"Words of Wisdom", by Cedric Im Brooks & The Light of Saba. From the album "Cedric Im Brooks & The Light of Saba", which is one of a long list of albums that have long been known to me by reputation alone. Well, this one at least I have now heard, and it proves to be a joyful amalgam of musical styles ranging from ska, reggae and 1970s soul to African music (in some places the Africa of Fela Kuti, in others that of Mulatu Astatke, whom Jim Jarmusch brought to some degree of notice by way of his underrated most recent film, "Broken Flowers"). This particular song is at the soulful roots reggae end of the spectrum, and is distinguished, as is the entire album, by some really lovely horn work.
Presumably "The Light of Saba" does not refer to a furniture showroom that existed in Melbourne in the early 1980s.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Saturday, October 13, 2007
By Chance
1. "Tony Millionaire's Sock Monkey: Uncle Gabby"
It was a slow library day, so on spec I borrowed the above, being a short graphic novel / sequential pictorial narrative story / comic book written and drawn by Tony Millionaire (coloured by someone else, and colour is an important part of its charm, but still). I had seen Millionaire's name around the traps, but if he is also millionaire by nature it is no thanks to me. Well, I read it and was staggered. It is really, really good. Most solo graphic novelists work in a kind of alchemy which allows them to offer a finished product that is greater than you would expect from considering just their individual story-writing and drawing skills. Adrian Tomine, for example, as much as I like his stuff, still has a way to go as a writer. But it is good enough to allow him to become a fine graphic novelist and not just a purveyor of gorgeous New Yorker covers. Seth, of course, is a genius at both drawing and writing; so is Kevin Huizenga; but such is rare. Even Dan Clowes and Chris Ware, wonderful though they both are, would perhaps seem less than that if their writing and their drawing both had to stand up on their own. (None of this is meant as individual criticism. Those of us who can neither write nor draw can only look on in awe at these freaks of nature.) But this simple little book, about the adventures of a few old stuffed toys, demonstrates real talent in both the writing and drawing departments. Being the good scientist, I tested my theory. It was a delight to look at. It was a pleasure to read. Together, hey, it was unstoppable. I need to dig further.
2. Gillian Welch
Yesterday I fluked upon an iTunes-only live EP by Gillian Welch, released early 2006, about which I previously knew nothing. $5.07 (Australian) later, it was on my hard drive. And was money well spent, not only but including because it reminded me of the hauntingly perfect show they put on in Canberra a couple of years back. Their version of "Pocahontas" is a beautiful take on a beautiful song, and ties in scarily well with my current Neil Young obsession. (Presumably I wasn't the only obsessive to be eluded by this: it isn't mentioned in Stylus's extraordinarily thorough runthrough of Neil Young covers.)
3. Life Without Buildings
Straight to the top of bands I can't believe I never knew existed. Their sole studio album, "Any Other City", comes at me from the place where all the great albums come from. Which, I'm not sure exactly where that place is, but to be simplistic about it (if only because this record gets me in a way that is too personal for words), they sound not unlike if you combined, say, Television and The Feelies, and threw a female Mark E Smith in front (in that the singer declaims rather than sings, and seems as interested, in a lovely way, with the sounds words make as with the words themselves), if Mark E Smith were ever to sing about matters of the heart. None of which does this magnificent record justice. And to think, if they hadn't released a posthumous live album called, I think, "Live at the Annandale Hotel", and if the Annandale Hotel, in Sydney, wasn't a name I associate with another group that still mean more to me than I can put into words, The Cannanes, then I probably wouldn't have given Life Without Buildings a second thought other than to note that their name sounds like a couple of Talking Heads songs mashed in a blender.
It was a slow library day, so on spec I borrowed the above, being a short graphic novel / sequential pictorial narrative story / comic book written and drawn by Tony Millionaire (coloured by someone else, and colour is an important part of its charm, but still). I had seen Millionaire's name around the traps, but if he is also millionaire by nature it is no thanks to me. Well, I read it and was staggered. It is really, really good. Most solo graphic novelists work in a kind of alchemy which allows them to offer a finished product that is greater than you would expect from considering just their individual story-writing and drawing skills. Adrian Tomine, for example, as much as I like his stuff, still has a way to go as a writer. But it is good enough to allow him to become a fine graphic novelist and not just a purveyor of gorgeous New Yorker covers. Seth, of course, is a genius at both drawing and writing; so is Kevin Huizenga; but such is rare. Even Dan Clowes and Chris Ware, wonderful though they both are, would perhaps seem less than that if their writing and their drawing both had to stand up on their own. (None of this is meant as individual criticism. Those of us who can neither write nor draw can only look on in awe at these freaks of nature.) But this simple little book, about the adventures of a few old stuffed toys, demonstrates real talent in both the writing and drawing departments. Being the good scientist, I tested my theory. It was a delight to look at. It was a pleasure to read. Together, hey, it was unstoppable. I need to dig further.
2. Gillian Welch
Yesterday I fluked upon an iTunes-only live EP by Gillian Welch, released early 2006, about which I previously knew nothing. $5.07 (Australian) later, it was on my hard drive. And was money well spent, not only but including because it reminded me of the hauntingly perfect show they put on in Canberra a couple of years back. Their version of "Pocahontas" is a beautiful take on a beautiful song, and ties in scarily well with my current Neil Young obsession. (Presumably I wasn't the only obsessive to be eluded by this: it isn't mentioned in Stylus's extraordinarily thorough runthrough of Neil Young covers.)
3. Life Without Buildings
Straight to the top of bands I can't believe I never knew existed. Their sole studio album, "Any Other City", comes at me from the place where all the great albums come from. Which, I'm not sure exactly where that place is, but to be simplistic about it (if only because this record gets me in a way that is too personal for words), they sound not unlike if you combined, say, Television and The Feelies, and threw a female Mark E Smith in front (in that the singer declaims rather than sings, and seems as interested, in a lovely way, with the sounds words make as with the words themselves), if Mark E Smith were ever to sing about matters of the heart. None of which does this magnificent record justice. And to think, if they hadn't released a posthumous live album called, I think, "Live at the Annandale Hotel", and if the Annandale Hotel, in Sydney, wasn't a name I associate with another group that still mean more to me than I can put into words, The Cannanes, then I probably wouldn't have given Life Without Buildings a second thought other than to note that their name sounds like a couple of Talking Heads songs mashed in a blender.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Song of the day
"Christmas", by Beat Happening. Which appears on the CD version of their first, self-titled LP. And in which Calvin, in the lowest of lo-fi surroundings, succinctly and accurately defines the human condition: "Disappointment. Heartache. Pain."
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
The hypothetical mixtape series: September 2007
It's still October, so it can't possibly be time for the September hypothetical mixtape. And yet.
The Notekillers, "Clock Wise". A few years ago, I did some volunteer work with Melbourne radio station 3PBS (if WFMU did not exist, PBS might lay some claim to being the best radio station in the world; seriously). Anyway, one of the presenters was a mild-mannered bank manager, always neat and tidy, dressed in suit and tie. The only hint that something was amiss was a pair of razor-sharp sideburns. This guy, it turns out, was the presenter of a heavy metal show called something like "The Red Stink of Metal". Who knew? But a couple of years prior to this, I might have been that guy. There I was, living in a country town, working as a solicitor, suit and tie, etc, going home at night to a diet of loud, heavy guitars. Big Black. Husker Du. Feedtime. Sonic Youth. Band of Susans. Ut. Dinosaur Jr. Minutemen. And if it wasn't guitars it was industrial noise. Einsturzende Neubauten, for example. Or John Zorn's headkicking Ornette Coleman "tribute" "Spy Vs Spy". Yes, that was me. (One of the highlights of those years was finding on the doorstep a parcel of records airmailed from a certain Doctor Jim, who was then on a world tour and, I suppose, figured that someone might as well be listening to his stash while he remained o/s.) Again, who knew? (Before long, Adrienne was quick to disabuse me of the notion that music had to be in some way unpleasant or "difficult" to be worthy of attention; one only of the many things for which I am eterally grateful to her.) Point? Oh yes, The Notekillers, of whom I had no knowledge at all until a couple of tracks appeared on the wonderful Art Decade, would have fitted perfectly into my listening schedule. So perfectly that I feel I owe them an apology: where was I when they needed me?
Junior Senior, "Move Your Feet". The moral of that story being, I can now happily jump around the house to songs like this. I think that makes me a better, more well-rounded person. Or a sad, pathetic sell-out.
Sergio Mendes and Brasil 66, "Scarborough Fair". And yet, even through those dark and twisted days, the magic of op-shop records was always there. This version of a song I have long deemed unlistenable is gorgeous, up there with their version of "My Favourite Things", which Adrienne says outdoes even Coltrane, and in my weaker moments I can almost agree.
Cibo Matto, "Sugar Water (Acoustic)". To paraphrase the very wise Roy Slaven and H G Nelson, too many versions of this song are barely enough.
Milton Nascimento and Lo Borges, "Tudo Que Voce Podia Ser". It must be time for a Brazilian. Or two.
Gimmicks, "California My Way". Perfect for the approaching antipodean summer, which looks like being long and hot.
Reigning Sound, "When You Touch Me". Loud fast rules.
The Come Ons, "Keep The Change". I love (a) the organ and (b) the album title ("Hip Check") and (c) the album cover. Oh, and the guitar. Plus the fact that they have put out a seven-inch single entitled "Play Selections From The Françoise Hardy Songbook".
The Professionals, "Theme From The Godfather". This may be the greatest four minutes of music I have ever heard. And (obviously) I am not even exaggerating.
Belbury Poly, "Tangled Beams". So this is Hauntology? It reminds me of Broadcast, actually. They probably frequent the same library.
Hanne Hukkelberg, "Do Not As I Do". It wouldn't be a hypothetical mixtape without some warm and friendly Scandinavian pop.
Rheingold, "DreiKlangsDimensionen". Not exactly krautrock, but not exactly not krautrock, I am guessing this is of the genre known as NDV. It must be from the end of the seventies. But I don't know and I don't really care. It's stunning.
Seelenluft, "Horse With No Name". Ooh look, another song that by rights should have gone to the knackers' yard long ago. But here it is, stripped of its America(n)ness, and I could happily listen to it all day. The guy who wrote this song was on Spicks and Specks not so long ago. He seemed like a nice chap.
The Memory Band, "This Is How We Walk On The Moon". It's an Arthur Russell song. Do I need to say anything more? I suppose, if you needed a reference point, you might think Four Tet plus a violin. If you had to.
Amorphous Androgynous, "Go Tell It To The Trees Egghead". This is what "Astral Weeks" might have sounded like if it didn't have Van Morrison wailing away over the top of it and generally getting in the way. (Obviously, I don't mean that at all.) Curiously, Amorphous Androgynous is actually Future Sound Of London, whom I have long felt I should get to know a bit better.
Mouse On Mars, "Schnick-schnack". And a little voice said, "That sounds like her from Stereolab". And so it came to pass, presumably done as a payback for the work MOM did with Stereolab on "Dots and Loops", still I think my favourite Stereolab record, even in the face of fierce competition from almost any other Stereolab record.
Beck, "Cellphone's Dead (Villalobos Entlebuch Remix)". Ricardo Villalobos does this interesting trick with time. Take this song. At around the five minute mark you start to think, Okay, I'm about done with this. And then, before you know it, 12 minutes have passed, and you find that you have gone to another place and back again. Without even noticing. And it happens every time. I don't know how he does it.
The Notekillers, "Clock Wise". A few years ago, I did some volunteer work with Melbourne radio station 3PBS (if WFMU did not exist, PBS might lay some claim to being the best radio station in the world; seriously). Anyway, one of the presenters was a mild-mannered bank manager, always neat and tidy, dressed in suit and tie. The only hint that something was amiss was a pair of razor-sharp sideburns. This guy, it turns out, was the presenter of a heavy metal show called something like "The Red Stink of Metal". Who knew? But a couple of years prior to this, I might have been that guy. There I was, living in a country town, working as a solicitor, suit and tie, etc, going home at night to a diet of loud, heavy guitars. Big Black. Husker Du. Feedtime. Sonic Youth. Band of Susans. Ut. Dinosaur Jr. Minutemen. And if it wasn't guitars it was industrial noise. Einsturzende Neubauten, for example. Or John Zorn's headkicking Ornette Coleman "tribute" "Spy Vs Spy". Yes, that was me. (One of the highlights of those years was finding on the doorstep a parcel of records airmailed from a certain Doctor Jim, who was then on a world tour and, I suppose, figured that someone might as well be listening to his stash while he remained o/s.) Again, who knew? (Before long, Adrienne was quick to disabuse me of the notion that music had to be in some way unpleasant or "difficult" to be worthy of attention; one only of the many things for which I am eterally grateful to her.) Point? Oh yes, The Notekillers, of whom I had no knowledge at all until a couple of tracks appeared on the wonderful Art Decade, would have fitted perfectly into my listening schedule. So perfectly that I feel I owe them an apology: where was I when they needed me?
Junior Senior, "Move Your Feet". The moral of that story being, I can now happily jump around the house to songs like this. I think that makes me a better, more well-rounded person. Or a sad, pathetic sell-out.
Sergio Mendes and Brasil 66, "Scarborough Fair". And yet, even through those dark and twisted days, the magic of op-shop records was always there. This version of a song I have long deemed unlistenable is gorgeous, up there with their version of "My Favourite Things", which Adrienne says outdoes even Coltrane, and in my weaker moments I can almost agree.
Cibo Matto, "Sugar Water (Acoustic)". To paraphrase the very wise Roy Slaven and H G Nelson, too many versions of this song are barely enough.
