pubs, artist studio, the footpath and cafes.
DS: Yes.
BL: I see. Are you married?
DS: No.
BL: We will not be able to process your application at this time. It is more usual in these cases for a person like you to have a husband earning a reliable income.
DS: But..
BL: You might like to think about getting a proper job.
DS: I don't think...
BL: In fact you might like to think about what you are doing in general.
DS: It's not your...
BL: Sometimes a person has to go out and make an effort to fit in and have more normal activities otherwise ....
DS: [hangs up phone, turns on kettle, has a lovely cup of tea and a little sit down]
Dive dive dive
Most of the time I am imagining I am the captain of a submarine on an Antarctic mission. The rest of the time I am being insanely jealous of Geoff Lemon and his unimaginary Antarctic adventures, damn you to hell Geoff Lemon, all the way to hell.
Pass me my safari slippers I'm feeling zoological
There was definitely a looming sense of pressure to feel moved and come up with something profound to say when coming face to face with all the animals of the world but I think I'd rather hit it from a different angle. Visiting Taronga Zoological Park has confirmed my long held suspicion that I would be an excellent person for a jungle safari scientist to marry.
In the day he would go off in a jeep to shoot lions, tigers or gorillas with dart guns. In the morning I would ride my horse across the plains. After lunch I would retire to our library to work on my manuscript. We would wire messages to each in morse code. In the evenings we would listen to jungle noises and drink gin with tonic. Tomorrow I will write to Taronga Zoological Park and ask them to add this information to their guide books.
In the day he would go off in a jeep to shoot lions, tigers or gorillas with dart guns. In the morning I would ride my horse across the plains. After lunch I would retire to our library to work on my manuscript. We would wire messages to each in morse code. In the evenings we would listen to jungle noises and drink gin with tonic. Tomorrow I will write to Taronga Zoological Park and ask them to add this information to their guide books.
I want you, we want you, they want you, so why don't you?
PAN magazine wants your submissions of poetry, short fiction or essays for issue #2.
More information on the PAN website.
More information on the PAN website.
Take me down to testosterone city
If there is a god he was man-shaped and multiple and standing at the bar. The Duke of Edinburgh is a tidal pub towed by the almighty whim of the Enmore Theatre booker. Tonight it was Jane's Addiction, I didn't have a ticket, I wasn't the least interested in that band until I ran smack bang into the wall-to-wall testosterone factory filling every inch of space at The Duke.
The joint was crammed with men, real men. Craggity rock'n'roll semi-drunk testosterone-fueled men. Hallelujah. There was so much testosterone in there I think I got an erection, I certainly had the urge to wee standing up on a fence post before making rough Cowboy punch-love.
My friend, let's call her K2, didn't seem at all impresed, if anything she showed regulation level annoyance at our local once again being disturbed by a one-night-only fan crowd but I think she was just showing her age. K2 is young, young enough to follow an indie boy across a room with one secretly interested eye. I couldn't care less about indie boys, for a start they're boys and all they care about is their hair. I don't know when this Peter Pan fad became de rigueur for all male humans under thirty but I am the fuck sick of it. Grow up, organise your shelves, invest in cologne for occasional use and for goodness sake get a tea pot and learn how to provide for yourself. Growing tomatoes in pots and thinking about what you might cook to take to Christmas lunch could also help.
I still don't like Jane's Addiction but I just might become a fan of their fans because like I said, if there is a god he was man-shaped and multiple and standing at the bar.
The joint was crammed with men, real men. Craggity rock'n'roll semi-drunk testosterone-fueled men. Hallelujah. There was so much testosterone in there I think I got an erection, I certainly had the urge to wee standing up on a fence post before making rough Cowboy punch-love.
My friend, let's call her K2, didn't seem at all impresed, if anything she showed regulation level annoyance at our local once again being disturbed by a one-night-only fan crowd but I think she was just showing her age. K2 is young, young enough to follow an indie boy across a room with one secretly interested eye. I couldn't care less about indie boys, for a start they're boys and all they care about is their hair. I don't know when this Peter Pan fad became de rigueur for all male humans under thirty but I am the fuck sick of it. Grow up, organise your shelves, invest in cologne for occasional use and for goodness sake get a tea pot and learn how to provide for yourself. Growing tomatoes in pots and thinking about what you might cook to take to Christmas lunch could also help.
