Bluesfest: The Rest of Day 1 - Trombone Shorty, The Bamboos & Franti

Music has the most amazing power to infect with emotion, to uplift, to educate and to make you wiggle your butt.

First step after the surprise of Timmy Rodgers, and after tracking down the various members of my extended family with limited phone signal (damn you Vodafone!!), was the phenomenal Mavis Staples. Gospel music, soul music, and tunes from the civil rights movement, with a kicking voice and an amazing stage presence. She is a little bit like music royalty, getting the nods from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Rolling Stone Top 100 singers of all time and Grammy Lifetime Achievement. And the lady deserves it all.

Her cover of 'The Weight" really kicked the crowd into gear, and her special guests on the stage made us all very excited for the next act. But more on that in a moment. The set of lungs on this lady was most impressive, and her command of the crowd was incredible.

But next... Next was Trombone Shorty (the future Mr Proctor, he will soon be joining our gang of merry revellers) & Orleans Avenue. Oh my.

I stayed to watch these dudes on the recommendation of American Danny. As opposed to me, Australian Danne. Or Sane Danne. That might hint at what American Danny is like, if I am the benchmark for sanity. Though given the brilliance of Trombone Shorty and his band, his sanity is hardly called into question from me.

I heartily regret not getting to New Orleans before it was ravaged by Katrina. But if the music scene is as alive and well as this talented outfit, I should get myself on a plane without delay. To start with, Trombone Shorty (Troy to his mother, personally I like his pseudonym better) is fit. Like the British version of fit. a proper athlete of a muso, using his chiselled abs and sculpted muscles to belt out every note on his trombone and trumpet. And belting out is kind of an understatement. One note lasted for something close to forever, but really was probably about two minutes. Circular breathing never looked so sexy.

The uber-sexy Trombone Shorty. Photo thanks to Mikey J.

But Shorty wasn't the only talent on the stage. Each band member was rocking on his instrument of choice. And then in the final number, there was a quick band conference huddle in the centre of the stage. Without skipping a beat, Shorty took the drumsticks, and took over the rhythm. There was a shuffle of the weapons of choice, and the band played on. Impressive!

Spirits were sky high after those antics and those upbeat relentless tunes.

And there was nowt that battle-of-the-fros seventies-throwbacks Wolfmother could do about it. I have never been their biggest fan anyway. Perhaps "Joker & The Thief may be the only one that gets me wiggling. But I found their performance significanly lacking in pizzazz. But perhaps that was just because I still wanted to be tasting Trombone instead of Led Zeppelin...

If you approach your day at a festival uncertain about where you will spend the headlining set, there is a chance you may fall into the Indecisive Trap that I fell in on Day 1. I really wanted to see The Bamboos. I've got an album, I like them a lot, and I have heard great things about them live. But Michael Franti was playing at exactly the same time. And the rest of the tribe were resolute about that.

So I started at The Bamboos. Solid Aussie funk and soul. Horns aplenty. More rhythm than an old school Dulux Paint ad. And their lead singer Kylie Auldist CAN wail! Massive voice with a fab head of curls, a great rack (I notice these kinds of things), a stunning dress... But most importantly SEQUINED BLUE CHUCK TAYLORS!!!!! I have a sneaky suspicion that while Kylie is billed as the 'feature' singer, she actually rules the roost. Her attitude and awesome voice made me fall just a little bit in love with her. I was kind of tempeted to stick it out at the smaller stage... But...

Kylie & the Bamboos. The tragedy is you can't see her shoes!!

I am so pleased I caught The Bamboos. But I feel like I missed the best part of their set. I feel like they were just building up to something pretty special when I snuck back to the Crossroads Stage to catch the end of Michael Franti's set.

And it was going NUTS!!

The whole tent was jumping, and the bidding of the dreadlocked and tattooed singer songwriter, his voice undulating between gentle and soulful to vehement and inspired. I could see the infection effect Franti was having on the crowd, but I just couldn't emerse myself in it. Whether it was a case of 'you had to be there' from the start in order to get the glee, or whether there was a little piece of myself kicking me for leaving the brilliant Bamboos set, I will never know.