Milton Nascimento and Lo Borges, "Tudo Que Voce Podia Ser". It must be time for a Brazilian. Or two.
Gimmicks, "California My Way". Perfect for the approaching antipodean summer, which looks like being long and hot.
Reigning Sound, "When You Touch Me". Loud fast rules.
The Come Ons, "Keep The Change". I love (a) the organ and (b) the album title ("Hip Check") and (c) the album cover. Oh, and the guitar. Plus the fact that they have put out a seven-inch single entitled "Play Selections From The Françoise Hardy Songbook".
The Professionals, "Theme From The Godfather". This may be the greatest four minutes of music I have ever heard. And (obviously) I am not even exaggerating.
Belbury Poly, "Tangled Beams". So this is Hauntology? It reminds me of Broadcast, actually. They probably frequent the same library.
Hanne Hukkelberg, "Do Not As I Do". It wouldn't be a hypothetical mixtape without some warm and friendly Scandinavian pop.
Rheingold, "DreiKlangsDimensionen". Not exactly krautrock, but not exactly not krautrock, I am guessing this is of the genre known as NDV. It must be from the end of the seventies. But I don't know and I don't really care. It's stunning.
Seelenluft, "Horse With No Name". Ooh look, another song that by rights should have gone to the knackers' yard long ago. But here it is, stripped of its America(n)ness, and I could happily listen to it all day. The guy who wrote this song was on Spicks and Specks not so long ago. He seemed like a nice chap.
The Memory Band, "This Is How We Walk On The Moon". It's an Arthur Russell song. Do I need to say anything more? I suppose, if you needed a reference point, you might think Four Tet plus a violin. If you had to.
Amorphous Androgynous, "Go Tell It To The Trees Egghead". This is what "Astral Weeks" might have sounded like if it didn't have Van Morrison wailing away over the top of it and generally getting in the way. (Obviously, I don't mean that at all.) Curiously, Amorphous Androgynous is actually Future Sound Of London, whom I have long felt I should get to know a bit better.
Mouse On Mars, "Schnick-schnack". And a little voice said, "That sounds like her from Stereolab". And so it came to pass, presumably done as a payback for the work MOM did with Stereolab on "Dots and Loops", still I think my favourite Stereolab record, even in the face of fierce competition from almost any other Stereolab record.
Beck, "Cellphone's Dead (Villalobos Entlebuch Remix)". Ricardo Villalobos does this interesting trick with time. Take this song. At around the five minute mark you start to think, Okay, I'm about done with this. And then, before you know it, 12 minutes have passed, and you find that you have gone to another place and back again. Without even noticing. And it happens every time. I don't know how he does it.
Song of the day
"Yea! Heavy and a Bottle of Bread", by Bob Dylan, with The Band, from "The Basement Tapes". I have no idea why. It is completely silly, disarmingly so (hence its charm?), but the music offers the best kind of understated but definitely forward momentum.
Monday, October 08, 2007
Song of the day
"Drowning In You", by Pluramon. This is brand new Pluramon, allegedly from a forthcoming LP. I find it difficult to "read" individual Pluramon songs absent any kind of context; a bit like looking at a panoramic view through a keyhole. But this one sounds pretty nice, and bodes well for the new record.
Anyway, new Pluramon songs don't come around all that often, so a week that starts with one must surely be going to be a good week.
Anyway, new Pluramon songs don't come around all that often, so a week that starts with one must surely be going to be a good week.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Song of the day
"Walk On", by Neil Young. I am heavily into a big Neil Young phase at the moment (it was bound to happen sooner or later). I am being guided primarily by Woebot's recommendations. I last followed Neil Young back in 1979, when I was 15, with "Rust Never Sleeps". Now I am going backwards, not forwards. You never know what you are going to find. "Walk On", the opening song from "On The Beach" (1974), brings to mind nothing so much as De La Soul; it carries a particular lilt that they would have been proud of. Other parts of "On The Beach" bring to mind (for a brief fragment) Marine Girls and (first minute of "Ambulance Blues") Robert Forster. Neil Young predicts the future. It is perhaps no wonder the album didn't find its place in the world until 29 years after it was first released.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Things I learned today
That Sputnik was no bigger than a basketball. I had never really thought about this before. I don't know how big I would have thought it would have been, but I would have thought it would have been, you know, big.
That before they put those guys on the moon no human being had ever seen Earth from space. Again, I had never really thought about it. But it is pretty amazing, isn't it? I wonder what we thought it would look like. And how it made people feel to actually see where we sit in the bigger picture. It might have stopped people from starting wars, for instance. Except it didn't. Now we have Google Earth allowing us to sit at our desks spinning that little ball all day, like the gods we are. Or something.
That before they put those guys on the moon no human being had ever seen Earth from space. Again, I had never really thought about it. But it is pretty amazing, isn't it? I wonder what we thought it would look like. And how it made people feel to actually see where we sit in the bigger picture. It might have stopped people from starting wars, for instance. Except it didn't. Now we have Google Earth allowing us to sit at our desks spinning that little ball all day, like the gods we are. Or something.
Song of the day
"Impossible (Possible remake by Studio)", by the Shout Out Louds. About the Shout Out Louds I know less than nothing. But this song will stay on repeat until the end of time. Its blend of Cure and New Order early-80s old (not New) romanticism sends my mind drifting back to a time when everything was good, and the world was indeed a World of Possibility. I haven't heard the original song, if indeed there is one, but to me this sounds more Studio than Shout Out Louds. Apologies to the latter if I am wrong in this.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
If not I'll just die
I created a YSI link for The Reels' take on "This Guy's In Love (With You)", from the K-Tel "Beautiful" album, for the comments box of Marcello's new venture. If anyone else is interested in hearing this fine Australian cover version, all you have to do is go here. Don't thank me, thank Dave Mason. And buy "Reelsville", his new album wherein he "covers" his own songs (including "covers" of his own previous covers of other people's songs: hey, kids, post-modernism).
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Song of the day
"A Sad Lament", by Orange Juice. "Texas Fever", although it contains only six songs, has always been my Orange Juice of choice. I thought it came closest to Edwyn Collins' presumed vision of a merger of Motown with the Velvet Underground, and with a minimum of (a) outside interference and (b) delusions of stardom. Pure speculation on my part admittedly. If the final 75 seconds of "A Sad Lament" have a fault, it is simply that they are only 75 seconds, and not the five minutes or so that are clearly warranted. Well, that's what the rewind button is for, I guess. (The what?)
Sunday, September 30, 2007
GDMFiTunes
Okay, so Wes Anderson's short film "Hotel Chevalier" is available for download, free, from iTunes. Except, as punishment for living in Australia, my iTunes account won't let me download it, because I have no US dollar credit card. Even though it's free. And it's not available in the Australian iTunes store. What's with all that?
Somebody. Gotta. Help. Me. Please. I'm desperate.
Somebody. Gotta. Help. Me. Please. I'm desperate.
Friday, September 28, 2007
One day in September
This year I will be watching the AFL Grand Final on television at home, with my family, as nature intended. That way I can take part in the traditional Half Time Mowing Of The Lawns ceremony.
(And we will be barracking for Geelong.)
(And we will be barracking for Geelong.)
Song of the day
"The Song Remains The Same", by Led Zeppelin. When this comes on, and at first you don't know what it is, and your brain is attempting to put all the pieces in place, you will be convinced, for the first ten seconds or so, that what you are listening to is The Clean, or to be precise David Kilgour. Does this mean that Kilgour is a closet Rock God, or just that he and Jimmy Page use the same guitar?
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Song of the day
"Bone", by Map of Africa. There appears to be rather a lot of Internet hate for the Map of Africa album. I can't see why that should be the case. Maybe it was made by the wrong people. Maybe the right people made the wrong record. Maybe the methodology was suspect. For myself, and possibly this is an age thing, I have no problem with somebody creating a seventies vibe using 21C technology, especially when (based on the three tracks I have heard) it's done this well.
Stickin' it to the man
This blog would like to express its support for the poor, oppressed monks and everyday people in Burma as they do the collective equivalent of throwing open the window and screaming "We're not going to take it any more".
We might then make a few comments about the usual fate of such "uprisings", and how and why they occur, but as usual George Packer says it all much better than we ever could.
We might then make a few comments about the usual fate of such "uprisings", and how and why they occur, but as usual George Packer says it all much better than we ever could.
"Imagine that"
The scene: listening, at a good volume, to "Heavy Denim" by Stereolab.
Dad: This song sounds to me like riding down a hill very fast on a bicycle with no brakes and hoping you aren't going to crash into anything.
Seven-year-old: It sounds like a rock song.
Dad: This song sounds to me like riding down a hill very fast on a bicycle with no brakes and hoping you aren't going to crash into anything.
Seven-year-old: It sounds like a rock song.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Song of the day (mine, not his)
"Lady Bug (Larry Levan Mix)" by Bumblebee Unlimited. What this is, is, a novelty record pure and simple, and yet one that transcends its novelty status by reason of its containing absolutely everything you could hope to find in a ten-minute disco "epic". Respect.
Song of the day (his, not mine)
Marcello Carlin's new (perhaps temporary, but let's hope not) venture is definitely worthy of your time. Oh, and look, he's linked to me. I'm blushing. Again.
I wonder if his picks are genuine inspirations "as of today" (as it says on the tin) or whether he is making a list (and checking it twice). Not that it matters.
I wonder if his picks are genuine inspirations "as of today" (as it says on the tin) or whether he is making a list (and checking it twice). Not that it matters.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Gimme Indie Rock
SFJ recently wrote some kind words about Elvis Costello's "Trust". At least I think they were kind words; with SFJ it's not always easy to tell. The funny thing is, around the same time I found myself listening to it as well, something I haven't done for a number of years (it's easy, but wrong, to allow the bad memory of later Elvis's frequently misguided projects to obscure the fact that with "Get Happy!!", "Trust", "Almost Blue" and "Imperial Bedroom" he was responsible for possibly the strongest four-album run we've ever seen; and the three albums he put out before those were no slouches either).
Coincidence? Or something else? What drew me back to "Trust" was a solid stint of listening to "Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga" [do you know how hard that is to type?], the new album by Spoon, which clearly, although exactly why I'm not sure, puts me in mind of Elvis's golden era. SFJ in his New Yorker column recently wrote about that album. Was he hearing what I was hearing? I guess we will never know.
But what I do know is that even though it's still September (and yes I know there's a new Manu Chao [put away for Adrienne's birthday] and shortly a new Jens Lekman) I am prepared to say that I do not expect to hear a better album this year than "Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga". And I also know that a year that produces "Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga", and Wilco's "Sky Blue Sky", cannot be a Bad Year For Music.
Coincidence? Or something else? What drew me back to "Trust" was a solid stint of listening to "Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga" [do you know how hard that is to type?], the new album by Spoon, which clearly, although exactly why I'm not sure, puts me in mind of Elvis's golden era. SFJ in his New Yorker column recently wrote about that album. Was he hearing what I was hearing? I guess we will never know.
But what I do know is that even though it's still September (and yes I know there's a new Manu Chao [put away for Adrienne's birthday] and shortly a new Jens Lekman) I am prepared to say that I do not expect to hear a better album this year than "Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga". And I also know that a year that produces "Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga", and Wilco's "Sky Blue Sky", cannot be a Bad Year For Music.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Oh crap, part the third
Am I too pessimistic? Well, when it comes to climate change, I don't think one can ever be too pessimistic. Nevertheless, this article (which should be read with, and preferably after, the two I previously blogged) suggests that there may be some light at the end of the tunnel, if only we can persuade the leaders of the governments of the high-pollutin' countries of the world to enter that tunnel. Or, more accurately, to acknowledge that we are all already in the tunnel whether they or their constituents like it or not.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Oh crap part 2
And then you read this, which basically confirms a lot of my longstanding worries as to the difference little people like us can make (such as not putting in air conditioning, making us possibly the last house in our street without it). (Short answer: no difference at all. Which is not to say we shouldn't keep doing those little things we can do.)
Act locally = good.
Think globally = depressing.
It seems to me that all we can do now is put our faith in scientists and entrepreneurs to come up with a sudden, dramatic solution comparable to putting a man on the moon. Oh. We did that.
[p.s. I don't really like Tom Friedman's tone, for some reason that I can't put a finger on, but I have always known more after reading his column than I knew before, and it is kind of the New York Times to once again make his stuff available to concerned cheapskates like me.]
Act locally = good.
Think globally = depressing.
It seems to me that all we can do now is put our faith in scientists and entrepreneurs to come up with a sudden, dramatic solution comparable to putting a man on the moon. Oh. We did that.
[p.s. I don't really like Tom Friedman's tone, for some reason that I can't put a finger on, but I have always known more after reading his column than I knew before, and it is kind of the New York Times to once again make his stuff available to concerned cheapskates like me.]
Oh crap
Read this and weep.
I have been in a state of moral and existential panic over global warming for two and a bit years now, and I'm not looking like coming to terms with it any time soon. But articles like this are (a) not helping and (b) probably not far from the mark. Remember the story about the frog sitting in the pan of water on the stove?
I have been in a state of moral and existential panic over global warming for two and a bit years now, and I'm not looking like coming to terms with it any time soon. But articles like this are (a) not helping and (b) probably not far from the mark. Remember the story about the frog sitting in the pan of water on the stove?
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
"Let's go shopping!"
For better or worse, I have decided to give eMusic a go. Fifty downloads a month for not too much money. It's a lot cheaper than iTunes, that's for sure. The quality is no worse, and there are no copy restrictions. It doesn't cover much in the way of major labels or classical, but a lot of what I'm interested in hearing is there, and if I want a classical recording I'm not going below audio CDs anyway.
