The highlight of the musical calendar in West Bubblefuck this year (apart from the Both Kinds Of Music Festival) has been Bogan Mecca - a Chisel reunion tour. There has been much excitement about the return of Barnsey, Mossy and Walker. The inevitable rendition of all the hits played in almost exactly the same way as they appear on the album, except for the carving Ian Moss solo has had the rednecks in a tizzy.
Don't get me wrong, I don't hate Chisel. They have some BRILLIANT music, Walker has written some lyrics that carve a deep scar into the Australian psyche, telling some stories that capture and articulate our vague definition of culture in this country. But the Fans of Chisel kind of irk me. Much like how the fans of Midnight Oil will belt out the lyrics to "Beds Are Burning" with gusto, but chuck around racist slurs with similar gay abandon. Similarly, the thuggish Barneseque Seem not to care about the anti-war, anti-suburban lyrics of the songs that criticize the way they live.
My personal highlight of the evening was not watching Jimmy sweat it out on stage, or even seeing the beautiful digital art on the backdrop.
Having Rock Legend, and Musical Hero Tim Rodgers in my town made me so freaking happy. I don't care what the bogans and haters-of-the-support-band say, Timmy and the You Am I boys slayed that stage, on a Tuesday night. It was stunning.
Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
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.
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...
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.
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. |
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!! |
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.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
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.
And how right it was!
"Welcome to the stage, our very good friend, Tim Rodgers!"
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.
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.
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.
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!
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| 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.
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!
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Travel Plans
Warning: Serious First World Whinges may be contained in this post.
Week 9 in an 11 week term is pretty brutal. The kids are tired, the staff are exhausted. But there is too long left in the term to down tools, and there is not enought juice left in the tank to keep powering along. (Too many mixed metaphors?) My general state of busy is demonstrated by how damn long it has been since I posted anything...
So how do I distract myself from the dramas, traumas and fairly insignificant whinges of the end of term?
Travel Plans.
Usually at this time I would be building in excitement and anticipation of giggles at the Melbourne Comedy Festival. Catching up with old friends, drinking my body weight in amazing coffee and transporting away from The Boy Factory through the magic of standup comedy. And this year, as the sun sets earlier, and the days of blasting heat are beginning to abate, thoughts of Melbourne keep arising. It's almost Pavlovian.
But I'm not headed to Mexico City this year. Despite the fact that I was promised an AFL game, and despite the fact that there are new tiny friends to meet. And it's because 2011 has some richer variety of travel plans.
First jaunt, Easter - The East Coast Blues & Roots Festival. Or Bluesfest.
The lineup is cracking. Bob Dylan. The Cat Empire. Elvis Costello. Clare Bowditch (she doesn't know it yet, but I have a mad girl-crush on her)
I haven't been to this fabulous festival for YEARS. Possibly since before I turned 18. It is a tradition for the extended clan, and there is a tribe of folks from the Big Smoke making the trek all the way to Byron town. And they have a HOUSE booked (read: hot shower & actual bed). It won't be a cheap weekend, by any stretch. But if I keep control of my pennies, it shouldn't have a huge impact on The Big Trip.
Ah, The Big Trip. When my head teacher mentioned a senior history excursion to the battlefields of Europe, my first question was "Yes?"
We go to Gallipoli, Ypres, the Somme and Paris. Then I have taken a sneaky week off to flit up London to see some of the best people I know. Plus some theatre, some warm beer and an extra week of "summer" in my year. Right now I am using this trip as my crutch - when the weight of being Mum to 110 becomes a bit too much, when the pile of marking threatens to smother me alive, when the piles of disorganisation on my desk in the staffroom are in danger of toppling over into a lava flow of unfiled paperwork, I get quotes for travel insurance. Or check prices on flights and train trips. Or research what plays are on at The Globe for 5 quid.
I was last in the UK in 2008, for The Best Thing Humans Have Ever Invented Ever, usually referred to as the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. And my time with The A Team and new friends there was brilliant. Hard work, and hard on my liver (seriously, I still don't think I have recovered). I am just a few weeks early this year, and so I will miss TBTHHEIE. A shame, for sure.
The excitement is building for this looming trip. It is my distractinator for sure.
Week 9 in an 11 week term is pretty brutal. The kids are tired, the staff are exhausted. But there is too long left in the term to down tools, and there is not enought juice left in the tank to keep powering along. (Too many mixed metaphors?) My general state of busy is demonstrated by how damn long it has been since I posted anything...
So how do I distract myself from the dramas, traumas and fairly insignificant whinges of the end of term?
Travel Plans.
Usually at this time I would be building in excitement and anticipation of giggles at the Melbourne Comedy Festival. Catching up with old friends, drinking my body weight in amazing coffee and transporting away from The Boy Factory through the magic of standup comedy. And this year, as the sun sets earlier, and the days of blasting heat are beginning to abate, thoughts of Melbourne keep arising. It's almost Pavlovian.
But I'm not headed to Mexico City this year. Despite the fact that I was promised an AFL game, and despite the fact that there are new tiny friends to meet. And it's because 2011 has some richer variety of travel plans.
First jaunt, Easter - The East Coast Blues & Roots Festival. Or Bluesfest.
The lineup is cracking. Bob Dylan. The Cat Empire. Elvis Costello. Clare Bowditch (she doesn't know it yet, but I have a mad girl-crush on her)
I haven't been to this fabulous festival for YEARS. Possibly since before I turned 18. It is a tradition for the extended clan, and there is a tribe of folks from the Big Smoke making the trek all the way to Byron town. And they have a HOUSE booked (read: hot shower & actual bed). It won't be a cheap weekend, by any stretch. But if I keep control of my pennies, it shouldn't have a huge impact on The Big Trip.
Ah, The Big Trip. When my head teacher mentioned a senior history excursion to the battlefields of Europe, my first question was "Yes?"
We go to Gallipoli, Ypres, the Somme and Paris. Then I have taken a sneaky week off to flit up London to see some of the best people I know. Plus some theatre, some warm beer and an extra week of "summer" in my year. Right now I am using this trip as my crutch - when the weight of being Mum to 110 becomes a bit too much, when the pile of marking threatens to smother me alive, when the piles of disorganisation on my desk in the staffroom are in danger of toppling over into a lava flow of unfiled paperwork, I get quotes for travel insurance. Or check prices on flights and train trips. Or research what plays are on at The Globe for 5 quid.
I was last in the UK in 2008, for The Best Thing Humans Have Ever Invented Ever, usually referred to as the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. And my time with The A Team and new friends there was brilliant. Hard work, and hard on my liver (seriously, I still don't think I have recovered). I am just a few weeks early this year, and so I will miss TBTHHEIE. A shame, for sure.
The excitement is building for this looming trip. It is my distractinator for sure.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Both Kinds of Music: The Bushwackers
When we were kids, Australia Day was brilliant. Before I knew about the genocide of the First Fleet and the invasion of Terra Nullius. Before Triple J's Hottest 100 became the world's biggest music poll, and the rudder that steers the whole hot January day. My parents and brother (because there was only one then) would join forces with a couple of other families from the Northern Beaches. I imagine the parents got boozy, but there was always lots of great food. And dancing. And music. A real life lagerphone. Other home-made booze related instruments, such as the goonbox filled with rice. And a steady soundtrack of Australian bush music. Redgum featured heavily. And The Bushwackers. These memories are young and golden and untainted with self-conciousness. One of the first memories of music I have, like my musical spiritual home.