Having said that, he was pretty darn amazing. He did a walk through the crowd, and played a verse within spitting distance of me and the rest of the bouncing tribe. He told stories of his chats with songwiriting idol Bob Dylan, with such an affable and genuine nature I think we all just wanted to take him home with us to our rambling beach house. With his final song, he invited all the kids and oldies up to boogie on stage - and filled all the rest of us with life-affirming lyrics and melodies. <>  <>

 

Franti, just over there. Not even very much zoom being used here, if any at all.



It was a brilliant way to end Day One. My face hurt from my Live Music Grin. My feet hurt from dancing in gumboots. I was tired, sore but so so happy. And there was still two more days of fun to go.

Bluesfest: The Start & The Surprise

I love a music festival.

I love the fact that brilliant, world class musos can converge on a patch of green for one day (or more) of celebration, of music and of life.

I was delighted when my tribe from The Big Smoke included me on their excursion to Bluesfest in Byron Bay this year. The epic weekend of Easter and ANZAC Day, what better way to celebrate that music, dancing and good company? I think it is what Jesus and our fighting soldiers would have wanted.

My roadtrip to Byron began with "Oliver's Army", by Elvis Costello blasting through my brand spanking new car stereo (thanks Sparky!), and I kept myself on a healthy musical diet of the lineup all the way to the coast. Bob Dylan, The Cat Empire, Michael Franti and Clare Bowditch sung me up and over the mountains, and down to the sea.

So rock'n'roll. Photo from Mikey J.

All seven of the tribe converged on a gorgeous rambling house, just a short walk out of town. We feasted on fabulous food, drank spectacular cocktails - and the next day set off for Tyagarah Tee Tree farm for three days of bluesing and rootsing.

Just outside the gate, I saw a PNG flag, snapping proudly in the breeze. Despite the fact I haven't been there (YET!) we Levys have a strong connection to the land to the north. Dad grew up there, and spends most of his spare time collecting school and hospital supplies to send to Mt Hagen. That is really where he grew up, his hometown. In PNG Pidgin, they call it "arseplace", which I think is a lovely bit of linguistics. Anyway, the site of this flag has always seemed to me a pretty good omen for good times to come.

And how right it was!

We entered.

We did a bit of decision by committee, that always takes a bit of time. And just when the Committee Decision was 'Let's go for a look around', I heard the melodic voice of Julia Zamiro, host of music geek show RocKwiz.

"Welcome to the stage, our very good friend, Tim Rodgers!"

Well. I nearly buckled at the knees at the thought. I had scoured the program with a glimmer of hope that he or his band (one of) would be on the lineup, but was disappointed. And then, Julia came through with the goods!

Bare chested, in a fuschia velour blazer, he rocked out covering The Stones before starring as a gracious and yet knowledgable contestant. And then he carved up the stage at the end (now totally sans shirtwear) with David Bowie's "Fame", with a bridge of "Ignition Remix", initially made famous by pirate R. Kelly, but much more enjoyable covered by The Pigs. The stage was then flooded by superstars from all kinds of festival bands for a mega-cover of Kiss' "Rock and Roll All Night"- a very fitting number to kick off a festival with... and party everyday.

Timmy, bare chested, doing Bowie. My favouritist photo of the WHOLE festival. Thanks again, Mikey J!

Timmy Rodgers has been a long standing favourite of mine. You Am I played at the very first concert I ever went to (Crowded House's "Farewell to the World" in case you were wondering.) They were really the deciding factor in the road trip with The O Team to see the last ever Powederfinger gig in Brisbane - despite the fact that we had already farewelled Bernie and the Boys in West Bubblefuck a few months earlier. I've seen You Am I play about half a dozen times. And I have seen Timmy solo a few too - seriously that man must own so many velvet, velour and corduroy suits. For a sweaty man, I find this quite surprising. But my point is that my love for the seventies styled guru of the Aus music scene is pretty boundless and to see him in person (again) was one of those Music Goosebumps (or Musebumps? Think that one needs some work) kind of moments.

The RocKwiz ep was also pretty awesome. One contestant did a pretty ripping version of Pat Benatar's "Hit me with your best shot" for the karaoke round. At least I thought it was ripping until a dude from the next team tore the stage apart with Dragon's "April Sun in Cuba" flicking the lyrics away with reckless abandon, and accompanying his massive voice with drama-student-style interpretive dance moves. Impressive.