So my first purchase (after using up the 25 initial free downloads on, finally, David Kilgour's "The Far Now" and a few other bits and pieces) has been made: "West Coast" by Studio. Swedish laid-back post-post-punk/balearic/yacht-rock music loosely comparable, I suppose, to Lindstrom and Prins Thomas although with less of the disco/Moroder. I think. Anyway I was playing it this morning at home for the first time and, on hearing a fragment of track 4, "Origin", Carl instantly said "I like this song, can I have a copy of it?"
I don't understand how Carl's mind works at the best of times, but in terms of music it seems that he catches a fragment of something, once, and it sticks. For example, he took a liking to "Hell Yes" by Beck, from "The Information", which is not what I would have described as the most kiddie-friendly song on the album. We have listened to it constantly now for a number of weeks with no sign of letting up. (I must admit it has also grown on me in the process.) I wonder what he is hearing. As Christopher Robin says, You Never Can Tell.
(Meanwhile, he and his little brother, and a couple of compatriots, have put together a Boy Band for today's school talent quest. They have stumped up the dollar fifty entry fee, and have even written a song. Of sorts. I hope they do well, but we have been trying our best to get them to keep a lid on it. Presumably the word "talent" appears in the phrase "talent quest" for a reason.)
So my first purchase (after using up the 25 initial free downloads on, finally, David Kilgour's "The Far Now" and a few other bits and pieces) has been made: "West Coast" by Studio. Swedish laid-back post-post-punk/balearic/yacht-rock music loosely comparable, I suppose, to Lindstrom and Prins Thomas although with less of the disco/Moroder. I think. Anyway I was playing it this morning at home for the first time and, on hearing a fragment of track 4, "Origin", Carl instantly said "I like this song, can I have a copy of it?"
I don't understand how Carl's mind works at the best of times, but in terms of music it seems that he catches a fragment of something, once, and it sticks. For example, he took a liking to "Hell Yes" by Beck, from "The Information", which is not what I would have described as the most kiddie-friendly song on the album. We have listened to it constantly now for a number of weeks with no sign of letting up. (I must admit it has also grown on me in the process.) I wonder what he is hearing. As Christopher Robin says, You Never Can Tell.
(Meanwhile, he and his little brother, and a couple of compatriots, have put together a Boy Band for today's school talent quest. They have stumped up the dollar fifty entry fee, and have even written a song. Of sorts. I hope they do well, but we have been trying our best to get them to keep a lid on it. Presumably the word "talent" appears in the phrase "talent quest" for a reason.)
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Song of the day
"Disney's Dream Debased", by The Fall. I have always underrated "The Wonderful and Frightening World of The Fall". I know I have been wrong to do so, and each time I listen to it I am forced to bludgeon myself for my stupidity. "Disney's Dream Debased" is the closest The Fall have ever come to attracting the word "gorgeous", but gorgeous is what it is, proving that what Brix brought to Brix-era Fall was not all bad. (Although I will always hold the view, again likely misguided, that The Fall immediately pre-Brix were the greatest rock band in the history of the world, and that her arrival took them in a different direction such that we will never know how great they could have been. But then, The Fall have always been, and continue to be, heading in a different direction.)
[Editors' note: for further proof of the heft of The Fall circa 1982, head over to Kiwi Tapes and download the live "Fall In a Hole" double-CD.]
[Editors' note: for further proof of the heft of The Fall circa 1982, head over to Kiwi Tapes and download the live "Fall In a Hole" double-CD.]
Monday, September 17, 2007
Space Is The Place
We give our thanks to the Dream Chimney kids for putting us on to this link, which will send you to possibly the greatest record ever made, "Moog!", by Claude Denjean, recorded for the masterful Phase 4 Stereo series in about 1970. (The whole site is well worth exploring, actually, although it is so full of widgets and gewgaws that it tends to crash my long-suffering laptop.) We have heard bits of this album before, but never the full experience. It is well worth grabbing and savouring. (And at the site you will find the niftiest download facilitation methodology known to man: so simple even I could use it.) Hear why Tim Gane owns three mini-moogs. (Bart, you need this.)
Sunday, September 16, 2007
And my eyes fell out of their sockets
New work by Daniel Gillespie Clowes comes around about as often as Halley's Comet, so you would be a dang fool if it took you more than a few seconds to click away from here to here and thusly to his new weekly strip. And you don't even have to pay for it.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Come on baby, light my fire
Just what the world needs at this moment in history: a failed state with nuclear weapons.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
A curious thing
In case you were wondering what I look like, the person on the left is me. Except, it's not me. It's Seth, who happens to be one of my favourite comic book artists. But it's my hat; it's one of my overcoats; it's my (says Adrienne) "sensibility". (It's not my satchel, but I wish it was.) The glasses and haircut are very much mine, too.
By an even stranger coincidence, the chap in the middle is Peter from The Beguiling, from whom I buy all my comics. (The guy on the right I know nothing about.)
[Photograph found on the Drawn and Quarterly website.]
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
When I See The Towers Fall
It still seems like yesterday; the images are still burned in; but it was almost six years ago that the planes hit the towers. It made no sense as it was happening. It still makes no sense really. Conspiracy theorists could insist that it never happened at all, and, from this distance, it is almost a case that could be made. Because how could it have possibly happened? But then you read Don DeLillo's "Falling Man", and you are right there in the centre of it, and in the aftermath of it, and in the ensuing years of increasing distance and increasing displacement. And it can only have been real.
Plenty of novels came out of the second world war. At least two draw on the Kennedy assassination (one by DeLillo himself). There have not yet been many Nine Eleven books. But there will surely be more. Many more. It's interesting that they are taking a while to come. William Gibson's new novel, unsurprisingly [not a criticism], mines the territory. Martin Amis had an early go, was hammered for it, and seemingly got cold feet (come back and have another go, Martin; I still have confidence in you). But I find it hard to imagine anybody besting DeLillo. It is so clearly his territory: heck, he even, arguably, predicted it, having already written one novel dealing with the psychic ramifications of an "airborne toxic event".
"Falling Man", then, if you ask me, is a novel that is almost beyond criticism. In its perfection it is, um, perfect.
And the perfect musical accompaniment must be Ricardo Villalobos's remix of Shackleton's "Blood On My Hands", with its incessant sense of dread, spread over 18 minutes, comprising little more than an understated (but not necessarily "simple") rhythm track, and some screwed-down vocals that convey a very disturbing sense of lurking dread. It is, if you (don't) like, the audio equivalent of those images: you cannot listen, but you cannot not listen.
Plenty of novels came out of the second world war. At least two draw on the Kennedy assassination (one by DeLillo himself). There have not yet been many Nine Eleven books. But there will surely be more. Many more. It's interesting that they are taking a while to come. William Gibson's new novel, unsurprisingly [not a criticism], mines the territory. Martin Amis had an early go, was hammered for it, and seemingly got cold feet (come back and have another go, Martin; I still have confidence in you). But I find it hard to imagine anybody besting DeLillo. It is so clearly his territory: heck, he even, arguably, predicted it, having already written one novel dealing with the psychic ramifications of an "airborne toxic event".
"Falling Man", then, if you ask me, is a novel that is almost beyond criticism. In its perfection it is, um, perfect.
And the perfect musical accompaniment must be Ricardo Villalobos's remix of Shackleton's "Blood On My Hands", with its incessant sense of dread, spread over 18 minutes, comprising little more than an understated (but not necessarily "simple") rhythm track, and some screwed-down vocals that convey a very disturbing sense of lurking dread. It is, if you (don't) like, the audio equivalent of those images: you cannot listen, but you cannot not listen.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
The King is dead ... Long live the King
So, Mark Vidler, undisputed master of the mash-up, has decided to call it a day. I suppose now is as good a time as any; the genre has fallen into a kind of gimmicky disrepair of late - often the best thing about a mash-up is its name (e.g. "Hey African Ladies"). Perhaps all the good ideas have been had.
Anyway, for now, he has made available a CD-length best-of for download, and you could do far worse than head over to the Go Home Productions headquarters and pull it down. If you haven't yet heard "Ray of Gob" for the first time, I envy you.
Anyway, for now, he has made available a CD-length best-of for download, and you could do far worse than head over to the Go Home Productions headquarters and pull it down. If you haven't yet heard "Ray of Gob" for the first time, I envy you.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
For The Record
I have, in fact, continued putting together hypothetical mixtapes, but somehow got bogged down with them to the extent that I couldn't bear listening to them again in order to write about them in any meaningful (or otherwise) way.
And so I list them, without comment, for anyone who's interested. As usual, all material could have been downloaded from the usual places.
January 2007 mixtape:
The Peanut, "Roman Rain"
DSK, "Winter Lane"
Barbara Morgenstern, "The Operator (Piano Version)"
El Perro Del Mar, "I Can't Talk About It"
Marit Larsen, "The Sinking Game"
Charlotte Hatherley, "Behave"
The Yardbirds, "Happenings 10 Years Time Ago"
The Everly Brothers, "Lord of the Manor"
The Hudson Brothers, "With Somebody Else"
Robert Wyatt, "I'm A Believer"
Galt MacDermot, "Ripped Open by Metal Explosions"
Felix, "Tiger Stripes"
Prinzhorn Dance School, "You Are the Space Invader"
Escort, "Starlight (vocal)"
Sinoia Caves, "Naro Way"
Electrique, "La Presse People"
Professor Genius, "A Jean Giraud 4"
Sachiko Kenonobu, "Look Up, The Sky Is Beautiful"
Skyhooks, "Love's Not Good Enough"
March 2007 mixtape:
Love, "Seven & Seven Is"
The Seeds, "Nobody Spoil My Fun"
Minimum Chips, "Know You Too Well"
Other People's Children, "On A Clear Day"
Drop Nineteens, "Kick The Tragedy"
The Houston Outlaws, "Soul Power"
Airliner, "Nostalgia"
McNeal & Niles, "Quiet Isle"
Queen v Sly & The Family Stone, "We Will Rock You"
Brian Eno and Robert Wyatt, "Flies (The Plague of Flies)"
Perrey & Kingsley, "Toy Balloons"
Future World Orchestra, "Just A Matter of Time"
Reverso 68, "Tokyo Disco (Part One)"
Mark-Almond, "City"
Jacques Dutronc, "Hippie, Hippie, Hourrah"
The Guess Who, "Undun"
Stereo Total, "Get Down Tonight" [a must: KC & The Sunshine Band rendered in the style of the Velvet Underground]
Graham Bond Organisation, "Wade In The Water"
May 2007 mixtape:
Backini, "Company B-Boy"
The Primitives, "Crash"
Silicon Teens, "Memphis, Tennessee"
James Brown, "Call Me Superbad (Cornelius Rework)"
Eddie Maelov and Sunshine Patterson, "Lines"
Sen Kumpa, "Niawal"
Miami Horror, "Don't Be On With Her"
Dave Pike Set, "Mathar"
The Professionals, "Theme from The Godfather"
Annabee-Nox, "Always On My Mind"
The Runaways, "Cherry Bomb"
Quarks, "Wiederkomm"
The Alessi Brothers, "Seabird"
Robert Palmer, "Johnny and Mary"
Glass Candy, "Miss Broadway"
Ada, "Maps (Mayer & Thomas Remix)"
Copeland Davis, "Morning Spring"
and, to bring us right up to date:
July 2007 mixtape:
Vallerenga Blues and Disko Combo, "Ballerina"
Datashat, "Stop The Message"
Hilary Duff, "Danger"
Glass Candy, "The Chameleon (Acapella)"
Shanghai Au Go Go, "I Cried All Winter"
The Seeds, "Can't Seem To Make You Mine"
Junior Senior, "Move Your Feet"
Junior Parker, "Taxman"
J-Walk, "French Letter"
Scott Walker, "Maria Bethania"
Manu Chao, "Rainin' In Paradize"
Zalatnay Sarolta, "Egyszer ..."
Lez Dantz & His Orchestra, "Louie Louie"
The Honeymoon Killers, "Histoire A Suivre"
A Mountain of One, "Innocent Reprise"
Liechtenstein, "Stalking Skills"
The Come Ons, "Hip Check!"
Ricardo Villalobos, "Baila Sin Petit"
And so I list them, without comment, for anyone who's interested. As usual, all material could have been downloaded from the usual places.