I still don't like Jane's Addiction but I just might become a fan of their fans because like I said, if there is a god he was man-shaped and multiple and standing at the bar.
Everyone needs a hero
My big wet writers' crush on Mark Mordue continues. I'd like to have a drink with this man. I'd like to pour whiskey down my throat and just listen to him for a while. Mordue's essay 'Towards Love: another vision of The Road' needs to be read, now.
It's on
And so it has begun. David Young and I will both be reviewing The Drones at The Annandale in a grudge match gig review challenge.
Yawntastic
Oh why don't you just bore me until I am dead. The boring thing I am talking about here is a review of The Holy Soul and The Kill Devil Hills. 'Respectful applause', I mean is that really something you want to read in a gig review?
Here's the part where I start making sense. The reviewer, David Young, clearly knows how to put a sentence together. He has a fluid journalistic style but his review is boring to read. Boring. Come on David Young this music is wild, this gig was transcendent in places and raucous in others. I walked around pretending to be a gunslinger for three full days after this gig, surely you can do better than 'respectful applause'.
The reason that music journalism has gone to hell in this country is because music journalists need to lift their game, I'm not excluding myself from this. Consider this a challenge. David Young if you happen upon this post contact me. I've got a proposition for you and it goes a little something like this. Let's coordinate reviewing the same gig. I challenge you to a 'review off'.
Here's the part where I start making sense. The reviewer, David Young, clearly knows how to put a sentence together. He has a fluid journalistic style but his review is boring to read. Boring. Come on David Young this music is wild, this gig was transcendent in places and raucous in others. I walked around pretending to be a gunslinger for three full days after this gig, surely you can do better than 'respectful applause'.
The reason that music journalism has gone to hell in this country is because music journalists need to lift their game, I'm not excluding myself from this. Consider this a challenge. David Young if you happen upon this post contact me. I've got a proposition for you and it goes a little something like this. Let's coordinate reviewing the same gig. I challenge you to a 'review off'.
Sandwich yelling gives way to more generalised slouching or let me explain about Radio Man
Radio Man happened upon Spencer and I sitting in one of our usual cafes drinking our usual coffees. I didn't notice that he was drunk until he had stopped for a quick chat, left and then come back again saying that he wanted to explain. His explanation was that his band went to Japan this morning, for a gig. I was trying to work out if that was possible given that it was still morning. I was developing a theory about the possibility of time travel as a freak occurrence when he said he'd been in the lounge and not heard the boarding announcement. He missed the flight. Tomorrow morning he's headed back to the airport for take two. He will land just in time to make the gig but in the meantime instead of drinking on a plane he's going to be drinking at home and pretending that he's on a plane. Seems like a fine plan to me. Maybe tomorrow I'm going to pretend to be on a plane.
And now for my newest genre - album review revenge
If I have to write album reviews then I am going to use them for revenge. Payback's a bitch. Sure they could say the review is poorly written and critically nonsensical but, you know, that's kind of how I roll.
Saturday - Ocean Colour Scene
Critically, you could say Ocean Colour Scene are not obviously doing anything musically wrong, it’s just that they have no taste or respect for genuine artistic endeavours. I do not like any part of this album. I don’t ever want to hear it again. I will never go and see this band play live, I will never recommend them for anything other than being shot into space and I sincerely wish they would stop stealing melodies.
Continue reading...
End Times - Eels
I used to know a man who wanted to be this album, he turned out to be a jerk. Some albums you have to turn yourself down to listen to. Some albums have an inbuilt pointed device that silences you so the music can take over. This album does not.
Continue reading...
Saturday - Ocean Colour Scene
Critically, you could say Ocean Colour Scene are not obviously doing anything musically wrong, it’s just that they have no taste or respect for genuine artistic endeavours. I do not like any part of this album. I don’t ever want to hear it again. I will never go and see this band play live, I will never recommend them for anything other than being shot into space and I sincerely wish they would stop stealing melodies.
