For No One

The Decade Of Decadence Pt.1

2010-03-01T17:56:00.000-08:00

"Take time to deliberate; but when the time for action arrives, stop thinking and go in."

- Napoleon Bonaparte

I can scarcely believe we're already two months into 2010, and that its been five since I updated this here bloggy. It would therefore be reasonable to question just what the frack I've been up to if not typing away my inner most thoughts and commentaries. Well, let's go back to October.

I had a film to shoot. You know, the whole gumwall thing? I'm sure if you scroll down you'll read all about it. The film's a contentious issue for me. I don't hate it. I don't even really dislike it. But I can't find it within myself, no matter how hard I try, to sing its praises. And its got nothing to do with my teachers, or my friends - hell, I barely remember what we actually submitted in the end. My feelings about that time are unavoidable. The biggest issue of October, the creation of Emily's brilliant concept in Stuck, was fated to be overshadowed by something rather sinister.

The November that followed was one of the most harrowing times of my life. I had finished uni, just barely stumbling to the finish line. I was tired, and the pain derived from my condition - Crohn's disease - was becoming suspiciously immense as days passed. The day I handed everything in, I saw Ladyhawke play @ the Forum. It would turn out to be one of the more surprising evenings of the year, claiming its place among my favorite gigs in recent memory. Then, a day later, in consulting a specialist, it was advised I needed to be admitted to hospital immediately. Something was very seriously wrong. How badly it would all play out, of course, nobody would realise - because, sure enough, I was taken to hospital, I was treated, and I was getting better. Crohn's disease caused me to have an IV in my arm, a liquid diet and more daytime television than I could handle, but I was due to head home.

Barring the circumstance of my bowel perfurating. Which is exactly what happened.

Emergency surgery was queued up, and I was pretty damn terrified (which I believe to be perfectly reasonable) . I found myself in hospital a week longer than I thought I'd be, with a stitched up bowel, a catheter, and all sorts of nasty things I had to put up with. None nastier than the New Zealand soapie Shortland Street though, I can assure you. I had visitors. El, by that time my girlfriend, dropped in every day. I was always tired, but I never tired of her. My Mum and Dad were always there for me. My brother, his girlfriend, Em, Kami... even The Good China came in to keep me company. Often they'd all come baring gifts, even if the odd Ralph magazine may have been inappropriate (see catheter) . But I can't sufficiently express the sincere and absolute gratitude I feel towards everyone who took their time out to support me in any way they could. I can only hope I've made it clear before now just how heartwarming it was.

December. The recovery was a bitch. The extended stay in hospital taught me to despise inaction. It taught me to despite television, news and current affairs shows, all kinds of things. Just sitting around really got to me. I had a lot of time to think. I understood why the last few months had been so hard on my body, but I didn't feel heroic, I felt stupid. Oddly, to escape those thoughts, I'd get about. It would be uncomfortable to move, but I'd push myself, simply due to the frustration I'd cause myself if I just stayed put. I felt I had been sitting around long enough, and it was time to get back to living my life. Predictably, I got back into the swing of things with a gig here and there, a party... my own. I'm 21 years old now. It was a brilliant night, it can't have gone better. Another big thanks to everyone who came out for it, you made my evening. Christmas was okay. My actual birthday was grand. My second New Years spent @ Jag's threatened a repeat performance, but I bailed on the party before I could embarrass myself again.

And now its 2010. But guess what? I'm gonna save my coverage of the year so far for next post.

'Fraid so. But you're ever so kind for reading this far, and returning after such a long time. It won't be long til the next one. Pinky promise.

Something So Strong

2009-10-06T22:41:00.000-07:00

"It is stupid comparing us to the Beatles. There were four of them. There are only three of us."

- Paul Hester

It wasn't my plan to be so worn out by 5pm today, but I suppose it makes sense. Would I have done it any differently if I had known I would be here, there and everywhere? I've travelled from Glen Waverley, to Prahran. Prahran to the city. The city to Fitzroy. Fitzroy to Collingwood. And just recently, back into the city. Right now I'm at the State Library, enjoying some down time. In about an hour I'll be on a tram to North Melbourne - and then, finally, I'll be making the trip back home to Glen Waverley. What does it all mean, what's it all for? Well, that's precisely the point of this post. Check out my day...