January 2007 mixtape:
The Peanut, "Roman Rain"
DSK, "Winter Lane"
Barbara Morgenstern, "The Operator (Piano Version)"
El Perro Del Mar, "I Can't Talk About It"
Marit Larsen, "The Sinking Game"
Charlotte Hatherley, "Behave"
The Yardbirds, "Happenings 10 Years Time Ago"
The Everly Brothers, "Lord of the Manor"
The Hudson Brothers, "With Somebody Else"
Robert Wyatt, "I'm A Believer"
Galt MacDermot, "Ripped Open by Metal Explosions"
Felix, "Tiger Stripes"
Prinzhorn Dance School, "You Are the Space Invader"
Escort, "Starlight (vocal)"
Sinoia Caves, "Naro Way"
Electrique, "La Presse People"
Professor Genius, "A Jean Giraud 4"
Sachiko Kenonobu, "Look Up, The Sky Is Beautiful"
Skyhooks, "Love's Not Good Enough"
March 2007 mixtape:
Love, "Seven & Seven Is"
The Seeds, "Nobody Spoil My Fun"
Minimum Chips, "Know You Too Well"
Other People's Children, "On A Clear Day"
Drop Nineteens, "Kick The Tragedy"
The Houston Outlaws, "Soul Power"
Airliner, "Nostalgia"
McNeal & Niles, "Quiet Isle"
Queen v Sly & The Family Stone, "We Will Rock You"
Brian Eno and Robert Wyatt, "Flies (The Plague of Flies)"
Perrey & Kingsley, "Toy Balloons"
Future World Orchestra, "Just A Matter of Time"
Reverso 68, "Tokyo Disco (Part One)"
Mark-Almond, "City"
Jacques Dutronc, "Hippie, Hippie, Hourrah"
The Guess Who, "Undun"
Stereo Total, "Get Down Tonight" [a must: KC & The Sunshine Band rendered in the style of the Velvet Underground]
Graham Bond Organisation, "Wade In The Water"
May 2007 mixtape:
Backini, "Company B-Boy"
The Primitives, "Crash"
Silicon Teens, "Memphis, Tennessee"
James Brown, "Call Me Superbad (Cornelius Rework)"
Eddie Maelov and Sunshine Patterson, "Lines"
Sen Kumpa, "Niawal"
Miami Horror, "Don't Be On With Her"
Dave Pike Set, "Mathar"
The Professionals, "Theme from The Godfather"
Annabee-Nox, "Always On My Mind"
The Runaways, "Cherry Bomb"
Quarks, "Wiederkomm"
The Alessi Brothers, "Seabird"
Robert Palmer, "Johnny and Mary"
Glass Candy, "Miss Broadway"
Ada, "Maps (Mayer & Thomas Remix)"
Copeland Davis, "Morning Spring"
and, to bring us right up to date:
July 2007 mixtape:
Vallerenga Blues and Disko Combo, "Ballerina"
Datashat, "Stop The Message"
Hilary Duff, "Danger"
Glass Candy, "The Chameleon (Acapella)"
Shanghai Au Go Go, "I Cried All Winter"
The Seeds, "Can't Seem To Make You Mine"
Junior Senior, "Move Your Feet"
Junior Parker, "Taxman"
J-Walk, "French Letter"
Scott Walker, "Maria Bethania"
Manu Chao, "Rainin' In Paradize"
Zalatnay Sarolta, "Egyszer ..."
Lez Dantz & His Orchestra, "Louie Louie"
The Honeymoon Killers, "Histoire A Suivre"
A Mountain of One, "Innocent Reprise"
Liechtenstein, "Stalking Skills"
The Come Ons, "Hip Check!"
Ricardo Villalobos, "Baila Sin Petit"
Song of the day
Beck, "Soldier Jane". Wouldn't it be nice to be Beck? To be able to take your shopping trolley along the endless aisles of the music supermarket, pulling off the shelves a bit of this, a bit of that, and, when you get home, throwing them into a big pot, adding some dada poetry, and hey presto, it's another album of Beck songs. An ingredient I didn't expect to see him using, however, was Simple Minds' "New Gold Dream '81-'84". But that's exactly what he employs on "Soldier Jane" from his most recent album, "The Information", in the process creating a song that, unusually for Beck, has a bit of emotional heft. Only a bit, admittedly, but at least that's a start.
Monday, August 27, 2007
This goes with this goes with this
Of the many descriptors I have used for Stereolab over the years, I don't recall Giorgio Moroder coming into the frame. But there I was, casually listening to Sparks' "No 1 In Heaven" album, when "My Other Voice" started up. Clearly, there was the rhythm track from "Contronatura", the last song on "Dots And Loops", and one of three on that album produced with Mouse On Mars, with all of its walking-on-a-bed-of-snails crunchiness, waiting to get out.
And then I was compelled to listen to "Familj" from the new Dungen album "Tio Bitar" (which is not the instant classic that "Ta Det Lugnt" was, but is rewarding further, and deeper, listening), and there it was again. I swear.
And then I was compelled to listen to "Familj" from the new Dungen album "Tio Bitar" (which is not the instant classic that "Ta Det Lugnt" was, but is rewarding further, and deeper, listening), and there it was again. I swear.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Giorgio Who?
No, it's not Armani. No, it's not Moroder (although he will be mentioned here anon, if I can only find the time to do a little listening/research). Yes, it's de Chirico.
I used my lunch break to wander across to the NGA to take a gander at its new baby. Very nice it is, too. There may not be any trains, children rolling hoops, or shadowed piazzas, but there is quite a lot going on in such a small square of canvas. The colours are intense, especially the central orange and that big blob of green in the top right. And in spite of the lack of obvious visual signposts, it is still very much a de Chirico.
Disappointingly, but perhaps unsurprisingly, I had the painting to myself for as long as I wanted to look at it. Send in the crowds.
I used my lunch break to wander across to the NGA to take a gander at its new baby. Very nice it is, too. There may not be any trains, children rolling hoops, or shadowed piazzas, but there is quite a lot going on in such a small square of canvas. The colours are intense, especially the central orange and that big blob of green in the top right. And in spite of the lack of obvious visual signposts, it is still very much a de Chirico.
Disappointingly, but perhaps unsurprisingly, I had the painting to myself for as long as I wanted to look at it. Send in the crowds.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Against Nature
There is a God. I thought I had called His bluff. Then when I wasn't looking He turned around and bit me on the bum.
Meanwhile, what is the song of the day? It is either "Boobs A Lot", by The Fugs, or "Rockin' Back Inside My Heart", by Julee Cruise, depending on when exactly you catch me.
Meanwhile, what is the song of the day? It is either "Boobs A Lot", by The Fugs, or "Rockin' Back Inside My Heart", by Julee Cruise, depending on when exactly you catch me.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Song of the (Sun)day
"Si Mi Caballero", by Françoise Hardy. The perfect song for a day when, to paraphrase the oracles (Roy and HG), too much melancholy is barely enough.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Dead Souls
This just in.
People seem to have either loved or hated Tony Wilson. Or both. But try to imagine a world in which he had never existed.
People seem to have either loved or hated Tony Wilson. Or both. But try to imagine a world in which he had never existed.
Surprise song of the day
"Cardboard" by The Cannanes. Unheard for probably 15 years, this popped into my head in the shower this morning, a song from the best years of my life, when the McCartin Street / Simon's Lane axis was in full effect, the seven-inch single was king, and songs like this could be heard on South Gippsland community radio (even if that was only because we played them). The Cannanes summed it up best: "1988 - Celebrate Everything Else."
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Song of the day
"Girl", by Beck. "Guero" is an album which has been unfairly slept on around here (c.f. "The Information", which has only just now been acquired, second-hand, with a bonus DVD of unknown content, but with NO STICKERS - well, except the one on the CD case that says it comes with stickers: how's that for a paradox, it's messin' with me 'ead). However, given how easily its standout tracks have slipped back into my head, it must have gained some traction at the time, which is funny, because I can't actually remember the physical act of playing the damn thing (perhaps it was on an extended rotation in the car).
"Girl" is a fantastic song; Beck in full-on summer pop mode. What ices it is the way he sings the "Heeeey" in the chorus as if he were Hank Kingsley in "The Larry Sanders Show", the most lovably pathetic sidekick in the history of television comedy. (Somebody please go to Jeffrey Tambor's Wikipedia entry and get his psychopathic star turn in "Muppets From Space" on there.)
"Girl" is a fantastic song; Beck in full-on summer pop mode. What ices it is the way he sings the "Heeeey" in the chorus as if he were Hank Kingsley in "The Larry Sanders Show", the most lovably pathetic sidekick in the history of television comedy. (Somebody please go to Jeffrey Tambor's Wikipedia entry and get his psychopathic star turn in "Muppets From Space" on there.)
Say it ain't so
Well, we knew it was coming, but that doesn't make it any easier when you see it in black and white:
Mr Hazlewood, he gone.
Still, if you're going to die, you might as well die in Vegas.
Mr Hazlewood, he gone.
Still, if you're going to die, you might as well die in Vegas.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Song of the day
"Vamp", by Trentemøller, from "The Last Resort". The cover of this album, by the way, is a thing of great beauty. 2007 must be the year of the bass guitar. What with the Shit Robot remix of Dondolo's "Dragon" (technically 2006), Prinzhorn Dance School, and now this fabulous track: there is nothing like some heartfelt thunking on the bass strings to get the hips moving.
July in August
I just read a couple of Miranda July pieces in the New Yorker, which I really enjoyed, and now I stumble upon a link (thanks SFJ) to the website for her new book. This, I think, is my second-favourite use of the Internet of all time, after Richard McGuire's beautiful Willing To Try (hint for that one: you have to allow pop-up screens)
But back to Miranda July: click on this link and keep clicking the right arrow (itself a beautiful object) at the bottom of the screen. And enjoy.
But back to Miranda July: click on this link and keep clicking the right arrow (itself a beautiful object) at the bottom of the screen. And enjoy.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
3.32pm update
Closely followed by Debra Dejean's [who?] version of "Time Of The Season", from 1981, which contains a lovely little echo of Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd, for them what are listening.
Song of the (bad) day
"Für Alle, Die" by Klee. In the middle of the most stressful work day of the past 8.5 years, this is the perfect antidote. The fact that I have no idea what she is singing matters not.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Song of the day
"Shut Up And Drive" by Rihanna, because of the way it takes "Blue Monday" to places New Order could never have imagined.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Nouvelle Vague / New Wave
Someone had an idea: get a band that has made a career of doing cover versions of songs from (loosely) the New Wave era and have them curate a two-disc selection of (loosely) New Wave-era bands doing covers of songs from earlier times.
The result can be viewed here.
As you can see, they have done a pretty good job of it. Nice to see the Silicon Teens given top billing: they are one group that seems to have completely fallen through the cracks of the space-time continuum, sadly. Also full marks for avoiding "Money" by the Flying Lizards: "Move On Up" will do nicely (although the Jam also covered that, perhaps a little bit too reverentially for it to have been included on this comp, but that would have allowed in turn for the inclusion of the FLizards' fine version of "Summertime Blues"). And Magazine's Barry Adamson-led assault on Sly Stone's "Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Again)" should have been squeezed in.
Whatever. As things stand, this collection still manages to include three of my all-time favourite songs, covers or no: Snakefinger winding his way around Kraftwerk's "The Model", Devo's extraordinary version of "Satisfaction (I Can't Get Me No)", which I think I have mentioned before around here, and (ditto) The Slits definitively spoiling Marvin's "I Heard It Through The Grapevine" for anyone who may later have had a notion to record it, in the same way that Hendrix appropriated Dylan's "All Along The Watchtower" in an earlier era, making the song all but untouchable from then on (heck, even Dylan himself took to playing the "Hendrix version" in concert).
(There's probably a thesis in there somewhere, along the lines of why is it that someone's own song always seems like fair game for other artists, whereas a cover version of someone else's song can become an unimpeachable standard. But I'm not going to write it.)
The result can be viewed here.
As you can see, they have done a pretty good job of it. Nice to see the Silicon Teens given top billing: they are one group that seems to have completely fallen through the cracks of the space-time continuum, sadly. Also full marks for avoiding "Money" by the Flying Lizards: "Move On Up" will do nicely (although the Jam also covered that, perhaps a little bit too reverentially for it to have been included on this comp, but that would have allowed in turn for the inclusion of the FLizards' fine version of "Summertime Blues"). And Magazine's Barry Adamson-led assault on Sly Stone's "Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Again)" should have been squeezed in.
Whatever. As things stand, this collection still manages to include three of my all-time favourite songs, covers or no: Snakefinger winding his way around Kraftwerk's "The Model", Devo's extraordinary version of "Satisfaction (I Can't Get Me No)", which I think I have mentioned before around here, and (ditto) The Slits definitively spoiling Marvin's "I Heard It Through The Grapevine" for anyone who may later have had a notion to record it, in the same way that Hendrix appropriated Dylan's "All Along The Watchtower" in an earlier era, making the song all but untouchable from then on (heck, even Dylan himself took to playing the "Hendrix version" in concert).
(There's probably a thesis in there somewhere, along the lines of why is it that someone's own song always seems like fair game for other artists, whereas a cover version of someone else's song can become an unimpeachable standard. But I'm not going to write it.)
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
George W Bush and the Deathly Hallows
Those of you with a morbid interest in following what must surely be the death throes of the American adventure in Iraq might spend the necessary few minutes reading Peter Galbraith's latest trawl through the tea leaves. He offers at least two jaw-dropping moments: one, at the start of the piece, which is of the blackest black humour (if it wasn't so damned tragic); another, further on, of pure horror. (Also a seemingly bad apostrophe, which can be a cause of distress to some of us; we have never before seen a bad apostrophe in the NYRB.
Not so sure about his proposed exit strategy, however: withdrawal to Kurdish territory, whilst it might provide some comfort to the poor old Kurds, who have been perhaps America's staunchest, or only, allies, and who otherwise would appear poised for instant annihilation, surrounded as they are by large numbers of people who hate them, can surely only bring with it the same problems as have beset the Americans ever since they set foot in Iraq, only with a reduced footprint. Although, to be fair, one gets the impression he is proposing this not so much as a "good" solution as one that is marginally less fucked than all the others he can think of. Which may be all anybody can hope for.
Not so sure about his proposed exit strategy, however: withdrawal to Kurdish territory, whilst it might provide some comfort to the poor old Kurds, who have been perhaps America's staunchest, or only, allies, and who otherwise would appear poised for instant annihilation, surrounded as they are by large numbers of people who hate them, can surely only bring with it the same problems as have beset the Americans ever since they set foot in Iraq, only with a reduced footprint. Although, to be fair, one gets the impression he is proposing this not so much as a "good" solution as one that is marginally less fucked than all the others he can think of. Which may be all anybody can hope for.