The Bushwackers are a staple of the West Bubblefuck Both Kinds of Music Festival. This year they celebrated their 40th Anniversary, and have kicked off the year in style. Their Chardonnay Show is a yearly feature of the Festival Program, and it is almost always sold out. Sunday afternoon in the Beer Garden of the Longyard, armed with squirty bottles and stubbie coolers to last the whole day through. It is the Full Stop of the 10 day festival, except a full stop is not nearly flamboyant enough a piece of punctuation to really give this show justice.
They pride themselves on a complete lack of American influence, and are instead more heavily rooted in traditional Irish music. A double bass, a piano accordian, fiddle, bodhran (Irish drum), tin whistle and all manner of other percussiony and guitary kinds of instruments create a wall of upbeat and rollicking sound. They tend to sing about folk heroes, like Ned Kelly, and the best things about being Australian. They do focus on the bushmate cliches, and are very heavy on songs about sheep - and both seem entirely fitting in the lofty wooden hall and beer garden at the Longyard.
They are also brilliant showmen. Or show people, really. Dobe Newton, lead singer and random percussionist, is a pretty out there dude. His penchant for the flamboyant suits is always riveting, and this Sunday was no exception. The first outfit was a silver lame shirt with a black and white fresian coat, and his second was a white tuxedo jacket, splattered with enormous and luminous sequened flowers. He had a whinge toward the end of the show that there wasn't another break in the set, because he had another outfit to show off. And his tween-songs banter included a shout out to all the Spotlight members, offering a free solo CD to anyone who presented their membership card at the merch stand - There was a steady stream of middle aged ladies for the next fifteen minutes, collecting the booty to play while they sewed curtains or bedazzled their I Survived West Bubblefuck 2011 tshirts. Dobe is a sweaty man, with a bald pate, but a curtain of hair around his face. He swings his lagerphone with so much gusto, you feel sure it will break with each blasting beat, and the stage and shrapnel of washers and bottletops will rain over all the band and crowd.
The other band members compete for laughs, for limelight, but all hold up in talent. Roger Corbett is the primary songwriter of the band (though arguably their most famous song, "We Are Australian" was penned by Newton), and can swing his guitar too. His son Ben was on the electric guitar, and tucked in the corner on the double bass was Michael Vidale. The long-haired Mark Oats (also playing with The Pigs as I have mentioned before) is a brilliant fiddle player, but his banter leaves a fair bit to be desired.
But the one I love best is the token chick. Clare O'Meara plays the squeeze box, the most complex of all the instruments on the stage. There are keys and buttons and pulling the thing in and out. I really do love a good piano accordian player. When I first saw them a few years ago, she was all corkscrew curls under an enormous top hat, and she didn't stop bouncing along with the music for the whole show - which is about 3 and a half hours long! These days she is a little more sedate - and considering she has been playing for over twenty years, I am thinking that it is forgivable. She took the mic for just one song, the iconic Men at Work tune, "I Come From A Land Downunder" and she was mesmorising. Plus, as Newton said, she is easily the most photogenic in the band. Yes, I have a girl crush!
They actually did play an American cover - in honour of the plastic faced Kenny Rodgers, who was playing in the big shearing shed across the road. And Dobe promised us, his loyal crowd, that it would be the first and last time they would play an American song. And they do "The Gambler a great deal of justice too! There was a steady stream of superstars of the Both Kinds of Music World, including Kasey "Cat in a Bandsaw" Chambers, the very charming Sara Storer and the very boozed Beccy Cole. They did their own stuff, or covers of Bushwackers, or other Australian classics, like John Williams' "Old Man Emu", and brought a different energy to the stage, and to the crowd.
This year to raise money for the QLD Flood appeal, they auctioned OFF THEIR LAGERPHONE!!!! At only $2.50 a ticket, there were a lot of hungry audience members, including most of the members of my tribe. I was delighted, but they were a little disappointed, when my mum's cousin was announced as the winner. Just a warning, Margey, they are plotting to get an invite to your house and pilfer the prize for their own ends. The raffle raised about $2000, incidentally.
The Chardonnay Show is a brilliant part of the Festival. It is reportedly named after the very first Sunday performance the band did in 1994. Don Spencer (of Play School and "Don the Kelpie" fame) brought his family to the show on the way back to Sydney, thinking they would stay for one show, and one class of Chardy. But one song was not enough, and one glass was not enough. And nor was one bottle. They shared the wine, and drank the pub dry. It seems a fitting name for the show; a little bit fancy, and a little bit bogan. And a whole lot of fun.
The Bushwackers are a staple of the West Bubblefuck Both Kinds of Music Festival. This year they celebrated their 40th Anniversary, and have kicked off the year in style. Their Chardonnay Show is a yearly feature of the Festival Program, and it is almost always sold out. Sunday afternoon in the Beer Garden of the Longyard, armed with squirty bottles and stubbie coolers to last the whole day through. It is the Full Stop of the 10 day festival, except a full stop is not nearly flamboyant enough a piece of punctuation to really give this show justice.
They pride themselves on a complete lack of American influence, and are instead more heavily rooted in traditional Irish music. A double bass, a piano accordian, fiddle, bodhran (Irish drum), tin whistle and all manner of other percussiony and guitary kinds of instruments create a wall of upbeat and rollicking sound. They tend to sing about folk heroes, like Ned Kelly, and the best things about being Australian. They do focus on the bushmate cliches, and are very heavy on songs about sheep - and both seem entirely fitting in the lofty wooden hall and beer garden at the Longyard.
 |
| The Bushwackers in flight |
They are also brilliant showmen. Or show people, really. Dobe Newton, lead singer and random percussionist, is a pretty out there dude. His penchant for the flamboyant suits is always riveting, and this Sunday was no exception. The first outfit was a silver lame shirt with a black and white fresian coat, and his second was a white tuxedo jacket, splattered with enormous and luminous sequened flowers. He had a whinge toward the end of the show that there wasn't another break in the set, because he had another outfit to show off. And his tween-songs banter included a shout out to all the Spotlight members, offering a free solo CD to anyone who presented their membership card at the merch stand - There was a steady stream of middle aged ladies for the next fifteen minutes, collecting the booty to play while they sewed curtains or bedazzled their I Survived West Bubblefuck 2011 tshirts. Dobe is a sweaty man, with a bald pate, but a curtain of hair around his face. He swings his lagerphone with so much gusto, you feel sure it will break with each blasting beat, and the stage and shrapnel of washers and bottletops will rain over all the band and crowd.
The other band members compete for laughs, for limelight, but all hold up in talent. Roger Corbett is the primary songwriter of the band (though arguably their most famous song, "We Are Australian" was penned by Newton), and can swing his guitar too. His son Ben was on the electric guitar, and tucked in the corner on the double bass was Michael Vidale. The long-haired Mark Oats (also playing with The Pigs as I have mentioned before) is a brilliant fiddle player, but his banter leaves a fair bit to be desired.
But the one I love best is the token chick. Clare O'Meara plays the squeeze box, the most complex of all the instruments on the stage. There are keys and buttons and pulling the thing in and out. I really do love a good piano accordian player. When I first saw them a few years ago, she was all corkscrew curls under an enormous top hat, and she didn't stop bouncing along with the music for the whole show - which is about 3 and a half hours long! These days she is a little more sedate - and considering she has been playing for over twenty years, I am thinking that it is forgivable. She took the mic for just one song, the iconic Men at Work tune, "I Come From A Land Downunder" and she was mesmorising. Plus, as Newton said, she is easily the most photogenic in the band. Yes, I have a girl crush!