I bailed on the idea of waking at 6am for another two-hour world of Managing Design 'fun', so I got up at 9am instead. Unfortunately, I'd have to go into uni anyway, into the bowels of the PA building to do a little DVD Authoring. I mostly made changes to the project I had already submitted, adding excerpts of The Good China's latest music video (which will hit the web sometime soon, I imagine). It was for the sake of an interview I had scheduled at 2pm - funnily enough, a DVD Authoring position. The company wanted my showreel, and I was happy to oblige. I finished my work, and began to make my way to Fitzroy.

I thought the interview went well. I fielded the questions with particular ease, and although I initially felt a degree of pressure, I found myself, mid-interview, rather optimistic of my first impressions. It was a little nerve racking when the chief interviewer decided to insert the showreel I had just burnt for a quick glimpse. My mind raced with all these ghastly outcomes: the disc isn't actually in the right region, none of the hyperlinks actually link to anything, the DVD player could simply explode and proves a match for even the most adept Fire Department. Overall, though, things went smoothly. I opted to show them what I had of All Nothing (the aforementioned clip) and they were both amused and impressed. It made me feel good for myself and the band. Inevitably, I noticed one particular fail concerning a menu - a daft mistake I knew I could rectify within seconds if given the chance - but hopefully they don't shift unnecessary focus onto what's a tiny mistake. So, anyway, I was satisfied. And it had finished sooner than I thought. So what was I to do with my time?

I should avoid Dixons. Its just too awesome. I can't really afford to go there anymore - hell, I never could. Anyway, for a decent price, I ended up buying Noah And The Whale's Peaceful The World Lays Me Down, Pet Shop Boys' Fundemental and Cajun Dance Party's The Colorful Life. Its unusual, as two of those three albums I haven't really heard much of. This defies my usual pattern of download, love, buy. My purchase of Fundemental was purely based on recommendation; El assures me I'll come to enjoy it much more than Yes (which I've had on high rotation for sometime now - good stuff). I promised myself I wouldn't spend anymore money after that venture. Typically, it took me all of five minutes to begin to see other things I'd love to buy. A brand-new, not-so-bright-red ukulele case was up there. But its probably a good thing I saved my money, and walked just a bit further to The Searchers. Its a record / bookshop on Smith St, and one I've been meaning to go to for months. Today I finally put myself out to go there, and boy, did it pay off...

Zomg.

This is a Crowded House rarity. For a start, as far as I know, its out of print. I remember this one time, years ago, I found a record of it on the Monash Public Library database. When I followed it up, however, I was told the only copy of the book, however, had gone missing, and there was no explanation for its disappearance. Bummer, huh? So I pretty much acknowledged - much like I did with Shaun Micallef's hilarious Smithereens - that I'd never own a copy for myself. Fortunately though, also like Smithereens, a copy of this book is now mine, and mine forever, and for just $14. Not bad, considering the chances of finding this anywhere were, to my knowledge, pretty much zero. This is pretty much the single greatest experience I've had with a record store, ever. Zomg indeed.

Everything is fantastically Finn in my world at the moment, actually. I could be off to New Zealand to see Neil and Tim Finn team up for a Samoan Relief concert. As far as wins go, I'm checking the boxes: I've wanted to go to New Zealand for a while, and now it looks like I might... whilst I'm there, I could see my idols, live in concert... and the proceeds for said concert will be distributed in ways that actually make a difference to people who really, really need all the help they can get at the moment. Win. Win. Win.

Time for me to leave the State Library. As I mentioned, I'm in North Melbourne tonight. Its the last thing I have to do today, and its to cover the last of the Fringe shows I was assigned: Josh Thomas. Not really sure what to expect. He's hardly hilarious or anything from what I've seen (mostly his role on Talkin Bout Your Generation), but I have to admit, I'm curious to see what he's got. I'm still quite chuffed that my reviews have made appearances - yes, two now, amazingly - in Beat. The novelty hasn't worn off. Maybe my call is writing. Maybe that's what I should be doing with my time. Hard to argue against that notion when its exactly what I'm doing now. I hope you've enjoyed this account of my giant, awesomely enjoyable day, and fingers crossed about the job, and the evening to come. I've travelled from Glen Waverley, to Prahran. Prahran to the city. The city to Fitzroy. Fitzroy to Collingwood. And just recently, back into the city. Soon I'll be on a tram to North Melbourne.