Song of the day
"Things You'll Keep" by the Apartments. Possibly the quintessential Australian song of melancholy hue. Sends me to the brink every time. With the ending of the Go-Betweens, it is timely indeed that Peter Milton Walsh has now brought the Apartments out of mothballs. More power to him; it would be nice to think that the Apartments could have a second coming, like that of the Go-Betweens, where recognition spread beyond the writers and readers of music magazines. All together now: "AS IF!"
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Song of the day
"Another Station" by Lindstrom. I have been so hung up on "I Feel Space" that I hadn't been able to make room for this, what I think is the follow-up although Lindstrom and his pal Prins Thomas are so prolific it's hard to tell. It has everything "I Feel Space" has, and doesn't deserve to be lost in its shadow. I particularly like the high-pitched, whining synth line that has been pulled straight from Pink Floyd's "Animals", an album which I loved to bits as a 13-year-old but which I can't quite bring myself to listen to now for fear of disappointment.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Song of the day
"Torch (Extended Version)" by Soft Cell. "Torch" was always my second-favourite Soft Cell song (although I have always had a soft spot for the grubby, sleazy synths of "Sex Dwarf"). And yet I now know, thanks (as so often) to Mr Carlin, that I have only been listening to a mere fragment of the actual song, like walking in in the middle of a one-act play and walking out a few minutes later and thinking you have seen the whole thing. This version should really have been called "Torch" and the 7-inch (and album) version "Torch (Severely Truncated Version)". But that may not have been a strong selling point.
And speaking of iTunes (...) the rapidly ascending Australian dollar has brought about a serious pricing anomaly. We Australians are paying $1.69 for something holders of an American credit card can buy for 99 US cents, which is presently the equivalent of around $1.13 Australian. Doesn't seem quite fair to me. The Economist might think about publishing an iTunes Index to complement its Big Mac Index.
And speaking of iTunes (...) the rapidly ascending Australian dollar has brought about a serious pricing anomaly. We Australians are paying $1.69 for something holders of an American credit card can buy for 99 US cents, which is presently the equivalent of around $1.13 Australian. Doesn't seem quite fair to me. The Economist might think about publishing an iTunes Index to complement its Big Mac Index.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Song of the day (2)
"You Can't Please Everybody" by The Aints. Ed Kuepper's riff-o-rama anti-Saints project from the days when he was putting out three or four records a year. The rhythmic structure of this song bears a faint resemblance to "Wild Thing".
Song of the day (1)
Iron & Wine, "Peace Beneath The City". We recently, uh, "found" a copy of what purports to be the new album by Iron & Wine which someone had carelessly left unattended. In the nature of reclusive and introspective boys with guitars, Sam Beam has now chosen to expand his sound palette considerably. Such a move always takes some getting used to. (Paging Bob Dylan.) We will need to listen more closely to this album, but for now we would just like to say that "Peace Beneath The City" is as good a song as we have heard this year; it looks as if Sam has been listening to Brightblack Morning Light, which is not a bad thing to have been listening to.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Song of the (yester)day
Amerie, "Gotta Work": because I've just had a week off and now, well, I've "Gotta Work". I only wish I could be as enthusiastic about it as Amerie obviously is about her own "work". (It would also be nice to have a pair of legs like hers, but as a 43-year-old man I don't imagine they would do me much good.)
Friday, July 06, 2007
Song of the day
"Stay Away From Robert Mitchum", by April March. First, because it's a great pop song. Secondly, because when heard from the next room it sounds like they are singing "Stay away from rubber chickens", which, to a longtime Melburnian, brings to mind one thing and one thing only: Rod Quantock.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
It ain't what you do it's the way that you do it
Because you love lists, here is a list. Three albums which, according to computer matching techniques, I should be totally digging but which, like, I just can't seem to "get".
Battles, "Atlas": billed as the new thing to beat all new things; main dude's father is the actual Anthony Braxton; they have the chops, they have the technology. But (a) The Shower Scene From Psycho were doing silly helium voices possibly before Battles were even born; and (b) didn't Talking Heads and Brian Eno write the book on blending organic sounds and rhythms with electrickery on the "More Songs About Buildings And Food"/"Fear Of Music"/"Remain In Light" trilogy?
Tracey Thorn, "Out Of The Woods": as much as I worship at the feet of the Marine Girls and "A Distant Shore", I always found Everything But The Girl a bit too safe, a bit too supermarket-friendly, for my liking (first album "Eden" honourably excepted: "Crabwalk" was just the breath of fresh air a moribund 1984 needed). Sadly I can't seem to get out of my head the awful feeling that "Out Of The Woods" is cut from the same cloth as EBTG rather than, as hoped for, a Kate Bush-style long-delayed follow-up to "A Distant Shore".
Air, "Pocket Symphony": has the look and feel of having been brought into existence because it was time for another Air record rather than because they had to make it; a real letdown after the life-changing/affirming "Talkie Walkie". Where is the heart and soul? Notable for the most grievous misuse of Jarvis Cocker known to man. And the world didn't need another Air record anyway: we're still absorbing the quite wonderful "5:55", an Air record in all but name.
In case you were thinking I never heard a record I didn't like.
Battles, "Atlas": billed as the new thing to beat all new things; main dude's father is the actual Anthony Braxton; they have the chops, they have the technology. But (a) The Shower Scene From Psycho were doing silly helium voices possibly before Battles were even born; and (b) didn't Talking Heads and Brian Eno write the book on blending organic sounds and rhythms with electrickery on the "More Songs About Buildings And Food"/"Fear Of Music"/"Remain In Light" trilogy?
Tracey Thorn, "Out Of The Woods": as much as I worship at the feet of the Marine Girls and "A Distant Shore", I always found Everything But The Girl a bit too safe, a bit too supermarket-friendly, for my liking (first album "Eden" honourably excepted: "Crabwalk" was just the breath of fresh air a moribund 1984 needed). Sadly I can't seem to get out of my head the awful feeling that "Out Of The Woods" is cut from the same cloth as EBTG rather than, as hoped for, a Kate Bush-style long-delayed follow-up to "A Distant Shore".
Air, "Pocket Symphony": has the look and feel of having been brought into existence because it was time for another Air record rather than because they had to make it; a real letdown after the life-changing/affirming "Talkie Walkie". Where is the heart and soul? Notable for the most grievous misuse of Jarvis Cocker known to man. And the world didn't need another Air record anyway: we're still absorbing the quite wonderful "5:55", an Air record in all but name.
In case you were thinking I never heard a record I didn't like.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Alan freed, man
The only problem with this great piece of news is that (a) it had to happen at all (ie, the kidnapping) and (b) it took so damn long (ie, the release).
Song of the day
"Cowgirl In The Sand" by Neil Young, from "Decade". Because some days you need a 10-minute guitar rave-up to get you kick-started.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Song of the day
"Star Witness", by Neko Case, from the album "Fox Confessor Brings The Flood". Which has been around for a while, but for unexplainable reasons achieved maximum impact as it shuffled to the top of the iPod pack, while I was travelling home on the bus, in the dark, with the lights of Canberra appearing and disappearing around me. Neko Case may not have the most mellifluous voice going, but it is perfectly suited to the kind of country slant she gives the songs on this album. It is the kind of voice that picks you up and pins you to the wall. In a good way.
(There is another song on the album called "Margaret vs Pauline" which reminds me of work, where Margaret and Pauline have adjoining offices, although I have never seen any evidence of the use of "vs".)
(There is another song on the album called "Margaret vs Pauline" which reminds me of work, where Margaret and Pauline have adjoining offices, although I have never seen any evidence of the use of "vs".)
Monday, July 02, 2007
Song of the day (slight return)
"My Uncle" by the Flying Burrito Brothers.
(On finding seven-year-old peering intently into laptop screen.)
"Were you listening to that song?"
"Yes."
"Did you like it?"
"It's funny."
"That's country music." (Dads always like to educate.)
"No, it's funny music."
"Okay, it's funny country music."
"Dad, it's funtry music."
And thus was a new genre born.
(On finding seven-year-old peering intently into laptop screen.)
"Were you listening to that song?"
"Yes."
"Did you like it?"
"It's funny."
"That's country music." (Dads always like to educate.)
"No, it's funny music."
"Okay, it's funny country music."
"Dad, it's funtry music."
And thus was a new genre born.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Lost on the freeway again
Sorry. I've been sick. And just when that "Song of the Day" thing was going so well. Well, I thought so. Mystery virus, unstoppable dry cough combined with fevers and drenching sweats. I save my antibiotic intake for events like this, so had no hesitation when Doctor Steve wrote the prescription. The cough is hanging on, but much less pervasive. Temperature normal, fitness levels critically low. Hanging in there.
Hell, I even had to miss an episode of "Life On Mars".
Normal transmission will resume. Some time.
Hell, I even had to miss an episode of "Life On Mars".
Normal transmission will resume. Some time.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Ridiculous photo caption of the week
From an article on the BBC website about the mayor of an American town banning a certain type of clothing:
"Low-slung trousers are fashionable among some young people"
Cool!
Whereas, what I really wanted to know was what exactly is going on in the Gaza Strip right about now, and, parenthetically, what it might mean for the fate of the kidnapped BBC journalist Alan Johnston.
"Low-slung trousers are fashionable among some young people"
Cool!
Whereas, what I really wanted to know was what exactly is going on in the Gaza Strip right about now, and, parenthetically, what it might mean for the fate of the kidnapped BBC journalist Alan Johnston.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Song of the day
"Smoking Her Wings" by The Bats. If "Pink Frost" wasn't so darned perfect in every way, this would be a strong candidate for Greatest Song Of All Time To Have Come Out Of Dunedin. Which, contrary to what you may think, is not an insignificant achievement.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Song of the day
"Rainin Paradize" by Manu Chao. It's hard to believe that it's six years since "Clandestino" knocked me sideways on first listen. It's impossible now to recreate the sheer "what the"-ness of that moment, but now we have a taster for the next album, which Mr Chao is very generously offering as a free download on his website. It's not itself going to set the world on fire but it is nice to have something new to chew over. Thanks go to SFJ for the tip.
Friday, June 08, 2007
Song of the day
"King Street" by John Kennedy, because it's kind of nice to be unexpectedly reduced to tears by a "mere" pop song.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Song of the day
Today's song is "Memories Can't Wait" by Talking Heads, from their 1979 album "Fear of Music". We give thanks to the great god of CD remastering for his tremendous work on the Talking Heads back catalogue. I still maintain that "Remain In Light" is their magnum opus, but the new, clear "Fear of Music" highlights just how innovative they were sound-wise. David Byrne has said that they tried to make each album sound distinctive, which is not always noticeable when listening to it by way of well-worn vinyl.
"Memories Can't Wait" works especially well on the new CD, as I no longer have to cringe at the unintended distortion when the stylus cannot cope with the extended frequencies adopted. The song reappears in its original pristine glory, a testament to the works of the great god of studio jiggery-pokery, Brian Eno. Probably very few Talking Heads fans would have had stereos in 1979 that could do justice to what he created. Now we know.
The only downside of the CD is that it doesn't come with the embossed faux-linoleum of the original record cover. But that's why you should keep your vinyl collection irrespective of how much you replace with digital media.
"Memories Can't Wait" works especially well on the new CD, as I no longer have to cringe at the unintended distortion when the stylus cannot cope with the extended frequencies adopted. The song reappears in its original pristine glory, a testament to the works of the great god of studio jiggery-pokery, Brian Eno. Probably very few Talking Heads fans would have had stereos in 1979 that could do justice to what he created. Now we know.
The only downside of the CD is that it doesn't come with the embossed faux-linoleum of the original record cover. But that's why you should keep your vinyl collection irrespective of how much you replace with digital media.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Bob Dylan predicts the future
In "Dylan On Dylan", there is a transcript of the televised 1965 San Francisco press conference, parts of which, if I have my facts straight, were included in Scorsese's "No Direction Home" documentary. Dylan's answers are variously unhelpful, cryptic, scornful, obtuse and contemptuous. In short, reading it is a hoot. One question and answer, however, necessitates a double-take on the part of the 2007 reader:
[It is probably safe to assume that the missing apostrophe in Dylan's answer is not the fault of Dylan himself, although as what we are reading is someone else's transcription of what he said, we will never know. It is hard to recognise a spoken apostrophe.]
Question: If you were going to sell out to a commercial interest, which one would you choose?And it came to pass that, in 2004, Bob Dylan appeared, for money, presumably, in an advertisement for Victoria's Secret, purveyor of, yes, "ladies' garments".
Dylan: Ladies garments.
[It is probably safe to assume that the missing apostrophe in Dylan's answer is not the fault of Dylan himself, although as what we are reading is someone else's transcription of what he said, we will never know. It is hard to recognise a spoken apostrophe.]
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Song of the day
"Impossible Germany" by Wilco. The new Wilco album, "Sky Blue Sky", has generated rather a lot of hate amongst the hipster blogniscenti. Luckily, I was able to decide that I liked it before reading any of that. And I am not about to change my mind. (But then, I am possibly not the person to ask, given that my favourite Jeff Tweedy projects are Wilco's "Summerteeth", the Woody Guthrie project "Mermaid Avenue", and the first Loose Fur record.) What were they expecting? Battles, perhaps? (More about Battles anon.) Anyway, the second half of "Impossible Germany", or maybe the final two-thirds, is the best example of the Television methodology that I have heard since, well, since Television.