They actually did play an American cover - in honour of the plastic faced Kenny Rodgers, who was playing in the big shearing shed across the road. And Dobe promised us, his loyal crowd, that it would be the first and last time they would play an American song. And they do "The Gambler a great deal of justice too! There was a steady stream of superstars of the Both Kinds of Music World, including Kasey "Cat in a Bandsaw" Chambers, the very charming Sara Storer and the very boozed Beccy Cole. They did their own stuff, or covers of Bushwackers, or other Australian classics, like John Williams' "Old Man Emu", and brought a different energy to the stage, and to the crowd.
This year to raise money for the QLD Flood appeal, they auctioned OFF THEIR LAGERPHONE!!!! At only $2.50 a ticket, there were a lot of hungry audience members, including most of the members of my tribe. I was delighted, but they were a little disappointed, when my mum's cousin was announced as the winner. Just a warning, Margey, they are plotting to get an invite to your house and pilfer the prize for their own ends. The raffle raised about $2000, incidentally.
 |
| Margey, Dobe Newton and her brand new prize! |
The Chardonnay Show is a brilliant part of the Festival. It is reportedly named after the very first Sunday performance the band did in 1994. Don Spencer (of Play School and "Don the Kelpie" fame) brought his family to the show on the way back to Sydney, thinking they would stay for one show, and one class of Chardy. But one song was not enough, and one glass was not enough. And nor was one bottle. They shared the wine, and drank the pub dry. It seems a fitting name for the show; a little bit fancy, and a little bit bogan. And a whole lot of fun.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Both Kinds of Music: The Wilson Pickers
Just before Bob's show, at the West Bubblefuck Hotel, there was another band. Bands are pretty easy to come by during the West Bubblefuck Both Kinds of Music Festival. Outside each shopfront is a busker, in the corner of each room in each pub and club and cafe. But bands with talent, without the American Whine & Twang in their voice, with a little more imagination than trucks and heartbreak in their lyrics... they are a little more tricky to come by.
But we found one. The Wilson Pickers' show sounded great, with harmonised voices, manolin, fiddle, tamborine and that all important swoon-worthy harmonica sound. It was an unticketed event, which means FREE! And they weren't too bad on they eye either. So really, an all round winner.
These guys were great low key listening. Perfect for the first beer of the evening, for a sunset show on a lazy, warm day. They were a little bit like The Eagles, with their 70s throwback fashion and their beardy slash mo looks. Plus, the first song on their album is the beautifully titled "Return to the Land of the Powerful Owl"! How cool is that!?!
These guys were great low key listening. Perfect for the first beer of the evening, for a sunset show on a lazy, warm day. They were a little bit like The Eagles, with their 70s throwback fashion and their beardy slash mo looks. Plus, the first song on their album is the beautifully titled "Return to the Land of the Powerful Owl"! How cool is that!?!
Both Kinds of Music: Bob Evans
Bob Evans, the original Jerk of Attention, came to the West Bubblefuck Festival last year. His real name is Kevin Mitchell, and he was really the lead singer of Jebidiah, the band who wrote the song "Leaving Home" only weeks before me and my classmates actually did just that.
Bob is his Folky moniker, his less whiney voiced, more accoustic strumming, harmonica humming kind of persona. Last year he plomped into town, to the West Bubblefuck Hotel beer garden, sans band. Not much publicity - I don't even remember seeing his name in the program. Just a man with an accoustic guitar on his shoulders and a harmonica perched on a wire around his neck, sipping red wine from a glass, in the baking West Bubblefuck January heat. His easy rhythms and lilting lyrics were an easy Thursday afternoon show. A bit of tapping fingers on the knee, a little bit of singing along with the words to the singles.
This year, Bob was back. With my modest posse of 14 (because my tribe in West Bubblefuck has been growing and expanding, and we're basically taking over the world. Plus Little Red came to visit too!!) we spread out around the table smack bang in the middle of the garden, in front of the stage. Thanks to the B Team!
Bob looked much the same. The Ramona Flowers hair cut. The checked cowboy shirt, the accoustic and harmonica. But this year he was swigging the red wine from the bottle. He brought a band with him, The Evens, that he reportedly only hooked up with a week ago. They seemed to be still feeling their way a little, but the idiocyncracies made it even sweeter. The Evens joined Evans for about half of the songs in the set. He called up a few special guests, and did some covers as well as a huge chunk of his own stuff. His Like A Version cover of Lily Allen's "Not Fair" was as always priceless, as was his lead in threat to tongue-kiss any homophobes, as this is obviously the worse possible punishment they could imagine.
His relaxed Australian voice is sometimes tainted with a bit of the dreaded American twang, but there is an honesty to his songwriting that manages to cut through that twangy slick. Most of his work seems to be centred on Suburbia. Being stuck in it, leaving it, looking back on it. Suburbia isn't usually the substance of Country Music, but then that is kind of a loose genre nowadays. My fave of his is "Hand Me Downs", a beautiful examination of what it means to be serious, to be responsible, to be making the big decisions, or to be just kicking around in what you always have done, despite the fact that it probably isn't working.
At the end of his set, the wine bottle was drained. It was truly astounding with 750ml of merlot in him, Bob could still manage to sing and play not one but TWO instruments with brilliance. And then he managed to polish off another half a bottle in the encore. Towards the end of the night, the banter became a little sloppy, the set list and back catalogue somewhat exhasteded. At this moment of weakness, the crowd pounced, and demanded a Jebidiah song. And he relented. "Harpoon" is a brilliant moment in Australian songwriting, and I got some goosebumps seeing it played live.
Bob Evans - pronounced best,very quickly, as one word, Bobevans - is really fantastic beer garden summer music. Friends old and new fit well around a table with his music.
Bob is his Folky moniker, his less whiney voiced, more accoustic strumming, harmonica humming kind of persona. Last year he plomped into town, to the West Bubblefuck Hotel beer garden, sans band. Not much publicity - I don't even remember seeing his name in the program. Just a man with an accoustic guitar on his shoulders and a harmonica perched on a wire around his neck, sipping red wine from a glass, in the baking West Bubblefuck January heat. His easy rhythms and lilting lyrics were an easy Thursday afternoon show. A bit of tapping fingers on the knee, a little bit of singing along with the words to the singles.
This year, Bob was back. With my modest posse of 14 (because my tribe in West Bubblefuck has been growing and expanding, and we're basically taking over the world. Plus Little Red came to visit too!!) we spread out around the table smack bang in the middle of the garden, in front of the stage. Thanks to the B Team!
 |
| Apologies for shithouse photo quality. IPhones & booze & twilight & stage lighting aren't friends |
Bob looked much the same. The Ramona Flowers hair cut. The checked cowboy shirt, the accoustic and harmonica. But this year he was swigging the red wine from the bottle. He brought a band with him, The Evens, that he reportedly only hooked up with a week ago. They seemed to be still feeling their way a little, but the idiocyncracies made it even sweeter. The Evens joined Evans for about half of the songs in the set. He called up a few special guests, and did some covers as well as a huge chunk of his own stuff. His Like A Version cover of Lily Allen's "Not Fair" was as always priceless, as was his lead in threat to tongue-kiss any homophobes, as this is obviously the worse possible punishment they could imagine.