So just why the hell am I still living in Glen Waverley? 'Til next post.

Distraction 9

2009-10-01T00:02:00.000-07:00

"If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun."

- Katharine Hepburn

As I expected, my week off really didn't feel like a holiday at all. Which is far from a complaint, because keeping busy meant that when I did return to uni this past Monday, it felt like I had been gone a month. Which was a good feeling, because I had accomplished a lot: a few Fringe Festival shows reviewed (the articles can be found here), as well as getting together with the ol' crew and making headway on our gumwall documentary. Anyway, when I got back into the swing of things and arrived at Swinburne on Monday morning, it really felt like a new beginning - not so much the second part of semester two, but a brand new semester.

Of course, my cycnicism and general restlessness soon crept in and ruined the whole experience. Predictable, really. Today's probably been the best example. Screening Series offered up a Roman Polanski film, Cul De Sac, and for most of the film I found myself daydreaming about all sorts of things - inlcuding a delicious blueberry-choc muffin I had enjoyed prior to the class. Is that wrong? Surely that's a sign that, psychologically at least, I'm not exactly in tune with my course. To be fair, it was only that the movie conjured so much apathy in me that such a situation occured.
Later, in my 12:30pm Editing class, we were warned fairly explicitly that mid-class use of Facebook would result in an instant dismissal for the day. Unsurprisingly (and I can even bring up my chat logs calling this outcome), I was caught within the first ten minutes of the lesson and promptly asked to leave. I'd feel bad, but - and this is probably another danger sign - I've come to learn that I can miss classes without any repercussion whatsoever. I know I won't have missed crucial education, and I know I won't have to catch up on anything. Again, I can't help but wonder if this is how it ought to be.

So, having left class, I had a lot of time on my hands. The first thing I did was find another computer. Then I logged onto the Village Cinemas website. Then I walked to Jam Factory, and saw this film.

Not quite Mars Attacks.

And you know what? You can forget all of the above - you know, any hint of my disillusionment with my career path - because there's nothing wrong here. I see things like these, and I'm again instantly awash with my love for film and television. Its just over an hour since I saw this film, and I still very much admire its creativity, originality - its entertainment factor alone proved fantastic. No, there's nothing wrong with me. I still love what I do. I'm just doomed to disagree with Swinburne. I'm doomed because I only want to do what I want to do. Always. I want to see the films that I want to see, and study what I want to study. Anything that doesn't peak my interest I don't have - no, want - to make time for. Unfortunately, this is not how any University course has or ever will operate.

I'm a lot of things when it comes to this issue - stubborn, self-centred, you name it. But it only stems from my absolute, unrestrained desire to achieve great things. So maybe all this frustration with my course ain't so bad after all.

Peace out.

Mud-printed Sentiments

2009-09-24T00:46:00.000-07:00

"A poem is never finished, only abandoned."

- Paul Valéry

Well, I'm back. It took almost a month, but I've finally returned to this here blog. Its not because I don't love it - or love you, all five (if that) of my readers. Its probably because life has been too full on for me to stop to write about it. Which, most of the time, is the way I'd like to live, but I have to admit that its good to be back here again. A breather and a little self-expression were both definitely overdue.
So what have I been up to then? Well, I was on a boat there for a bit, saw Hawthorn narrowly miss the finals (grumble), attended an EP launch as well as a healthy amount of gigs I've since reviewed, got my shit together with uni and documentary stuff, and... well, yeah. That sums it up well enough. I do plan on going into more detail at a later stage. For now, other writing endeavors continue to demand my attention. I'm actually reviewing a few Melbourne Fringe Festival shows. My articles will probably turn up online eventually, and I certainly hope they turn up in Beat, a streetpress publication I'm obviously fond of. Anyway, tonight I'm doing a write-up of Mark Watson's Fringe show, and I can look forward to seeing Arj Barker and The Bedroom Philosopher, among others. So, combined with the documentary taking flight, its pretty much full-on at the moment.