You're A Good Man, Jeffrey Brown
In which Jeffrey Brown, "cartoonist", takes a poem, adds images to it, and finished up with something of a depth that mere words, even poetry, cannot convey.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Song of the day
Kathy Diamond, "Between The Lines": it's not exactly disco, but not exactly not disco. It is too dark of hue, too redolent of early-80s post-punk navel-gazing, to inspire many conga lines. Imagine Magazine's take on "Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Again)" but with a (slightly) more cheerful, female singer on board. In fact, if you told me that the bass on this could well pass for Barry Adamson, I wouldn't raise any doubts. (But then, I've always been the gullible kind.)
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Song of the day
"New Bully in the Town" by the Laughing Clowns. Four minutes of music so intense, so kinetic, it will leave you needing a cup of tea and a lie down. Did I ever tell you that Jeffrey Wegener is the greatest rock'n'roll drummer in the history of the universe? (Oh, yeah, I think I did.) This song is the proof.
Friday, June 01, 2007
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Song of the day
With an album as sprawling and disparate as "I Am Not Afraid Of You And I Will Beat Your Ass", it is inevitable that songs will fall through the cracks (especially when the album starts with a return to the big-rockin' Yo La Tengo of yore). On a blind tasting, I failed to pick "Black Flowers" as being by Yo La Tengo at all, nothwithstanding that I have listened to the album several times. My only reference point was "Paris, 1919" by John Cale. I know enough to know it wasn't that, but it is remarkably close, even down to the "ghost" of "la, la la, la la, la la": how did they learn to sound so Welsh?
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Song of the day
"FM" by the Junior Boys, from their second album "So This Is Goodbye". This comes closest to the coiled-snake, all-tension-no-release aesthetic of their first LP. But, sitting as it does at the end of the record, it works more as a kind of elegy.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Discovery
Listening to John Fahey's "Dance Of The Inhabitants Of The Palace Of King Philip XIV Of Spain", from the live disc "The Great Santa Barbara Oil Slick", recorded in the late 1960s, I was surprised to discover that John Fahey invented Led Zeppelin.
But then, stranger things have happened. For example, I recently found the template for the entire recorded works of the Laughing Clowns buried in the first few minutes of "Bakai", the opening track on John Coltrane's "Coltrane", on Prestige, from 1957. (Oh, and by the way did I ever mention that Jeffrey Wegener is the greatest rock'n'roll drummer in the history of the universe? Apologies to the late John Bonham, but you know it's true.)
But then, stranger things have happened. For example, I recently found the template for the entire recorded works of the Laughing Clowns buried in the first few minutes of "Bakai", the opening track on John Coltrane's "Coltrane", on Prestige, from 1957. (Oh, and by the way did I ever mention that Jeffrey Wegener is the greatest rock'n'roll drummer in the history of the universe? Apologies to the late John Bonham, but you know it's true.)
Monday, May 28, 2007
Song of the day
"La La La" by The Bird and the Bee. I'm beginning to see a pattern here ...
And yet the self-titled album by The Bird and the Bee is crammed full of terrific pop songs, any one of which, if it shuffled its way to the top of your iPod, would be an instant Song of the Day.
And yet the self-titled album by The Bird and the Bee is crammed full of terrific pop songs, any one of which, if it shuffled its way to the top of your iPod, would be an instant Song of the Day.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Centenary
I hereby declare today International Rachel Carson Day, in honour of what would have been the 100th birthday of the woman who, seemingly single-handedly, woke the world out of its slumber in relation to the damage that indiscriminate spraying of chemicals was causing to humans and to the planet. You can read what the master, E B White, wrote after Rachel's death here.
What is becoming increasingly clear, as the news regarding climate change goes from bad to worse on an almost daily basis, is that the world now needs another Rachel Carson to brush the cobwebs from our eyes. But who will it be? Elizabeth Kolbert (who writes here about Carson, and who herself has covered climate change for the New Yorker with horrifying frankness)? Or will it be Al Gore? (Some time ago I formed the view that the only person standing between us and oblivion is the next President of the United States, whomever it may be. Although their first job, not a small one, will be undoing the damage done by the current President. The problem being, of course, that the people who should be voting the the next President are all the people who cannot do so, namely, the rest of the world.) Tim Flannery? Bindi Irwin? Me (Heaven help us)?
What is becoming increasingly clear, as the news regarding climate change goes from bad to worse on an almost daily basis, is that the world now needs another Rachel Carson to brush the cobwebs from our eyes. But who will it be? Elizabeth Kolbert (who writes here about Carson, and who herself has covered climate change for the New Yorker with horrifying frankness)? Or will it be Al Gore? (Some time ago I formed the view that the only person standing between us and oblivion is the next President of the United States, whomever it may be. Although their first job, not a small one, will be undoing the damage done by the current President. The problem being, of course, that the people who should be voting the the next President are all the people who cannot do so, namely, the rest of the world.) Tim Flannery? Bindi Irwin? Me (Heaven help us)?
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Friday, May 25, 2007
What Have I Done For Me Lately?
Sorry for the lack of activity around here but, as John Cleese said one one of the Monty Python shopkeeper sketches, I think it was the Dead Parrot Sketch, “I’m sorry, I have a cold”. If it wasn’t that one, it was the Cheese Shop Sketch (“Oh dear, the cat’s eaten it”) or the Adventure Holiday Sketch (“Bounder of adventure” - which Michael Palin turned into arguably the most successful of the post-Python careers, although not the most interesting, that surely goes to Terry Gilliam who has made a career out of magnificent failures*).
*Speaking of Terry Gilliam, we recently exposed the boys to “Time Bandits”. They were right into it. What I found surprising was how much a seven year old and a nine year old were able to bring to the movie, much more than even I could as an adult and watching it for the third time. “Oh, look, it’s Theseus and the minotaur.” “There’s Little John.” Perhaps education standards today are not as low as wot some people say they is.
*Speaking of Terry Gilliam, we recently exposed the boys to “Time Bandits”. They were right into it. What I found surprising was how much a seven year old and a nine year old were able to bring to the movie, much more than even I could as an adult and watching it for the third time. “Oh, look, it’s Theseus and the minotaur.” “There’s Little John.” Perhaps education standards today are not as low as wot some people say they is.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Let's Pretend
Seven-year-old: "Just pretend that I'm not here, dad."
Dad: "Okay. But can I talk to you?"
Seven-year-old: "Sure."
Dad: "Okay. But can I talk to you?"
Seven-year-old: "Sure."
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Portishead: their part in my downfall
There are some records, the key to unlocking which remains perpetually just out of reach. “Portishead” by Portishead, for example. I was put onto the first Portishead album, “Dummy”, by the late Doctor Jan Breward, who in those days had been my connection to the Dunedin music scene, partner in record-shop-raiding sprees around Melbourne, and thoroughly reliable spruiker of all the things I didn’t know that I would like. Jan described “Dummy” as a “guilty pleasure”, but you only needed to listen to a song like “Wandering Star” to know that this was a group at least as interested in substance as style, and that intriguingly murky depths lay not far below the surface.
After too long a wait, and having endured the kind of rumours that reclusive next-big-things are forced to endure at the hands of the always impatient music industry, Portishead launched its second, self-titled, album onto the world. That was when we were living in East St Kilda in a ridiculous free-standing double-fronted 1880s Victorian half-mansion half-slum, with at least four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a combined living-and-dining-room that alone was bigger than either of our two previous abodes, and which we struggled to occupy, there being only the two of us, plus one small black cat, and, for the final few months before we moved to Canberra in early 1999, an equally small (at least for a while, but that’s another story) human, called Carl.
Anyway, for a period of a few months in 1998, I could be found, most afternoons, walking my regular circuit - through Alma Park, bisecting the wonderful playground that we would move away from before Carl could really do anything with it; briefly along noisy, smelly Dandenong Road; across Chapel Street at the Astor Cinema, last bastion of genuine movie houses, with honest choc-tops and comfy art deco chairs in the foyers; along Wellington Street, walking very quickly past the dilapidated once-palatial residence which had been converted into a rooming house, and which we briefly flirted with buying, having convinced ourselves that we could play the role of slum landlord until we could afford to do the place up, until, with an inner sigh of relief, the first bid at the auction was higher than the maximum price we were prepared to pay; around a few back alleys; until coming out at St Kilda Road, just near the Chinese restaurant which had always been there, despite being located on a virtually inaccessible traffic island in the middle of St Kilda Junction, and which must have been a front for something, although the income from the enormous billboard at the top of the building, which the proprietors presumably owned (and which the family of one of the two partners of the law firm at which I then worked had owned some years previously, before being forced to give it to the government in lieu of death duties), would have brought in more revenue than even a bustling, prosperous Chinese restaurant could manage; past the dodgy string of establishments further along St Kilda Road, including a massage parlour or two, a tattoo parlour (before they became suburban chic), and a newsagents with a strangely limited range of magazines, few of which could be sold to minors; and back through more backstreets and lanes until returning to Alma Road and, thence, home - all the while listening intently to a copied-onto-cassette dub of “Portishead”, trying in vain, day after day, to crack the code of its deepest mysteries.
That was a long time ago, and the wait for anything further, the live companion album aside, has been painful, and still it continues. And “Portishead”, which I have continued to listen to regularly, if less frequently, eluded me still.
A week or two back, the three members of Portishead appeared in a video clip on the internet, performing live, very recently, before a small audience, just the two guys sitting quietly and intently with their guitars in perfect counterpoint, and Beth, in the centre, also sitting, displaying all of the shyness for which she is known, and singing “Wandering Star” like an angel descended from heaven. And at that moment, hunched over my laptop, peering at the tiny, slightly out-of-synch images on the screen, it all made sense. Far from being a hesitant departure from a perfect first album, “Portishead” was in fact the opposite: an inevitable, and necessary, refinement of the singularity that appeared in nascent form on “Dummy”. How could I have been so blind? “Portishead” was an uncompromising statement of these three extraordinarily talented, and extraordinarily synchronised, people. It was the sight, and sound, of Portishead, entirely self-absorbed, withdrawing from the world in order to pursue their singular vision wherever it needed to go.
Everything that I had previously recognised to be problems were, in fact, necessary solutions. Thus, I had previously thought, “What was the point of creating sounds of their own to sample, when they could have sampled stuff that was already out there, with the same effect?” Previously I had pulled against Beth’s moments of “doing” Billie Holiday, “doing” Shirley Bassey. I was wrong. The point with the sampling, I can now see, was not just that they could do it, but that they had to do it. What purpose an act of withdrawal if other people are all over it, even if in not recognisable form? And as for the vocals, if there is anywhere that the human voice isn’t taken on this album, either by Beth’s own gifts or via her fellow knob-twiddlers in the studio, then that is somewhere the human voice wasn’t able to be taken. (What I can now be reminded of is The Knife’s “Silent Shout”, where, having regard to today’s technology, similarly remarkable things have beene done.)
It is an odd thing, listening, as if for the first time, to an album that has been a part of you for what seems like forever. I had a similar kind of experience once before, when, following a brief conversation with a girl at a party, letters were regularly exchanged for the next couple of years before we met up again one day at Leo’s spaghetti bar in St Kilda. Even though we could barely remember what each other looked like, it was as if we were the oldest of friends. And the rest, as they say, is history. We may even have the privilege of listening, together, to the third Portishead album. Although when that will be, only they know.
After too long a wait, and having endured the kind of rumours that reclusive next-big-things are forced to endure at the hands of the always impatient music industry, Portishead launched its second, self-titled, album onto the world. That was when we were living in East St Kilda in a ridiculous free-standing double-fronted 1880s Victorian half-mansion half-slum, with at least four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a combined living-and-dining-room that alone was bigger than either of our two previous abodes, and which we struggled to occupy, there being only the two of us, plus one small black cat, and, for the final few months before we moved to Canberra in early 1999, an equally small (at least for a while, but that’s another story) human, called Carl.
Anyway, for a period of a few months in 1998, I could be found, most afternoons, walking my regular circuit - through Alma Park, bisecting the wonderful playground that we would move away from before Carl could really do anything with it; briefly along noisy, smelly Dandenong Road; across Chapel Street at the Astor Cinema, last bastion of genuine movie houses, with honest choc-tops and comfy art deco chairs in the foyers; along Wellington Street, walking very quickly past the dilapidated once-palatial residence which had been converted into a rooming house, and which we briefly flirted with buying, having convinced ourselves that we could play the role of slum landlord until we could afford to do the place up, until, with an inner sigh of relief, the first bid at the auction was higher than the maximum price we were prepared to pay; around a few back alleys; until coming out at St Kilda Road, just near the Chinese restaurant which had always been there, despite being located on a virtually inaccessible traffic island in the middle of St Kilda Junction, and which must have been a front for something, although the income from the enormous billboard at the top of the building, which the proprietors presumably owned (and which the family of one of the two partners of the law firm at which I then worked had owned some years previously, before being forced to give it to the government in lieu of death duties), would have brought in more revenue than even a bustling, prosperous Chinese restaurant could manage; past the dodgy string of establishments further along St Kilda Road, including a massage parlour or two, a tattoo parlour (before they became suburban chic), and a newsagents with a strangely limited range of magazines, few of which could be sold to minors; and back through more backstreets and lanes until returning to Alma Road and, thence, home - all the while listening intently to a copied-onto-cassette dub of “Portishead”, trying in vain, day after day, to crack the code of its deepest mysteries.
That was a long time ago, and the wait for anything further, the live companion album aside, has been painful, and still it continues. And “Portishead”, which I have continued to listen to regularly, if less frequently, eluded me still.