His relaxed Australian voice is sometimes tainted with a bit of the dreaded American twang, but there is an honesty to his songwriting that manages to cut through that twangy slick. Most of his work seems to be centred on Suburbia. Being stuck in it, leaving it, looking back on it. Suburbia isn't usually the substance of Country Music, but then that is kind of a loose genre nowadays. My fave of his is "Hand Me Downs", a beautiful examination of what it means to be serious, to be responsible, to be making the big decisions, or to be just kicking around in what you always have done, despite the fact that it probably isn't working.
At the end of his set, the wine bottle was drained. It was truly astounding with 750ml of merlot in him, Bob could still manage to sing and play not one but TWO instruments with brilliance. And then he managed to polish off another half a bottle in the encore. Towards the end of the night, the banter became a little sloppy, the set list and back catalogue somewhat exhasteded. At this moment of weakness, the crowd pounced, and demanded a Jebidiah song. And he relented. "Harpoon" is a brilliant moment in Australian songwriting, and I got some goosebumps seeing it played live.
Bob Evans - pronounced best,very quickly, as one word, Bobevans - is really fantastic beer garden summer music. Friends old and new fit well around a table with his music.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Both Kinds of Music: The Pigs
Tis that time of year again, The West Bubblefuck Both Kinds Of Music Festival. When every square of green (though it is usually brown) in town is taken up with a tent, and every awning of the main street has a wailing busker turned up almost-illegally loud. Tales of wives leaving, trucks breaking down, and how happy sheeee iiiiiis tooooo fiiiiiiiind hiiiiiiim, sung to twanging guitar.
But it is not all the sounds of a cat being put through a band saw. Festival time for some (including Sparky and his pals) is The Best Time Of Year. On the first Friday of each January, the AGM is held, and the Official Agenda (wow, lots of Capitalisation in this post??!?) is drawn up. This year, it has been Officially Printed on the Official Stubbie Coolers. And it is filled with some true gems (including the Red One, coming in on Friday). A variety of styles is sought. Some new artists, vying for the esteemed title of the Festival Find. And there are some Compulsory Shows to attend - Festival Faves.
Wednesday night was my first experience of the very special show - The Pigs. These boys have the THICKEST dodgy southern US accents you've ever heard. They have a repetoir of original tunes such as "Don't dump your lover on the phone" with its brilliant opening lyrics of "I am standing in the shadow of a 40 foot merino, while you were over there sipping on your cappucino", as well as some fantastic countryfied covers - turns out there are a number of genres that work in a country fashion, especially disco ("ABC" for example, and "Staying Alive") and R&B (specifically "Ignition" - it is the references to "sipping on coke & rum" that really ease it perfectly into the West Bubblefuck scene).
These guys are bags of fun, with a brilliantly energetic show. It is near impossible not to dance - Sparky cut the rug in a spectacular fashion! With guest bandmembers, OOPS! I mean cousins - Montz Matzumoto (a banjo player of the highest order) and Mark Oats (of the legendary folk band, The Bushwackers). The Committee (as I like to call those friends that take The Festival seriously) tried to hide the real identities of the cousins from me - Stretch, T-Bone & Billy-Bob aren't really thier names! They thought it really disappointing that Billy-Bob is really named Glen, and really comes from Dubbo. But I think they underestimate my ability to suspend my disbelief for the moment of performative magic.
The recordings I have heard have not nearly done these boys justice. The live show is just what country music should be - a little bit wrong, a lot of dancing, and not many people taking themselves too seriously.
But it is not all the sounds of a cat being put through a band saw. Festival time for some (including Sparky and his pals) is The Best Time Of Year. On the first Friday of each January, the AGM is held, and the Official Agenda (wow, lots of Capitalisation in this post??!?) is drawn up. This year, it has been Officially Printed on the Official Stubbie Coolers. And it is filled with some true gems (including the Red One, coming in on Friday). A variety of styles is sought. Some new artists, vying for the esteemed title of the Festival Find. And there are some Compulsory Shows to attend - Festival Faves.
Wednesday night was my first experience of the very special show - The Pigs. These boys have the THICKEST dodgy southern US accents you've ever heard. They have a repetoir of original tunes such as "Don't dump your lover on the phone" with its brilliant opening lyrics of "I am standing in the shadow of a 40 foot merino, while you were over there sipping on your cappucino", as well as some fantastic countryfied covers - turns out there are a number of genres that work in a country fashion, especially disco ("ABC" for example, and "Staying Alive") and R&B (specifically "Ignition" - it is the references to "sipping on coke & rum" that really ease it perfectly into the West Bubblefuck scene).
These guys are bags of fun, with a brilliantly energetic show. It is near impossible not to dance - Sparky cut the rug in a spectacular fashion! With guest bandmembers, OOPS! I mean cousins - Montz Matzumoto (a banjo player of the highest order) and Mark Oats (of the legendary folk band, The Bushwackers). The Committee (as I like to call those friends that take The Festival seriously) tried to hide the real identities of the cousins from me - Stretch, T-Bone & Billy-Bob aren't really thier names! They thought it really disappointing that Billy-Bob is really named Glen, and really comes from Dubbo. But I think they underestimate my ability to suspend my disbelief for the moment of performative magic.
The recordings I have heard have not nearly done these boys justice. The live show is just what country music should be - a little bit wrong, a lot of dancing, and not many people taking themselves too seriously.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Danne The Champion of the World
National youth radio network, Triple J may well be hijacking the public holiday of Australia Day. And I am totally down with that. If the day becomes more about listening to 100 songs while trying to pick what will be in the top 10 and kicking back with friends/family/all on your lonesome, watching (or hearing, actually) musical democracy at work, then it tends to take away from the celebration of the death of a culture, an invasion of a country, and 222 years of pretty piss poor treatment of indigenous people. It tends to distract from the hate fueled cape wearers, with We Grew Here You Flew Here stenciled on their bellies, or F*ck Off We're Full singlets.
The day off from work, that lurks closely at the end of 5 and a half weeks of bliss for all teachers (and probably students too if I remember correctly) still functions as a day to bring people together, to use barbeques and stubby coolers and thongs and backyard pools (or indeed beaches if you are lucky enough. I am thinking of Mr Taylor's yearly soiree at Clovelly...) and generally eek out as much joy from a summer's day as is humanly possible.
I didn't vote this year. I was too busy doing nothing, nowhere near a computer. But in November last year I picked "Little Lion Man" by Mumford & Sons. This bet was based on a number of things:
a) the song has swearing in it. Kids (and JJJ is the youth network after all) love a bit of profanity. This is reportedly unfair advantage Number 1 - I spend time with the people who would do the voting so I understand how they think
b) the song was Most Requested on JJJ's request show for WEEKS in a row. Unfair advantage #2, I can stand listening to Rosie Beaton. Other party guests plan on going into training in November next year to prepare for the big day
c) the poll (the biggest of its kind in the world, as we were repeatedly told yesterday) allows each voter 10 songs. Which means that the song won't be The Most Popular Song of the year, won't be The Most Favourite of The Most People, but rather a song that appears in The Most Top 10s. And looking at the history of #1s in the 17 years that this has been going, the pattern emerges - mostly with guitars (as opposed to being based on a beat), mostly nothing too heavy, and catchy as hell. Mumford & Sons fits that to a tee!
I did voice this pick very early on to all those that would listen, and even I'm sure to plenty of people that didn't want to listen, but I told them anyway.
And then the unthinkable happened.