It was a brilliant start to the three day bonanza. Many Music Goosebumps (surely I can come up with a better name than that...) moments were to come, many more surprises and brilliant songs and chances to boogie on down. It had only just begun!

Return to the field. Or How my body is beginning to betray me

This here digi-tome has mentioned my efforts at coaching. I took the Mighty U13s to third 2 years ago, and last year the same boys (or mostly) went down 1-0 in the GF. This year I have taken on another squad of Mighty U13s, a new assistant supercoach and a different set of strengths and weaknesses. So far so good, one win, one loss, one draw. The team hasn't really played to its potential yet, but I have faith that they will finish the season strongly.

But even more importantly than my sideline encouragements and masterminding puppetry of young footballers is my own return to the park.

Moving back to West Bubblefuck four years ago, I was devastated to learn that there was no women's football competition. I think the words I actually spake (I'm teaching Shakespeare at the moment, and it is affecting my vocab) were "What kind of a backwards town am I living in?!" At the end of each game of coaching for the last two years I have ended up bubbling with unspent adrenaline, and each week I made a small curse (silently or otherwise) that there was no comp I could play in to spend the pent up energy. Sure, I could play with the blokes, but my serious lack of fitness kind of embarrassed me out of that.

This year, the West Bubblefuck District Football Association has finally got a 6 a side comp off the ground. Just.

In the last two months I have been palpable in my desperation to find players. I emailed parents, I mentioned it in almost every conversation "Do you know anyone that might be interested in playing women's soccer?" West Bubblefuck has a really great culture of sport - a thriving netball comp, a really successful basketball comp, hockey, tennis, austag AND touch, indoor mixed soccer, cricket and netball... West Bubblefuck women play a number of sports, and tend to keep playing them until their bodies betray them. As mine may well currently be doing.

Yes I have been getting my competitive kicks with the Flames on the baskeball court for a little over a year. But this has led to various joints of mine deciding they will no longer operate at 100%.

Betrayal.

But I have loved the round ball game dearly for over 15 years, and it is where  my sporting heart truly lies. Despite the fact that Sparky despises the game in an unworldly kind of way. So when I managed to get 7 ladies together, I contacted a club and poached a few more players, helped to coordinate a SECOND team and became a part of a women's football comp in my backwards town.

But then of course, not everyone could make it this week.

I showed up with 3 other girls, hoping desperately for some juniors to help us out. We found one. And then sneakily poached one of the keepers from our opposition.

Since I dinged my shoulder a month ago, I haven't graced the basketball court. I haven't been to body balance, or to the gym at all. I may have walked the dog a few times, but nothing that was really strenuous. Within three minutes of kick off, I was scraping the bottom of my lungs for breath. Turns out, a complete lack of exercise leads to a seriously diminished fitness. Who knew?

Betrayal.

I was delighted to be playing a shortened game. 30 minute halves instead of 45. Six a side instead of 11. Half field. As it was, I was wheezing and doing so much field walking that if I was COACHING me, I would have given myself a total blast at half time. Imagine if I had played the real mccoy? At the end of the hour, I was already aching. My stupid basketballed ankle was moaning, my niggly basketballed shoulder was whining (from the throw ins).

Betrayal.

As I limped to my car, my calves started to seize, and the burn set in to my quads.

Betrayal.

Delayed onset muscle soreness - which the professionals call DOMS, but I like to call Second Day Syndrome - will ensure that tomorrow I will be tight and achy. And even worse on Monday I will find it difficult to walk.

Betrayal once more.
But despite the fact that my body is kicking me back, and despite the fact that my team went down 6-0, and despite the fact that half a dozen dudes from The Boy Factory sat on the side line as a witness to my defeat (against the team in black and white, and against my body) setting my humliation up for further discussion over the course of the week, I had such a brilliant time.

I just hope I can get my body to work with me a little better next week. The South West Bubblefuck Womens Green Machine has started its epic journey and I hope it is long and fruitful and rich in great football.

Paul. Has it all.