Continue reading...
End Times - Eels
I used to know a man who wanted to be this album, he turned out to be a jerk. Some albums you have to turn yourself down to listen to. Some albums have an inbuilt pointed device that silences you so the music can take over. This album does not.
Continue reading...
I told you, don't make me walk like a gunslinger
It's no secret I've always wanted to be a cowboy. People tell me I'll never be a cowboy wearing floral dresses and drinking cups of tea but I'm pretty sure there's more to it than outfits and refreshments...
Don't make me walk like a gunslinger
It was one of those big old country pubs, two stories high and wrapped in iron lace. Somebody thought to paint the pressed tin ceiling a pearlescent cream and I can't say the effect was unpleasant. It seems like forever since I drove South through the high scrub and all that sedimentary rock until I found the ocean in a new place. I didn't see much of the ocean last night, everything was obscured by fog and the rain that turned itself from high to low then back up again.
Spencer picked me up in his big old car, it was full of friends, with beer. We drank beer (except for Spencer), ate chocolate bars, sang along to the stereo. There's nothing quite like a road trip.
I walked in out of the rain lugging a bass guitar in a hard case. I ran straight into Brendon Humphries, the singer from The Kill Devil Hills. He held out his hand and introduced himself, it was a small conversation but I was struck by something odd. It seemed to me that he was kind and open, unguarded in a genuine sort of way. It might be ten thousand years since I have met a person who will just stand like that on the floor and hold out their hand to greet a stranger. Maybe living in the city does have its downside.
I've seen the Kill Devil Hills before, even reviewed them but this gig was by far the best. The crowd was older, more sedate, satisfied to sit at their tables taking long swallows of beer while the band stood up on the stage. For part of the show I moved outside to the long verandah. I sat on an old leather couch watching the torrential rain pour over the ocean while the sound moved through the windows behind me. I'm thinking that moment might have been ideal.
I've written about The Kill Devil Hills before, I think I said there's something of the horizon in their music and I'm not about to change my mind now. Everybody needs a bit of horizon projected by a band of hillbilly pirates once in a while. If you're in the mountains today head up to Hotel Gearin, buy yourself beer, shake the rain out of your hair and just listen. The band will do everything else.
He says that he's tired of singing this song but I don't think I'm tired of listening to him sing it. It's not fair but if I had my way drummer Steve Gibson will be singing 'Drinking Too Much' as often as possible until the day he dies.
Spencer picked me up in his big old car, it was full of friends, with beer. We drank beer (except for Spencer), ate chocolate bars, sang along to the stereo. There's nothing quite like a road trip.
I walked in out of the rain lugging a bass guitar in a hard case. I ran straight into Brendon Humphries, the singer from The Kill Devil Hills. He held out his hand and introduced himself, it was a small conversation but I was struck by something odd. It seemed to me that he was kind and open, unguarded in a genuine sort of way. It might be ten thousand years since I have met a person who will just stand like that on the floor and hold out their hand to greet a stranger. Maybe living in the city does have its downside.
I've seen the Kill Devil Hills before, even reviewed them but this gig was by far the best. The crowd was older, more sedate, satisfied to sit at their tables taking long swallows of beer while the band stood up on the stage. For part of the show I moved outside to the long verandah. I sat on an old leather couch watching the torrential rain pour over the ocean while the sound moved through the windows behind me. I'm thinking that moment might have been ideal.
I've written about The Kill Devil Hills before, I think I said there's something of the horizon in their music and I'm not about to change my mind now. Everybody needs a bit of horizon projected by a band of hillbilly pirates once in a while. If you're in the mountains today head up to Hotel Gearin, buy yourself beer, shake the rain out of your hair and just listen. The band will do everything else.
He says that he's tired of singing this song but I don't think I'm tired of listening to him sing it. It's not fair but if I had my way drummer Steve Gibson will be singing 'Drinking Too Much' as often as possible until the day he dies.
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