A leak.
http://www.smh.com.au/news/entertainment/articles/2010/01/22/1263663157228.html
I think it is pretty shameful that anyone would leak it Crikey. But really, who reads Crikey? I know there are people, but its readership is significantly pale in comparison to SMH. Shame, SMH, shame on you for publishing this information.
And shame on Luke, who posted it on FB. And indeed, shame on me for reading it. Really, I am kicking myself.
Enough with the Derryn Hinch part of proceedings
With the forms supplied from the JJJ site for a sweepstakes, I managed to wrangle myself a winning 28 points, probably due to the 2 unfair advantages and knowledge written above. The points for the sweeps were allocated on how close each song was positioned. Really I was pretty flukey, in that I just, as I have done for years with my little bro, wrote the songs as they occurred to me, rather than in the order I thought they would be placed. So my list was written in no particular order, but scored as though it was. And it looked a little something like this.
1. Little Lion Man - Mumford & Sons (which is actually on the radio RIGHT NOW!!!) - came in at 1
2. Bullet Proof - La Roux - came in at 6
3. Coin Laundry - Lisa Mitchell - came in at 7
4. Ramona Was a Waitress - Paul Dempsey - came in somewhere in the 30s
5. Broken Legs - Bluejuice - came in at 5
6. Chase That Feeling - Hilltop Hoods - came in at 3
7. Uh Oh Oh No - Tegan & Sarah - didn't actually hear it yesterday. Don't even know if it is actually called that. Or if it is a 2009 song
8. We won't run - Sarah Blasko - came in somewhere in the 20s
9. Not Fair - Lily Allen - came in at 8
10. Liztamania - Phoenix - came in at 4
So as start the working year with a smug grin, a paper crown and the heart of a champion
The day off from work, that lurks closely at the end of 5 and a half weeks of bliss for all teachers (and probably students too if I remember correctly) still functions as a day to bring people together, to use barbeques and stubby coolers and thongs and backyard pools (or indeed beaches if you are lucky enough. I am thinking of Mr Taylor's yearly soiree at Clovelly...) and generally eek out as much joy from a summer's day as is humanly possible.
I didn't vote this year. I was too busy doing nothing, nowhere near a computer. But in November last year I picked "Little Lion Man" by Mumford & Sons. This bet was based on a number of things:
a) the song has swearing in it. Kids (and JJJ is the youth network after all) love a bit of profanity. This is reportedly unfair advantage Number 1 - I spend time with the people who would do the voting so I understand how they think
b) the song was Most Requested on JJJ's request show for WEEKS in a row. Unfair advantage #2, I can stand listening to Rosie Beaton. Other party guests plan on going into training in November next year to prepare for the big day
c) the poll (the biggest of its kind in the world, as we were repeatedly told yesterday) allows each voter 10 songs. Which means that the song won't be The Most Popular Song of the year, won't be The Most Favourite of The Most People, but rather a song that appears in The Most Top 10s. And looking at the history of #1s in the 17 years that this has been going, the pattern emerges - mostly with guitars (as opposed to being based on a beat), mostly nothing too heavy, and catchy as hell. Mumford & Sons fits that to a tee!
I did voice this pick very early on to all those that would listen, and even I'm sure to plenty of people that didn't want to listen, but I told them anyway.
And then the unthinkable happened.
A leak.
http://www.smh.com.au/news/entertainment/articles/2010/01/22/1263663157228.html
I think it is pretty shameful that anyone would leak it Crikey. But really, who reads Crikey? I know there are people, but its readership is significantly pale in comparison to SMH. Shame, SMH, shame on you for publishing this information.
And shame on Luke, who posted it on FB. And indeed, shame on me for reading it. Really, I am kicking myself.
Enough with the Derryn Hinch part of proceedings
With the forms supplied from the JJJ site for a sweepstakes, I managed to wrangle myself a winning 28 points, probably due to the 2 unfair advantages and knowledge written above. The points for the sweeps were allocated on how close each song was positioned. Really I was pretty flukey, in that I just, as I have done for years with my little bro, wrote the songs as they occurred to me, rather than in the order I thought they would be placed. So my list was written in no particular order, but scored as though it was. And it looked a little something like this.
1. Little Lion Man - Mumford & Sons (which is actually on the radio RIGHT NOW!!!) - came in at 1
2. Bullet Proof - La Roux - came in at 6
3. Coin Laundry - Lisa Mitchell - came in at 7
4. Ramona Was a Waitress - Paul Dempsey - came in somewhere in the 30s
5. Broken Legs - Bluejuice - came in at 5
6. Chase That Feeling - Hilltop Hoods - came in at 3
7. Uh Oh Oh No - Tegan & Sarah - didn't actually hear it yesterday. Don't even know if it is actually called that. Or if it is a 2009 song
8. We won't run - Sarah Blasko - came in somewhere in the 20s
9. Not Fair - Lily Allen - came in at 8
10. Liztamania - Phoenix - came in at 4
So as start the working year with a smug grin, a paper crown and the heart of a champion
Sunday, October 4, 2009
It’s True – Everything is.
Usually I have my trusty iRiver to take me from West Bubblefuck to wherever it is that I need to go. But there was a drastic recharging error (ie I put it on to charge and for some reason I didn't make sure all the connections were connected) and the mp3 player ran out of battery with only half an hour of driving left.
And there is a 4 hour drive to look forward to tomorrow with all my worldly possessions (ie a bed, some cooking utensils, an ikea mirror and 2 bean bags) on the back of a ute. The fear of making said drive in the stoney silence of no radio reception filled my belly. So I went shopping.
I knew there was a CD that I had heard discussed on the radio, and as I stood there in Sanity, I had my very own moment of insanity. I couldn't for the life of me remember who it was who made the CD that I had wanted to buy. There were leading questions from helpful friends and shop assistants alike. But to no avail.
Have I publically praised Target on this blog before? If not, a public worship of the house of Target is well overdue. I stood there in the sterile isles, and there he was, like a beacon of musical talent in the dark night of the musically beige and boring.
Paul Dempsey's solo album Everything is true.
(I also purchased Duffy's Rockferry based pretty much entirely on how much I heard Warwick Avenue when I was in the UK precisely a year ago and Coldplay's Viva La Viva based on the fact that I really love the title track. Turns out both albums are mostly beige filler, except for the singles)
I know some Die Hard Something For Kate Fans. One is responsible for the naming of the Mechanical Sharks tour (based on the fact that she threw a wind up shark on stage early in their tour that was promoting the Beautiful Sharks tour and they liked it a lot). One has a number of multiple copies of different versions of the same album in order to own all the versions of the cover art (including several of the same EP with the band hand drawn covers). I love Aussie music and I love 90s rock. But I have never really been a huge card carrying fan of Something For Kate. I don't own any albums, I have only ever seen them at festivals that I have been to, not one of their own gigs.
And then I heard "Ramona Was A Waitress" on the Js over the last few weeks. And I heard Paul Dempsey (The Man Some Of My Friends Call God) on the radio saying that he doesn't really know where the sound for this new album came from, and how it is different to everything else that he has done before. Yes, that would be the radio interview where I couldn't remember the subject of the interview. Me and my stupid brain...
Anyway, the album. Best I have bought all day – but as I said the other two are pretty much filler. Best album I have bought for a long time, really. Dempsey is right, it doesn't sound like S4K very much at all. It is simultaneously more country and less depressing. I realise the paradox of that statement. S4K, while producing some brilliant stuff, does tend to have the whiff of the emo to it. Does tend to smack vaguely of Woe Is Me and Isn't The World A Bit Fucked. This album doesn't really have that. Hell, there is a track called "The Great Optimist" to be my entire case in point. And when I say it is a little bit country, it is more about the riff and the down and up beats than it is about someone stealing his truck and his dog and his woman, and leaving him only with a bottle of booze. This is an album that I could stick on high rotation and leave there, and I haven't heard one of them for ages.