A week or two back, the three members of Portishead appeared in a video clip on the internet, performing live, very recently, before a small audience, just the two guys sitting quietly and intently with their guitars in perfect counterpoint, and Beth, in the centre, also sitting, displaying all of the shyness for which she is known, and singing “Wandering Star” like an angel descended from heaven. And at that moment, hunched over my laptop, peering at the tiny, slightly out-of-synch images on the screen, it all made sense. Far from being a hesitant departure from a perfect first album, “Portishead” was in fact the opposite: an inevitable, and necessary, refinement of the singularity that appeared in nascent form on “Dummy”. How could I have been so blind? “Portishead” was an uncompromising statement of these three extraordinarily talented, and extraordinarily synchronised, people. It was the sight, and sound, of Portishead, entirely self-absorbed, withdrawing from the world in order to pursue their singular vision wherever it needed to go.
Everything that I had previously recognised to be problems were, in fact, necessary solutions. Thus, I had previously thought, “What was the point of creating sounds of their own to sample, when they could have sampled stuff that was already out there, with the same effect?” Previously I had pulled against Beth’s moments of “doing” Billie Holiday, “doing” Shirley Bassey. I was wrong. The point with the sampling, I can now see, was not just that they could do it, but that they had to do it. What purpose an act of withdrawal if other people are all over it, even if in not recognisable form? And as for the vocals, if there is anywhere that the human voice isn’t taken on this album, either by Beth’s own gifts or via her fellow knob-twiddlers in the studio, then that is somewhere the human voice wasn’t able to be taken. (What I can now be reminded of is The Knife’s “Silent Shout”, where, having regard to today’s technology, similarly remarkable things have beene done.)
It is an odd thing, listening, as if for the first time, to an album that has been a part of you for what seems like forever. I had a similar kind of experience once before, when, following a brief conversation with a girl at a party, letters were regularly exchanged for the next couple of years before we met up again one day at Leo’s spaghetti bar in St Kilda. Even though we could barely remember what each other looked like, it was as if we were the oldest of friends. And the rest, as they say, is history. We may even have the privilege of listening, together, to the third Portishead album. Although when that will be, only they know.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Asking the hard questions
Carl said to me this morning, "Dad, why do you like reading Bob Dylan books?"
He then said he had to turn the book away from him because it seemed like the man on the cover was staring at him. I can sort of understand where he was coming from. Those eyes ...
He then said he had to turn the book away from him because it seemed like the man on the cover was staring at him. I can sort of understand where he was coming from. Those eyes ...
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Thrill Power
Curse you, Tom Ewing.
In this piece he reminds me that I am thirty years older than I was when I held the first issue of 2000AD in my hand, and that I was a damn fool not to have held onto my collection of comics from the first three years or so of its existence. Judge Dredd. Judge Anderson. Strontium Dog. Nemesis. Ro-Jaws and Hammerstein. Giant spiders. Time travel. Cityscapes from beyond the imagination. This was a world that was way preferable to the one I lived in.
Nice to see that some of the early stories have been re-issued. I wonder how they hold up. It's a long way from 12 to 42. It might be like going back to your primary school as a grown-up: how on earth did we all fit into such a tiny room?
In this piece he reminds me that I am thirty years older than I was when I held the first issue of 2000AD in my hand, and that I was a damn fool not to have held onto my collection of comics from the first three years or so of its existence. Judge Dredd. Judge Anderson. Strontium Dog. Nemesis. Ro-Jaws and Hammerstein. Giant spiders. Time travel. Cityscapes from beyond the imagination. This was a world that was way preferable to the one I lived in.
Nice to see that some of the early stories have been re-issued. I wonder how they hold up. It's a long way from 12 to 42. It might be like going back to your primary school as a grown-up: how on earth did we all fit into such a tiny room?
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Obsession
At the moment (and, contrary to what you might think, this does happen from time to time), no matter what I am listening to, I would rather be listening to "From Here We Go Sublime" by The Field. Unless, that is, what I am listening to is "From Here We Go Sublime" by The Field, in which case, well, y'know, it's not such a problem.
I am unable to be particularly articulate about modern electronic music, as I have no usable substratum of listening to draw upon: my knowledge has jumped directly from 1982 to 2007. What I like about this record is its complete lack of focus; the way ghosts of songs (did somebody say "hauntology"?) appear at the periphery of vision, never quite clearly manifesting themselves. It also has a Fennesz-like way of constructing melody where you swear there are only collections of noise. (And wasn't I saying the same thing 20 years ago in relation to Sonic Youth and Husker Du? Except there the noise came from distorted guitars and feedback, whereas The Field gets it from machinery.)
Having said all that, the Number One song at our house at the moment is "Eye Of The Tiger" by Survivor.
I am unable to be particularly articulate about modern electronic music, as I have no usable substratum of listening to draw upon: my knowledge has jumped directly from 1982 to 2007. What I like about this record is its complete lack of focus; the way ghosts of songs (did somebody say "hauntology"?) appear at the periphery of vision, never quite clearly manifesting themselves. It also has a Fennesz-like way of constructing melody where you swear there are only collections of noise. (And wasn't I saying the same thing 20 years ago in relation to Sonic Youth and Husker Du? Except there the noise came from distorted guitars and feedback, whereas The Field gets it from machinery.)
Having said all that, the Number One song at our house at the moment is "Eye Of The Tiger" by Survivor.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Cure For Pain
Well, perhaps not so much cure as palliative care, but I have discovered that when, as now, the lurgi strikes, your mood can be at least temporarily lifted by:
1. Reading "On Chesil Beach", the new Ian McEwan novel, which is sufficiently small to accommodate the reduced attention span that comes with having a head full of snot.
2. Listening to the lesser-heralded W Minc compilation CD, "Where Joy Kills Sorrow", which allows you to dwell on other people's (manufactured) misery and thus feel uplifted yourself. It features everyone from the Queen of Soul, Renee Geyer, to the King of Pop, Dave Graney. Warren Ellis is even on there, with his dad. And Mick Harvey. And those magnificent Snarskis. And Robert Forster. Do I really need to go on?
1. Reading "On Chesil Beach", the new Ian McEwan novel, which is sufficiently small to accommodate the reduced attention span that comes with having a head full of snot.
2. Listening to the lesser-heralded W Minc compilation CD, "Where Joy Kills Sorrow", which allows you to dwell on other people's (manufactured) misery and thus feel uplifted yourself. It features everyone from the Queen of Soul, Renee Geyer, to the King of Pop, Dave Graney. Warren Ellis is even on there, with his dad. And Mick Harvey. And those magnificent Snarskis. And Robert Forster. Do I really need to go on?
Monday, April 09, 2007
I can't believe it's not ...
the December 2006 hypothetical mixtape, in April 2007.
The Go-Betweens, “Crystal Shacks”: a charming, laid-back mostly instrumental hidden on the “Worlds Apart” ep; whilst I may not be totally convinced that their best work was still ahead of them, yet I still cannot quite come to terms with the idea that they are at an end.
The Shakers, “Who Will Buy These Wonderful Evils?”: from the title on, this is as fine a piece of sixties garage psych as you are ever likely to uncover. It gets quiet, then it gets loud, then the Formula One cars go by, almost but not quite spinning off the track.
Kaleidoscope, “Faintly Blowing”: if you had told me this was a lost early Pink Floyd track, I might have been fooled. I am so in love with this song.
Calico Wall, “I’m A Living Sickness”: in the same, uh, vein. This one starts off like imitation Ennio Morricone, but soon dispels that idea. Sometimes it seems like there’s massive untapped wells of these sixties “nuggets” just waiting for excavation, and that we will never have heard the last of them. Which is just fine by me.
Tunng, “No Man Can Find The War”: one of my favourite folktronica exponents turn their hand to Tim Buckley’s Vietnam “protest” song and make it their own. I confess to being too close to the original to really be able to say how well this stands up under its own steam, but I venture to suggest Buckley neophytes would enjoy it as much as I do. I like the way they don’t try to out-vocal-range Tim Buckley - nobody could - rather, they play it dead straight all the way. Beautiful.
Shirley Collins and Davy Graham, “Reynardine”: which leads us, somehow, to Shirley Collins’s own ethereal voice, about which I know all too little.
Seekers Who Are Lovers, “It’s A Hard Life”: it starts off with a looped organ and serious vinyl hiss, which sits beneath somebody whose voice reminds me of somebody else (perhaps the singer from Rocketship, or perhaps, no, it’s coming to me, the guy from 14 Iced Bears - I think), singing about some of those universal truths young rock musicians like, or have, to sing about. (Even when that “young rock musician”, I later discover, is in this case Will Oldham.) For the first couple of minutes you are very conscious, not in a good way, of the 6.50 running time, but soon enough you are dragged under and time disappears. I find the 2006 copyright date both unlikely and extremely heartening.
Jean Paul Sartre Experience, “Own Two Feet”: a long-lost piece of minor-key gorgeousness from New Zealand circa the mid-1980s.
The Monochrome Set, “He’s Frank”: one of the things I have discovered in this era of MP3 theft is how great the Monochrome Set were. The guitar in this song just kills.
Depeche Mode vs Nirvana, “About A Girl In My Dreams”: Nirvana, unplugged, unexpectedly justifying their existence by providing the backing for Depeche Mode’s typically angst-ridden vocalisations and electronic squelches and squiggles. A rare example of two diametrically opposed sensibilities fitting together perfectly in the laboratory. Under controlled conditions.
Rosario Blefari, “Partir y Renunciar”: a pleasing blend of electronic noises and gentle Brazilian rhythms and vocals. If you said “Juana Molina” you wouldn’t be far wrong. From a CD called “4 Women No Cry” of which I like what I’ve heard.
Cal Tjader, “Gimme Shelter”: tacky but somehow perfect.
Blue Oyster Cult, “(Don’t Fear The) Reaper”: umlauts over the “O”, if you please. Man, this is is a blast from go to woah. For a “sell-out” record it so does not sell out. I assume that I am not the only person who hears quite a lot of later-period Husker Du (two more umlauts please) in this.
The Veronicas, “4Ever”: you got a problem with that? Sometimes all I really wanna do is jump up and down and spin my arms in giant circles.
Belle Epoque, “Miss Broadway”: if Suzi Quatro had donned sequins and white flairs rather than black leather, this could have been the result. (But then I wouldn't have been buying Suzi Quatro records in 1974.)
Ellen Allien and Apparat, “Turbo Dreams (Pier Bucci Mix)”: a messed-about-with version of one of the best songs from one of the best albums of the last little while.
Space, “On The Air”: a year or so ago I discovered that there has been, in a parallel universe to my own, a type of music entitled “space disco”. It has lately been reprised by such players as Lindstrom and Prins Thomas, and the Quiet Village Project, amongst others. This would seem to be a classic example of the genre. It is thematically similar to some of the big instrumentals from Yellow Magic Orchestra, let’s say “Rydeen”. (Can you use the word “thematically” in the context of an instrumental?) As the name suggests, this would have been a bitchin’ theme tune to a 1970s current affairs show on the ABC.
Einzelganger, “Untergang (Ruin)”: Giorgio Moroder. 1975. From the same album as “Warum”. What more do you want?
Komeit, “Summer’s Gone”: in this hemisphere, at this time of year, this song evokes a perfect mood. Melancholy, wistful, drifting in a still autumn early afternoon, sitting on the back deck, before the damn mosquitos start to zero in on me as the sun swings around to the west. (Postscript: I can't google this up to save myself. The name of the song is quite possibly wrong. The photo on Komeit's web site kind of fits the music.)
The Go-Betweens, “Crystal Shacks”: a charming, laid-back mostly instrumental hidden on the “Worlds Apart” ep; whilst I may not be totally convinced that their best work was still ahead of them, yet I still cannot quite come to terms with the idea that they are at an end.
The Shakers, “Who Will Buy These Wonderful Evils?”: from the title on, this is as fine a piece of sixties garage psych as you are ever likely to uncover. It gets quiet, then it gets loud, then the Formula One cars go by, almost but not quite spinning off the track.
Kaleidoscope, “Faintly Blowing”: if you had told me this was a lost early Pink Floyd track, I might have been fooled. I am so in love with this song.
Calico Wall, “I’m A Living Sickness”: in the same, uh, vein. This one starts off like imitation Ennio Morricone, but soon dispels that idea. Sometimes it seems like there’s massive untapped wells of these sixties “nuggets” just waiting for excavation, and that we will never have heard the last of them. Which is just fine by me.
Tunng, “No Man Can Find The War”: one of my favourite folktronica exponents turn their hand to Tim Buckley’s Vietnam “protest” song and make it their own. I confess to being too close to the original to really be able to say how well this stands up under its own steam, but I venture to suggest Buckley neophytes would enjoy it as much as I do. I like the way they don’t try to out-vocal-range Tim Buckley - nobody could - rather, they play it dead straight all the way. Beautiful.
Shirley Collins and Davy Graham, “Reynardine”: which leads us, somehow, to Shirley Collins’s own ethereal voice, about which I know all too little.
Seekers Who Are Lovers, “It’s A Hard Life”: it starts off with a looped organ and serious vinyl hiss, which sits beneath somebody whose voice reminds me of somebody else (perhaps the singer from Rocketship, or perhaps, no, it’s coming to me, the guy from 14 Iced Bears - I think), singing about some of those universal truths young rock musicians like, or have, to sing about. (Even when that “young rock musician”, I later discover, is in this case Will Oldham.) For the first couple of minutes you are very conscious, not in a good way, of the 6.50 running time, but soon enough you are dragged under and time disappears. I find the 2006 copyright date both unlikely and extremely heartening.
Jean Paul Sartre Experience, “Own Two Feet”: a long-lost piece of minor-key gorgeousness from New Zealand circa the mid-1980s.
The Monochrome Set, “He’s Frank”: one of the things I have discovered in this era of MP3 theft is how great the Monochrome Set were. The guitar in this song just kills.