A confession: I do not like ET. I realise it is seminal film for my generation (when I decide to side with the Xers), and a huge part of allowing sci-fi to leap from the fringe to the mainstream. I know it is meant to be this highly emotional and cathartic tale of coming of age and self sacrifice, a total tear jerker - but it leaves me dry. I just find it kind of slow and overly sentimental.

But that doesn't mean I don't love it when very smart, funny (and somehow quirkily sexy ) British boys make a filmic love letter to the movie, and the entire genre.

The poster. Classic over shot, under the UFO light.

 Paul is a fantastic film. The boys behind the script and in front of the camera, Nick Frost and Simon Pegg, have been firm favourites of mine for... a decade? More? Pegg wrote Spaced, my televisual one true love. He and Frost starred there as best mates. They were best mates in the Pegg-penned Shaun of the Dead, the first zombie romantic comedy - or ZomRomCom (possibly the 2nd one being Zombieland). They became best mates in the Pegg-penned village cop - slash - slasher flick Hot Fuzz (note to self: rewatch this. Yarp.) And this real life friendship comes to life on screen again in the Pegg-Frost-penned Paul. They play geeks, on an exploration holiday of famous alien sighting sites in the USA, who happen upon Paul, the green, chain smoking, potty mouthed alien (voiced by Seth Rogen).



Check out the tshirts!!!! Pegg's Empire - a blatant homage. Wiig's Evolve This - you can't see the image of Jesus shooting Darwin in the face.

The three films are sometimes referred to as the Three Flavours Cornetto Trilogy (though Paul is sadly lacking in the waffle coned treat). All three are genre mash ups. Not in the pisstake Wayans  Bros kind of way, but more of a celebration, filled with inside references, allusions and in-jokes that will only be truly appreciated by officiandos of each genre (which is just a long way to say Geek.) And the love letter of Paul is addressed to many recipients. ET and its auter, Steven Spielberg. A few of his other films, Close Encounters of the Third Kind and quite a few of the Indiana Jones installments. All manner of sci-fi stuff - The X-Files, Alien, Men In Black... Geeks that are geekier than me (because yes, that is indeed possible) have made lists to catalogue all of the references and allusions.

One gets the impression that these characters are not an enormous stretch for Pegg and Frost. Friendship? Not much need for acting there. Geeks with an indepth knowledge of all things Star Wars and sci-fi novels? Not much research required. The affection they have for the material here is as palpable as their love for each other. All three of these films have the one common bromance - the love between two blokes, platonic and unconditional.

Paul, the character, sets the whole action in motion. Sets the uncertainty and jealousy off between "the writer Clive Gollings" (Frost) and Graeme Willy (Pegg). Propells them from meandering to a more purposeful mission. Changes the whole outlook and attitude of Creationist Fundamentalist (emphasis on the mental) Ruth (the ever fabulous Kristen Wiig), transforming her from a meek, Darwin-hating, devoted daughter to a swearing, toking, crotch grabbing (others' not hers) partner-in-hijinx love interest for Graeme. Her passage of learning to swear brought particular glee for me, especially the brand new term "dick milk." Paul's gestures and voice are pure Rogen. Disbelief is suspended perfectly, and the awareness of CGI nature of the character disperses, like his ever present ciggie smoke. He looks a little like an alienified Lebowski. All slacker boardies and thongs (I refuse to call them flip flops!)

Classic wind fan, back lit, confused expression sci fi shot

Most of the reviews I have read give it a solid 4 stars. And I think that is grand, particularly when David & Margaret can find a point of agreement. Even the usually uber-geeky Empire gave it four. But in my opinion this is too modest. I can see how some more adult type people than me may have a problem with the profanities. Or the drug use. And most certainly, the Christian type people may find the overt and blatant atheism fairly confronting (but I must admit I found it fairly refreshing - such obvious anti-religious film making has not been seen since The Golden Compass, and that was not done with much style at all - at least not with the same finesse as Pullman's brilliant His Dark Materials trilogy. But I digress. Again.)

With its inherent geekiness, its self referential pomo references and its science-over-God attitude, I reckon this is one of the best films I have seen in ages. Right after I saw it, I kind of got the feeling that I didn't want to consume any other culture for a little while. Kind of like the same sensation you get at the end of a delicious meal - you don't want to muddle the flavour with more food or wine or water, but savour the taste, and let it sit on your tongue a while longer.