Plus the album art is just gorgeous. If your purchasing opinion is ever swayed by random blogposts, buy this album. Don't just procure it illegally, burn it or download it. Buy the disc, with the beautiful liner notes (Hell, get it on LP if you can, the artwork should be bigger). Give the money to the Aussie artists, and wrap yourself in this album like a lovingly stitched quilt.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
The Hardest Thing I Had To Do All Weekend
As far as I am concerned, there is Only One Radio Station. Triple J.
I have always hated ads. No, wait, let me qualify that. I have always hated the kinds of ads that are not clever, not witty, not trying to achieve any other purpose than the lowest common denominator, that being the highest possible profit. The shouty, the repetetive, the badly scripted or poorly acted ads make me want to vomit and stab something at the same time. Preferably stab something with my vomit, just to be efficient. (wow. that is really gross. apologies.)
Every year, JJJ have a music poll to determine the best song of the previous 12 months. It started in 1989 as a "What is the best song of all time?" kinda poll. Joy Division, Love Will Tear Us Apart. The list is here The next year's list looked alarmingly similar. And in 1991 Kurt and the Seattle fellas knocked The Div off #1. (They still came 2nd though, as can be seen here.) And from 1993 they have had a Hottest Song Of The Current year kinda thing happening. As the years have gone by, what with the advent of the internet etc, the process has become larger, more homogeonised and generally caused a great deal of controversy. 1998, the black year, the year that shall not speak its name (mostly because years don't say anything at all).
The playing of the Hottest 100 on Australia Day has become a cultural tradition - a way for the now generation to ignore the Invasion Day conundrum, and set about doing what Australians do best on public holidays - get pissed and hedonistic.
Baydo's "bucks" barbeque, the day before the wedding day, was more of a family cricket/barbie/hottest 100 party in Cathie. Simon has a notorious party which I am still yet to make it to in Clovelly. I have in the last few years, tended to sit around with my bro in the air conditioning in the lounge room listening and taking bets on the top ten.
And every few years (this year is 20 years since year 1) the wise musical folks at the Js have another Hottest 100 of All Time to test the Musical waters of the Australian Youf. Voting has been open for about 6 weeks. And it closed about 12 minutes ago (gah! I should go to bed!).
I have, in true Danne style, been pontificating and procrastinating on the voting in this poll. The concept of choosing but 1o songs to represent me, my musical democratic vote, reflective of what I listen to, what I believe is good art and who I am as a person. Yes, I probably take it way too seriously. But I have been listening to this station since 1994, I feel like I have invested a large chunk of my adolescence into this radio network and it informs who I am as a human being. (did I mention I know I am taking this way too seriously?)
I sat down tonight to nut out my list. It was a little bit hellish. And yes, I know there are people who are accidentally slamming their octagenarian father's thumbs into car doors on the way back from doctors appointments (get my capacity for guilt from my mother) and I know there are people who have to start full time work with a completely inappropriate new boss, and I know there are people who have just found at that their recent ex has knocked up his new missus, and I know there are kids who I will teach tomorrow that have to deal with abuse, and hearing impairments, and attention defecit disorders. But for tonight... for tonight, this was the most pressing and most plaguing issue of the moment.
The first short list was 121 songs long.
So I culled. All the songs that I just Liked.
The second short list was 42.
And the third was 31.
At 22 I culled Queen & David Bowie, The Beatles, Jeff Buckley and Rage Against the Machine.
I ended up with the list below. By all means it is not exhaustive. In fact, the greatest artists of the last 3 generations are not really represented. It is not The Hottest Artists of All Time. Enough of the excuses.
You Am I - Purple Sneakers
I got my love of music from my folks, and I specifically got my love of raspy Bob from my dad. This jangly spangly number with the iconic placard video clip is the one that I loves best from Dylan.
The Cure - Friday I'm in Love
Vid here
Remember Vidiot? Music quiz show on ABC in the 90s. They played the clip from this song as the basis of a series of questions, and I fell in love with Robert Smith and his smeary lipstick. Yeah, the upbeat nature of this track doesn't really reflect the back catalogue of The Cure, but I love it anyway. I also love the tshirt of this song, and am desperate for it to be reprinted so I can purchase and wear pictoral representations of its repetetive but sweet lyrics.
Damien Rice - Cannonball
I have always hated ads. No, wait, let me qualify that. I have always hated the kinds of ads that are not clever, not witty, not trying to achieve any other purpose than the lowest common denominator, that being the highest possible profit. The shouty, the repetetive, the badly scripted or poorly acted ads make me want to vomit and stab something at the same time. Preferably stab something with my vomit, just to be efficient. (wow. that is really gross. apologies.)
Every year, JJJ have a music poll to determine the best song of the previous 12 months. It started in 1989 as a "What is the best song of all time?" kinda poll. Joy Division, Love Will Tear Us Apart. The list is here The next year's list looked alarmingly similar. And in 1991 Kurt and the Seattle fellas knocked The Div off #1. (They still came 2nd though, as can be seen here.) And from 1993 they have had a Hottest Song Of The Current year kinda thing happening. As the years have gone by, what with the advent of the internet etc, the process has become larger, more homogeonised and generally caused a great deal of controversy. 1998, the black year, the year that shall not speak its name (mostly because years don't say anything at all).
The playing of the Hottest 100 on Australia Day has become a cultural tradition - a way for the now generation to ignore the Invasion Day conundrum, and set about doing what Australians do best on public holidays - get pissed and hedonistic.
Baydo's "bucks" barbeque, the day before the wedding day, was more of a family cricket/barbie/hottest 100 party in Cathie. Simon has a notorious party which I am still yet to make it to in Clovelly. I have in the last few years, tended to sit around with my bro in the air conditioning in the lounge room listening and taking bets on the top ten.
And every few years (this year is 20 years since year 1) the wise musical folks at the Js have another Hottest 100 of All Time to test the Musical waters of the Australian Youf. Voting has been open for about 6 weeks. And it closed about 12 minutes ago (gah! I should go to bed!).
I have, in true Danne style, been pontificating and procrastinating on the voting in this poll. The concept of choosing but 1o songs to represent me, my musical democratic vote, reflective of what I listen to, what I believe is good art and who I am as a person. Yes, I probably take it way too seriously. But I have been listening to this station since 1994, I feel like I have invested a large chunk of my adolescence into this radio network and it informs who I am as a human being. (did I mention I know I am taking this way too seriously?)
I sat down tonight to nut out my list. It was a little bit hellish. And yes, I know there are people who are accidentally slamming their octagenarian father's thumbs into car doors on the way back from doctors appointments (get my capacity for guilt from my mother) and I know there are people who have to start full time work with a completely inappropriate new boss, and I know there are people who have just found at that their recent ex has knocked up his new missus, and I know there are kids who I will teach tomorrow that have to deal with abuse, and hearing impairments, and attention defecit disorders. But for tonight... for tonight, this was the most pressing and most plaguing issue of the moment.
The first short list was 121 songs long.
So I culled. All the songs that I just Liked.
The second short list was 42.
And the third was 31.
At 22 I culled Queen & David Bowie, The Beatles, Jeff Buckley and Rage Against the Machine.