Depeche Mode vs Nirvana, “About A Girl In My Dreams”: Nirvana, unplugged, unexpectedly justifying their existence by providing the backing for Depeche Mode’s typically angst-ridden vocalisations and electronic squelches and squiggles. A rare example of two diametrically opposed sensibilities fitting together perfectly in the laboratory. Under controlled conditions.
Rosario Blefari, “Partir y Renunciar”: a pleasing blend of electronic noises and gentle Brazilian rhythms and vocals. If you said “Juana Molina” you wouldn’t be far wrong. From a CD called “4 Women No Cry” of which I like what I’ve heard.
Cal Tjader, “Gimme Shelter”: tacky but somehow perfect.
Blue Oyster Cult, “(Don’t Fear The) Reaper”: umlauts over the “O”, if you please. Man, this is is a blast from go to woah. For a “sell-out” record it so does not sell out. I assume that I am not the only person who hears quite a lot of later-period Husker Du (two more umlauts please) in this.
The Veronicas, “4Ever”: you got a problem with that? Sometimes all I really wanna do is jump up and down and spin my arms in giant circles.
Belle Epoque, “Miss Broadway”: if Suzi Quatro had donned sequins and white flairs rather than black leather, this could have been the result. (But then I wouldn't have been buying Suzi Quatro records in 1974.)
Ellen Allien and Apparat, “Turbo Dreams (Pier Bucci Mix)”: a messed-about-with version of one of the best songs from one of the best albums of the last little while.
Space, “On The Air”: a year or so ago I discovered that there has been, in a parallel universe to my own, a type of music entitled “space disco”. It has lately been reprised by such players as Lindstrom and Prins Thomas, and the Quiet Village Project, amongst others. This would seem to be a classic example of the genre. It is thematically similar to some of the big instrumentals from Yellow Magic Orchestra, let’s say “Rydeen”. (Can you use the word “thematically” in the context of an instrumental?) As the name suggests, this would have been a bitchin’ theme tune to a 1970s current affairs show on the ABC.
Einzelganger, “Untergang (Ruin)”: Giorgio Moroder. 1975. From the same album as “Warum”. What more do you want?
Komeit, “Summer’s Gone”: in this hemisphere, at this time of year, this song evokes a perfect mood. Melancholy, wistful, drifting in a still autumn early afternoon, sitting on the back deck, before the damn mosquitos start to zero in on me as the sun swings around to the west. (Postscript: I can't google this up to save myself. The name of the song is quite possibly wrong. The photo on Komeit's web site kind of fits the music.)
Friday, April 06, 2007
Democracy At Work
Dear Friends,
I have just read and signed the online petition:
"Age of Mythology: The Titans exspansion pack for mac computers"
hosted on the web by PetitionOnline.com, the free online petition
service, at:
http://www.PetitionOnline.com/titans12/
I personally agree with what this petition says, and I think you might
agree, too. If you can spare a moment, please take a look, and consider
signing yourself.
Best wishes,
Carl
I have just read and signed the online petition:
"Age of Mythology: The Titans exspansion pack for mac computers"
hosted on the web by PetitionOnline.com, the free online petition
service, at:
http://www.PetitionOnline.com/titans12/
I personally agree with what this petition says, and I think you might
agree, too. If you can spare a moment, please take a look, and consider
signing yourself.
Best wishes,
Carl
Friday, March 30, 2007
Highway Child
While you’re here, head on over to No Commercial Potential, a fine weblog which may even belong to a fellow Australian (g'day there), scroll down a bit, and download the Oxford Union Speech delivered by Gerald, er, Gerard, Hoffnung, an extraordinary piece of oration, timeless in both content and delivery, which I was only once previously exposed to, some twenty or so years ago.
There I was, back at the farm, where I had spent the weekend in order to get away from college food for a couple of days, killing time on Sunday afternoon before catching the bus back to Melbourne, when there came a knock at the front door. At Fish Creek, nobody ever knocked on the front door. There on the doorstep stood Doctor Jim, whom we have previously mentioned in these pages, and the now missing-presumed-reclusive Michael Clark. They had spent the weekend at or in the vicinity of Wilson’s Promontory, and had kindly detoured on their way home to see if they could give me a lift back to the city.
Of course they could! The bus trip from Leongatha to Melbourne was always a dispiriting affair. If you weren’t covered in cigarette smoke (not all nostalgia, you see, is rose-coloured), you found yourself sitting next to somebody who knew somebody who knew you, and who wanted to talk about their personal problems for two hours when all you wanted to do was absorb yourself in “Midnight’s Children”, or “The Name of the Rose”, or “The Dispossessed”. Then, when the bus pulled into Spencer Street Station, after dark on a Sunday evening, the city was a desolate wasteland. This may seem hard for today’s young city-apartment dwellers to understand, but as recently as the mid-1980s Melbourne’s central city was almost entirely devoid of people from 1pm Saturday, when the shops shut, until Monday morning. The only signs of humanity on a Sunday night were fellow travellers returning to Melbourne after a weekend with the folks in the country; the permanently drunk; the presumably up-to-no-good; the mentally infirm and/or homeless. This made waiting for one of the infrequent connecting trams all the more depressing, and often caused one to choose to walk the lonely mile to one’s University digs.
So, this once, I was spared from that ordeal. Instead, an entertaining drive back to Melbourne ensued, featuring Hoffnung’s very silly “lecture”. I don’t know how many times we listened to it in that 90-minute journey, but it was certainly enough that, on my reacquaintance with it however many years later, it feels like being reunited with a long-lost, and much missed, friend.
There I was, back at the farm, where I had spent the weekend in order to get away from college food for a couple of days, killing time on Sunday afternoon before catching the bus back to Melbourne, when there came a knock at the front door. At Fish Creek, nobody ever knocked on the front door. There on the doorstep stood Doctor Jim, whom we have previously mentioned in these pages, and the now missing-presumed-reclusive Michael Clark. They had spent the weekend at or in the vicinity of Wilson’s Promontory, and had kindly detoured on their way home to see if they could give me a lift back to the city.
Of course they could! The bus trip from Leongatha to Melbourne was always a dispiriting affair. If you weren’t covered in cigarette smoke (not all nostalgia, you see, is rose-coloured), you found yourself sitting next to somebody who knew somebody who knew you, and who wanted to talk about their personal problems for two hours when all you wanted to do was absorb yourself in “Midnight’s Children”, or “The Name of the Rose”, or “The Dispossessed”. Then, when the bus pulled into Spencer Street Station, after dark on a Sunday evening, the city was a desolate wasteland. This may seem hard for today’s young city-apartment dwellers to understand, but as recently as the mid-1980s Melbourne’s central city was almost entirely devoid of people from 1pm Saturday, when the shops shut, until Monday morning. The only signs of humanity on a Sunday night were fellow travellers returning to Melbourne after a weekend with the folks in the country; the permanently drunk; the presumably up-to-no-good; the mentally infirm and/or homeless. This made waiting for one of the infrequent connecting trams all the more depressing, and often caused one to choose to walk the lonely mile to one’s University digs.
So, this once, I was spared from that ordeal. Instead, an entertaining drive back to Melbourne ensued, featuring Hoffnung’s very silly “lecture”. I don’t know how many times we listened to it in that 90-minute journey, but it was certainly enough that, on my reacquaintance with it however many years later, it feels like being reunited with a long-lost, and much missed, friend.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Errant apostrophe of the week
Or month. Or century.
There it sits, prominently, at the foot of page two of this week's Sydney Morning Herald TV Guide, waiting to be seen by many, in striking, large, white-on-black letters, using a very attractive sans serif font. In an ad for some kind of navigation system. It says
Just like that. It has taken me a few days to determine whether, in my state of flabbergastedness, I was overlooking some kind of elaborate joke or pun. But no. It is, I am sure, wrong in every possible way.
Whichever advertising agency was involved (it looks too professional to be in-house) obviously wasn't able to use the navigation system concerned to find their way through the wild and tangled woods of the common apostrophe.
There it sits, prominently, at the foot of page two of this week's Sydney Morning Herald TV Guide, waiting to be seen by many, in striking, large, white-on-black letters, using a very attractive sans serif font. In an ad for some kind of navigation system. It says
Overtake the Jones'
Just like that. It has taken me a few days to determine whether, in my state of flabbergastedness, I was overlooking some kind of elaborate joke or pun. But no. It is, I am sure, wrong in every possible way.
Whichever advertising agency was involved (it looks too professional to be in-house) obviously wasn't able to use the navigation system concerned to find their way through the wild and tangled woods of the common apostrophe.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Pour Down Like Silver
Current listening
All eight discs of the complete Miles Davis live at the Plugged Nickel, 1965. They make it seem all so easy, you can be fooled into thinking that you could do it.
Various live recordings of Richard Thompson, legitimate and otherwise.
Second albums: “Portishead” by Portishead (about which, if work ever gives me a chance to do some writing of my own, more soon); “Secondhand Daylight” by Magazine (I was such a big big fan of that band; missed them by a year when they toured Australia, but then “Play” was released, easing the pain a little; could never understand the Roxy Music comparisons that seemed to permeate the English weeklies - I necessarily came late to Roxy (first album came out when I was eight years old - although my crazy Melbourne cousins had copies of “Siren” and “Country Life”, the covers of which were of some interest), and couldn’t be at all objective re Magazine, but could they not see beyond the fact that both bands had someone who could play the sax?); “Heaven Up Here” by Echo & the Bunnymen.
“The Wonderful and Frightening World of The Fall” by The Fall, which I had always relegated to the “second-rate Fall” category on account of its being swamped by the twin peaks of “This Nation’s Saving Grace” and “Bend-Sinister”. I now realise I made a big mistake, and have some catching up to do. There are passages that can only be describe as "beautiful". Who'da thunk it?
Anecdote
I spent today at work notwithstanding it was a public holiday in Canberra, so I took the boys in with me, one at a time, to provide some respite on the home front. Julius and I had a brief wander over to the National Gallery. He is fascinated by the Sidney Nolan series of “Ned Kelly” paintings upstairs. When we got back to my office he sat down and drew his own, very convincing, Ned Kelly picture using various shades of highlighter pen. He asked one of Justice Kirby’s associates to give it to the judge. Justice Kirby is known to the boys only as “Kirby”, as this is also the name of a Nintendo character. I wonder what kind of mental picture Jules has of the judge.
Wanted
If anybody has an MP3 or equivalent of “Coward of the County” as rended (sic) by Alvin and the Chipmunks, you will find our email address on the right-hand side of this page.
All eight discs of the complete Miles Davis live at the Plugged Nickel, 1965. They make it seem all so easy, you can be fooled into thinking that you could do it.
Various live recordings of Richard Thompson, legitimate and otherwise.
Second albums: “Portishead” by Portishead (about which, if work ever gives me a chance to do some writing of my own, more soon); “Secondhand Daylight” by Magazine (I was such a big big fan of that band; missed them by a year when they toured Australia, but then “Play” was released, easing the pain a little; could never understand the Roxy Music comparisons that seemed to permeate the English weeklies - I necessarily came late to Roxy (first album came out when I was eight years old - although my crazy Melbourne cousins had copies of “Siren” and “Country Life”, the covers of which were of some interest), and couldn’t be at all objective re Magazine, but could they not see beyond the fact that both bands had someone who could play the sax?); “Heaven Up Here” by Echo & the Bunnymen.
“The Wonderful and Frightening World of The Fall” by The Fall, which I had always relegated to the “second-rate Fall” category on account of its being swamped by the twin peaks of “This Nation’s Saving Grace” and “Bend-Sinister”. I now realise I made a big mistake, and have some catching up to do. There are passages that can only be describe as "beautiful". Who'da thunk it?
Anecdote
I spent today at work notwithstanding it was a public holiday in Canberra, so I took the boys in with me, one at a time, to provide some respite on the home front. Julius and I had a brief wander over to the National Gallery. He is fascinated by the Sidney Nolan series of “Ned Kelly” paintings upstairs. When we got back to my office he sat down and drew his own, very convincing, Ned Kelly picture using various shades of highlighter pen. He asked one of Justice Kirby’s associates to give it to the judge. Justice Kirby is known to the boys only as “Kirby”, as this is also the name of a Nintendo character. I wonder what kind of mental picture Jules has of the judge.
Wanted
If anybody has an MP3 or equivalent of “Coward of the County” as rended (sic) by Alvin and the Chipmunks, you will find our email address on the right-hand side of this page.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Friday, March 09, 2007
Sunday, March 04, 2007
How To Do It
1. Do not tear this package.
2. Find the object. Break the small water-bag inside the package which will be full of air immediately. Drop the bag beside the object.
3. When the bag pop and air.
4. Eating prohibited.
The above being the instructions printed on the packaging of a mature and sophisticated "novelty" item, the Fart Bag ("BOOM"), which the boys brought home from a recent birthday party (thanks Lyn, thanks Rob).
Instruction 2 takes on added significance when the user realises that he has no idea what is the "object" referred to. I can read instruction 3 over and over with no diminution of pleasure. When the bag pop and air. That about says it all, really.
2. Find the object. Break the small water-bag inside the package which will be full of air immediately. Drop the bag beside the object.
3. When the bag pop and air.
4. Eating prohibited.
The above being the instructions printed on the packaging of a mature and sophisticated "novelty" item, the Fart Bag ("BOOM"), which the boys brought home from a recent birthday party (thanks Lyn, thanks Rob).
Instruction 2 takes on added significance when the user realises that he has no idea what is the "object" referred to. I can read instruction 3 over and over with no diminution of pleasure. When the bag pop and air. That about says it all, really.
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