We all fell off our pedestals -
some with exhaustion
Kate is my cool thing of the day
Not only has she mastered the art of Science she has also discovered a secondary use for cows.
My own Siamese twin
What if you only get five lit points of grief or regret? One home, one child, one partner, one horse, one friend. What if the two day contents of your head get dramatised in hospital form on a Tuesday night?
I've been scaring myself with imaginary knives. Two days ago we were sitting in the cafe when he said, 'maybe you don't want to write those kind of things'. I suppose it was a candid moment, one friend asking another to be a little careful with published thoughts but I jumped straight to what wasn't happening, straight to the part where I had to choose between a friend and words.
One good Peachette taped a hospital drama for me to watch on my late return. I sat down with one of those bowls of muesli and pressed play. Unfolding in blue scrubs was the two day contents of my head. Surgeons asking each other if they had to choose between surgery and love.
I have lost track of my point because it is contradictory. My imaginary knives would cut out any part that would say do not write. I do not care if the writing is good, if it is a stupid blog post, a contractual obligation album review, a dismally worded review or one story that stacks higher than the rest of my existence. I do not believe in the death of the author, those words are all mine and I will have them. But my knives are imaginary and my feet would walk you in no other direction than towards a friend.
I've been scaring myself with imaginary knives. Two days ago we were sitting in the cafe when he said, 'maybe you don't want to write those kind of things'. I suppose it was a candid moment, one friend asking another to be a little careful with published thoughts but I jumped straight to what wasn't happening, straight to the part where I had to choose between a friend and words.
One good Peachette taped a hospital drama for me to watch on my late return. I sat down with one of those bowls of muesli and pressed play. Unfolding in blue scrubs was the two day contents of my head. Surgeons asking each other if they had to choose between surgery and love.
I have lost track of my point because it is contradictory. My imaginary knives would cut out any part that would say do not write. I do not care if the writing is good, if it is a stupid blog post, a contractual obligation album review, a dismally worded review or one story that stacks higher than the rest of my existence. I do not believe in the death of the author, those words are all mine and I will have them. But my knives are imaginary and my feet would walk you in no other direction than towards a friend.
The dramatic failure of my newspaper remedy came as something of a shock
He is a tall problem with teeth and hands but he conducts himself with grace.
The John Entwistle School of Standing Very Still
Once upon a time I was being driven across town in some guy's van, a drunk drummer was rolling around in the back behind a cage, like a dog. He hit the side of the van with a thump but I didn't care, I was having an idea. Tonight my idea came to fruition. Introducing my very own band The John Entwistle School of Standing Very Still. There are two of us in this band, me and Leah Keramea from The Walk On By, we both play drums because that's the whole idea. We reinterpret rock classics on only drums. Welcome to the world of 'difficult musics'.
Not yet an Antarctic submarine captain
I'm working on something over here. Maybe go listen to this instead of reading what I've got to say.
A definite line in the sand
I have a definite streak of the ridiculous running through me. I’m prone to bouts joyful uncoordinated dancing in public places, like supermarkets or cafes, I enjoy the occasional listen to Van Halen but I 'm drawing the line at Har Mar Superstar.
Har Mar Superstar used to vaguely amusing and even a little bit good, in his own special way, but not this time. Dark Touches is a shambolic mess of a pastiche. It wanders through strange territory from tasteless dance music for the masses to early Jackson Five with just a touch of Gloria Estefan.
Spencer once saw Har Mar Superstar have a tantrum and storm off stage, in his underpants. Spencer says it was hilarious and well worth watching but if you take a moment to think about it it’s really not ideal when the best thing about a show is watching the artist leave the stage earlier than he should.
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Har Mar Superstar used to vaguely amusing and even a little bit good, in his own special way, but not this time. Dark Touches is a shambolic mess of a pastiche. It wanders through strange territory from tasteless dance music for the masses to early Jackson Five with just a touch of Gloria Estefan.
Spencer once saw Har Mar Superstar have a tantrum and storm off stage, in his underpants. Spencer says it was hilarious and well worth watching but if you take a moment to think about it it’s really not ideal when the best thing about a show is watching the artist leave the stage earlier than he should.
Continue reading...
New Young Pony Club has shockingly little to do with ponies - Dale Slamma reports her disappointment at this news
If you want to know what I think about The Optimist then you are going to have to ask me in twenty years time. Right now my opinion is oscillating wildly. Taken in isolation New Young Pony Club now sound like an acceptable blend of post-punk pop and the new new wave. Their sound is mildly pleasant with a dark pop sensibility. It is interesting at first listen and in no way offensive but if you think about the album in context with the world my opinion begins to change. We all know the UK is suffering from a bad bout of Joy Divisionitis, I believe this can be traced back to the death of Ian Curtis via one movie and a couple of good albums.
There's a saddle in my library!
Thursday night Spencer, Madam Squeeze and I will be filming the pilot episode of our top secret television series in The Peach Library. Grizelda and I wandered in there this evening to have a look, partially to prepare for filming and partially to imagine how the corners of the room will look once The Spatula moves all her crap out. We were in there for ages imagining how strange it will be when The Library transforms into an uncluttered room of tranquility, the way we had always imagined it should be. It seems an eternity since I have seen a corner of a room without a pile of crap in it, I wonder if I might have some kind of shocking and unexpected reaction.
Pavement - not the kind you walk on
I walked in halfway through the first song to find a joyful crowd shaking their manes like horses. There were pockets of genuine dancing all over the Enmore Theatre. I like those original Indie boys − silly, gentle artistic souls in t-shirts who threw off the shackles and redefined what it was to be a man. They’re all grown up now but they’re still tall, angular and dangerous. They seemed always to dance with their elbows pointed in my direction.
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The Big Pink Stink or Dale Slamma spends a night at The Metro
Brisbane indie duo An Horse are competent, pleasant and just a tiny bit boring. Kate Cooper has an orange guitar with interesting red stripes and Damon Cox has clean sticking patterns, they harmonise well and sound distinctly like music that might be played during a poignant moment in a television show. Despite the tinge of boring An Horse are infinitely preferable to the band they were supporting, The Big Pink.
The Big Pink think they are awesome, in fact I would say they rate themselves quite highly. I watched with a mixture of horror and amusement as they played track after track of bog standard contemporary rock with added synth drones, seriousness and posing.
Frontman Robbie Furze looks like he was beamed out of an Oz Rock film clip from the 80’s, there’s no possible way I could take seriously a man who appears on stage to Cypress Hill, jumps straight on the foldback before tossing off his jacket to reveal a Metallica tattoo. You have to earn the right to jump on the foldback and take charge of the crowd, it’s not an endearing first move. The crowd looked sceptical, for a little while, but one by one most of them fell victim to The Big Pink’s terribly serious indie fake doom rock. Shame on them.
The Big Pink make underground music for a mainstream crowd. Their sound is grandiose, overblown and made for commercial radio. Have a listen to Dominos or Count Backwards From Ten, kids with emo tendencies and a love of anthems are going to lap this up. Imagine a U2 covers band playing an unfamiliar mashup of Placebo and Nine Inch Nails, now you’re getting close to what The Big Pink sounds like and I can tell you it’s not good.
The keyboard player looked like a smacked-out Cousin It impersonator, his constant posing took a turn for the hilarious when it appeared as though he was dusting the keys with his hair. Drummer Akiko Matsuura looks incredible and drums with an admirably inefficient and theatrical style. Overall they played a polished and competent set, they nailed every song. Good band, shame about the music.
The Big Pink are going to be huge, with or without my good opinion. If you want to say you were listening to them way back when then now is the time, jump on board or you’ll be just another face in the crowd.
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