I ended up with the list below. By all means it is not exhaustive. In fact, the greatest artists of the last 3 generations are not really represented. It is not The Hottest Artists of All Time. Enough of the excuses.
You Am I - Purple Sneakers
This song is what I listed as #1, mostly because I started with You Am I, and culled it down to The Sneaks from 5 songs. The reason that I listed on the site was something trite about the song being representative of Sydney and its sound, of growing up in the 1990s, and of the beginning of the rennaissance on Australian music. Plus, Tim Rogers is a beautiful tortured soul who can spin and lyric and lick like a master weaver. I wish I was him.
Bloc Party - I Still Remember
Previous posts have alluded to the joys of this song on the road. This whole album is a killer for roadtrips to the city, and even though it came out well after I was in London, the sounds of his voice are woven into my memories of Kilburn and West Hampstead and Finchley road. Plus it is a song that makes me lament lost love with a smile on my face.
Bob Dylan - Subterranean Homesick Blues
I got my love of music from my folks, and I specifically got my love of raspy Bob from my dad. This jangly spangly number with the iconic placard video clip is the one that I loves best from Dylan.
The Cure - Friday I'm in Love
Vid here
Remember Vidiot? Music quiz show on ABC in the 90s. They played the clip from this song as the basis of a series of questions, and I fell in love with Robert Smith and his smeary lipstick. Yeah, the upbeat nature of this track doesn't really reflect the back catalogue of The Cure, but I love it anyway. I also love the tshirt of this song, and am desperate for it to be reprinted so I can purchase and wear pictoral representations of its repetetive but sweet lyrics.
Damien Rice - Cannonball
This song is Dublin and Derry and Belfast. It's internet radio at the casting studios in London. It's belting out drunkenly in the flat in Bondi. It's the very damaged songwriter who doesn't greet his audience at The Enmore, and sings like his sould is written into the notes of the tune. Yeah, it's soppy and bordering on emo, but I love it. (warning: there is poo shots in this clip)
Franz Ferdinand - Take Me Out
Vid here
If I was to make a list of top 10 things that make me smile no matter what, the tempo change at the beginning of this song would make the list (along with peeling the top off the butter... there, we're up to 2 already!). Alex and the gang were the subject of my wee bro's music viva voce - that is he talked about the theory of how post-punk is an amalgamation of punk riffs and disco beats. Me, I wanted to hear about how these two disperate subcultures from the 1970s could possibly be married into music in the new millenium, but apparently that wasn't the point. Another artist that is bound up in memories of London. But also gave a belting set at the Enmore a few years ago, and it was difficult to narrow the choice down to just one FF track. TMO is lucky (lucky lucky you're so lucky!!). Also, a very Scottish band. In no way are they Aussie. Just to be clear.
Machine Gun Fellatio - Unsent Letter
I didn't know who sung this haunting song for a long time. And then Love is a four letter word came out (previously swooned about), and Pinky Beecroft was involved in the killer soundtrack of that show. This song is about lamenting and confusion and the twisting of truth in the mouth and the brain and the lack of reality that exists in human interaction. Plus it reminds me that I have about a million unsent letters. Most of those are also unwritten too.
Paul Kelly - To Her Door
I've seen Paul play about half a dozen times - twice in the UK, and a few times in Tamworth. He is Australia's most brilliant song writer, even if his voice is too nasal, too ocker, too Aussie. An antipodean answer to Bob Dylan. This is a 3 minute narrative about the inception, destruction and resurrection of a relationship, of a family and of a man. It explores domestic violence, unemployment, alcoholism... Plus there is a swearword in it. I love a good curse in a love song.
Pearl Jam - Better Man
Representing the slick of grunge that runs through the veins of every person who was a teenager in the 90s. Nirvana won this poll the last 2 times it was run, and I don't know what the odds are, but I think they will do well again this year. I was always more of an Eddie girl than a Kurt chick. He is more mellow and his grungy angst was actually more for show than Kurt's messy ways - he named his daughter Francis Jellybean, I mean seriously! (this is not to mention the addictions, the suicide or the marriage to Courtney Love). And sure, Vedder's voice might resemble something of a tryhard layer on the mike, or a need to drink less dairy to deal with the mucusy membrane (ew, Danne, gross!) but Pearl Jam were really my grunge band of choice at the time when it was flannos and long dirty hair and torn jeans.
Powderfinger - My Kinda Scene
Vid here
Another of the Great Australian Rock Bands, they make consistently perfect music, and always have. I love seeing them live - they played at the first gig I ever went to - Crowded House's Farewell to The World (along with my other 2 favourite bands at the time, You Am I and Custard). Their gigs are always phenomenal. Bernard Fanning and his multitonal voice makes me want to cry and squeal and dance and shake my long red hair all over my eyes (maybe he is the reason I went ranga...?). Odyessy #5 is a brilliant album. This one is not wound up in memories of London, but memories of before London - of the halcyon days of Astolat and Moonlight Cinema and giant house parties with the beer in the clam shell paddle pool.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Well, how 'bout it?
To say that The Boat That Rocked was a film that rocked would be a gross understatement.
A deliciously hilarious fictional history (am still reading up on how historical the fiction is...) with an ensemble including some of my favourite performers (Nick Frost, Phillip Seymour Hoffman (the busiest American actor), Bill Nighy, Chris O'Dowd & Katherine Parkinson (both of IT Crowd fame), Rhys Darby... and on, and on and on...) written and directed by the normally overtly sentimental Richard Curtis.
Its a Stick It To The Man/Coming of Age/Sort Out Daddy Issues/Music based Comedy/Boat film. A genre of now 2 films I can think of - the other being The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. I wonder what it is about being set on a boat that allows a young man to confront his issues of abandonment with his father. Possibly the forced isolation and the claustrophobia. I would have too much difficulty remembering not to trip over every door frame I stepped through, and coping with seasickness to deal with parental abandonment, but maybe that's because I'm not anybody's son...
Highlights include absolutely delicious art direction, the use of vinyl and all its crackly black plastic audio goodness, hilarious performances and a rescue scene that shits all over Titanic from a great height. A character called Twat (by name and nature) played perfectly by Jack Davenport. And the soundtrack was sublime!
As far as I can tell, reviews have been less than glowing.
The UK tele said it was a muddled and only fitfully brilliant film
David gave it 3 stars, and Margaret 3 and a half (but then I have always been more of a Margaret person anyway.)
I thought the film was a joy, almost from the start. I don't think it went too long. I still wanted more at the end. I knew RC wouldn't leave us with a sad sad ending, and he delivered.
Nick Frost was as usual hysterical, but more nude than I have seen him in the past. Turns out, chunky boys with facial hair do it for me... Oh, wait. That isn't a surprise...
Bill Nighy was perfect. Every time I see him in something I think "This was the role he was BORN to play" and really this is it. He is exactly the right amount of pompous, lanky and wrinkled.
And Chris O'Dowd... Again, it comes as not much of a surprise that a funny Irishman makes me go all distracty and not think straight.
Tom Wisdom, playing Mark, is a dead ringer for Our Heath. Esp in the leather pants. Quite scrummy, really. And Mark offered the greatest insight into the male psyche since Swingers
So in honour of TBTR:
Top 6 Boat Films, in no particular order
1. The Boat That Rocked
Gotta love a nautical British comedy
2. The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou
Wes Anderson and another star studded cast. I defy you not to want to wear red beanies!
3. Titanic, only because it was so enormous
I still can't get over the hype and shite that followed this film. Sure, it was huge. But the effects on it were really not all that great. Plus they weren't Kate's real boobs.
TBTR had hints of water exploding down hallways. But this time I was giggling
4. Jaws I think we're going to need a bigger boat
5. The Imposters
Oliver Platt, Stanley Tucci and Billy Connelly. Cross dressing screwball about how messed up actors are. "I Hate Them" is the best cream bun on mouth line ever.
6. Speed 2
How unlucky does Sandra Bullock want to be? First Dennis Hopper, now Wilhem Dafoe!??!
Sunday, April 5, 2009
The Best Albums to Not Get Caught Speeding To
What makes for a good driving song? The soundtrack to the road trip can seriously affect how the trip goes - how fast you drive, how much you enjoy the drive, how many hours you can keep clicking those Ks away. I always find towards the END of a long road, my patience with my own music collection wears thin, and I am reaching for the skip button more frequently than I blink. In order to keep on truckin', a repetoir of solid sounds is most certainly required!
In the last 4 weeks I have driven 2378. A 50th on th Gold Coast, a wedding in the Blue Mountains, and a just-for-the-hell-of-it-cause-its-my-birthday-and-I-gotta-get-outta-here trip to Cathie. And with all those Ks, one needs tunes.
The criteria...
Must have some pace. Lilting beautiful ballads have their place, but it is not on the open road. The beat shouldn't be too fast, else the driving will be. And it shouldn't be too repetetive, else it will become boring.
Drum beats need to be clear enough for digits to beat out on the steering wheel, a la John Cusak in the opening scenes of Say Anything (sigh!)
Lyrics. Essential. The road is no place for the instrumental. Must be audible and recognisable and preferably known by heart to be belted out loud enough that one becomes light headed from lack of oxygen, and there is doubt about teaching a class on Monday morning without the husky voice.
And seeing as Top 5s are so Hi Fidelity, I like Top 6s. So in no particular order...
2. Vampire Weekend - Vampire Weekend
4. A Weekend in The City - Bloc Party
5. Neon Bible - Arcade Fire
In the last 4 weeks I have driven 2378. A 50th on th Gold Coast, a wedding in the Blue Mountains, and a just-for-the-hell-of-it-cause-its-my-birthday-and-I-gotta-get-outta-here trip to Cathie. And with all those Ks, one needs tunes.
The criteria...
Must have some pace. Lilting beautiful ballads have their place, but it is not on the open road. The beat shouldn't be too fast, else the driving will be. And it shouldn't be too repetetive, else it will become boring.
Drum beats need to be clear enough for digits to beat out on the steering wheel, a la John Cusak in the opening scenes of Say Anything (sigh!)
Lyrics. Essential. The road is no place for the instrumental. Must be audible and recognisable and preferably known by heart to be belted out loud enough that one becomes light headed from lack of oxygen, and there is doubt about teaching a class on Monday morning without the husky voice.
And seeing as Top 5s are so Hi Fidelity, I like Top 6s. So in no particular order...
1. Only By The Night- Kings of Leon
A recent one, to be sure. But I defy you to keep under the speed limit as Caleb and his hairy Christian brother hit the waily parts of Sex on Fire or Use Somebody. The steady beat keeps the left foot bouncing and the thumbs on the steering wheel percussion are relentless. His voice is so much older than it should be!
Plus, once this record is done with I tend to skip through my faves from the back catalogue.
2. Vampire Weekend - Vampire WeekendI've gotta agree with Ms Martha Elaine Belden. This is a killer album that it is impossible not to grin maniacally along with nearly every track. And, still in agreement, Oxford Comma is undeniably the best song on there, impossible to pass at just one listen. I love how their lyrics seem to be an injoke, a self referential smug allusion that only the truly pompous of us will understand and love.
For a NY band, they sound so terribly English, which of couse I love the pants off. Sam The Pommy Camera Man tried very hard to convince me that they were, but my musical geekery would not allow it. Anyway, their lovely slightly pompous lyrics, oh-so-catchy melodies and their bouncy high guitars just make you want to leap hills in a single frollick!
3. Made of Bricks - Kate Nash
I've never really been one for girly pop. I like my music with a bit of guts. But I really like this chick. She is a little bit Lily Allen (which is a bit of a dirty word in our house), but I find her stuff less posey and more like the theme song to reading Frankie. Very vintage floral frocks, but with the word Fuck inside. This album is also excellent for trying to deal with anger management, (particularly when coping with wayward teenage boys and their complete lack of respect for females generally. As previously whinged about here). Foundations and Merry Happy are highlights, particularly this side of the mountains
4. A Weekend in The City - Bloc PartyConcept Albums are just not made enough, I reckon. Even though this album was released WELL after my time there, just the opening chords/beats of every song have me walking down Finchley Road or standing on a tube platform or climbing the far-too-steep steps on a red double decker.
For the times when I am driving to The Big Smoke, or coming back, this album always seems to fit. Hypothetically, when one is preparing to see one's Ex's parents for the first time in AGES, a couple of listens to The Prayer will always help (but still doesn't quite prepare you to meet The New GF... hypothetically of course...). And I Still Remember is pretty much the most beautiful song ever written. The swelling up of joy when the beat kicks in starts way down in the bottom of the belly and explodes up and out and fills up the car and the freeway and all the valleys below. Best for the F3, but does nicely on any open road. And in fact this album is so good, it pretty much works for any occasion. An All Occasion Album.
5. Neon Bible - Arcade FireA scathing, satirical spit in the face of the Post 9/11 US, written from the safety of Montreal in Springsteenesque* rhythms and harmonies. Seeing these guys at the 08BDO was something akin to a religious experience** (. Kind of ironic, seeing as they write music which I interpret to be fairly seriously anti-religion. But not anti-faith, just anti-commercialised, homogeonised, bible under the neon sign kind of crap.
Obvious choices for driving songs include No Cars Go but especially Keep the Car Running. But my fave is Intervention. Again, swelling melodies and steering wheel percussion reign supreme on this album.
This album is particularly perfect for the Hunter Valley drive through the vineyards.
*In our household, this record is known as That Bruce Springsteen album. The fact that he has played with the Win & Regine on stage at one of his performances makes me grin like a lunatic, and heartily agree with the cinematographer.... "YES!!! YES!!! HOLY SHIT!!!".
**Followed immediately by another more violent religious experience - RATM at BDO. Just the thought of it gives me goosebumps!
6. Old Trees & New Branches - The Bastard Children (formerly CWQ)
Not the most populist of choices, but that is just because you haven't heard them yet.
CWQ (as they were then) played at the same venue as us when at the Edinburgh Festival last year. And despite the fact that I live only 1500kms (HA! Only...) from them, I had to travel 17 000kms to see, hear and discover that I am totally in love with every beardy one of these boys. They dress in 3 piece op-shop suits, wear flatcaps and fedoras and grow facial hair. Their songs include harmonicas (is there a sexier instrument?), piano accordians (the second sexiest instrument), the mandolin and their recordings include a sax.
The moniker of The Bastard Children is so apt - they have bastardised their sound from gypsies, country, folk, pop, rock... A bit like a Convict Rock sound. Good driving music, yes, but even better as drinking music...
Special mentions must also be made.
Laid, by James. Bitter, sexual confusion. That drum bit goes great guns on the dashboard. And those high notes are so much fun to no hit. Plus this song always comes up in trivia.
Anything by The Cure works exeptionally well for the To The Coast Mountain drive.
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