Equipment pick-up for the gum-wall documentary.
Yup. Pretty much a bitch to carry.

Our first shooting location: a filthy city alleyway
that had a distinct stench of urine about it,
among other odors. Good times.

Never fear though, I do have an interesting tidbit before I end this post in a hideously abrupt manner. Today, I was leaving The Glen, finally making the journey back home. The Glen is basically Glen Waverley's insipid excuse for a shopping centre. If you've ever been there, you'll know why I chance it with Knox, despite the grief it inevitably gives me. But here I'm flogging a dead horse; back on track now: I encountered a small piece of notebook paper flittering about in the wind. Initially, I walked over it. However, as I did, I noticed what seemed to either be poetry or lyrics scrawled upon the downtrodden, mud-stained sheet. It sparked my curiosity. I couldn't help it: I turned around and picked it up. I don't know whose it is, or where it came from. I haven't even read it yet. But I have it in front of me now. So let's check it out.

He can only hold her for so long
The lights are on but no one's home
She's so vacant, her soul is taken
He is what she's running from
How can he have her heart? When it got stole
Though he tries to pacify her
What's inside her never dies
Even if she's content in his warmth
She gets pained with urgency
Urgent kisses, the miss misses
The man he longs to be
Now how can he have her heart
When it got stole. So he tries to pass it by
Cause what's inside'll never die
As he tries to pacify her, cause what's her never dies.

- Anon

Well, there you go. In case you were wondering, its in a girl's handwriting. I guess that's not too surprising. I'll leave you with what is, in my opinion, a fantastically poetic song. And, that aside, a generally brilliant track.

MUSIC: The Beatles - Across The Universe

'Til next time, hopefully soon.

Knox Culture Wasteland

2009-08-27T23:35:00.000-07:00

"Fashions fade, style is eternal."

- Yves Saint Laurent

For those who followed Thinking In Reverse, the dissolved predecessor to this here blog (so basically very few, if anyone) , you'll remember it being deeply personal, and often an open forum for me to whine relentlessly about, in retrospect, trivial things. I've been careful to not repeat myself with For No One - after all, negative attitudes don't really make for good reading, and if anything, the endless stream of petty quiblings probably alienated my desired audience eventually. So I'm keen to keep my new blog entertaining, and eternally lighthearted. This post, however, breaks from such promises. I point the finger, without reservation:

Cue Knox City rant #546.

You've probably heard all this from me before, but I loathe Knox City Shopping Centre. Its not really the shopping itself - hell, that's why make the trip out there in the first place. It has a JB Hi-Fi, a Dick Smith Powerhouse, and a Borders, amongst other great stores. So in terms of the potential for buying cool shit, there's a big tick in that box. The people let the entire experience down, though.

I was browsing through the Vinyl Records section of the aforementioned Dick Smith Powerhouse. I assume this to be the only place in the entirety of Knox City - save for perhaps Cash Converters - that sells records... but then, this is not something that really surprises me, given the calibre of imbecile that frequently insists on populating the shopping district. I also came to greet exactly what I had expected from their miniscule range. A question, at this junction: who the hell is buying Coldplay's X+Y on vinyl? Or Robbie Williams' Escapology? I guess the only saving grace was seeing the late Michael Jackson's Bad, but even then, the vinyl release had seemingly ommitted my favourite MJ song, 'Leave Me Alone'. As I was flicking my way through their abysmal catalogue, to embrace a predictable feeling of disappointment, my ears pricked up, noticing a conversation happening not more than a meter away from where I stood.

Customer: Hi, do you guys still have the records here?
Employee: Uh...
Customer: You know, like vinyl records. LPs.
Employee: (a beat or two, entirely unsure) No, we don't, sorry.

There's at least two problems with the above exchange that I witnessed. The first of which is the fucking idiot from Powerhouse who obviously doesn't know what a record is. I mean, seriously. If you don't know that, get the fuck out of my store! Yeah, my store! The second problem was the fact that the employee was actually standing in front of the vinyl collection at the time. Criminally stupid. Admittedly, there was a third problem, and on this occasion, I was also at fault. Because there we were, this customer and I: two beacons flickering with promise in a pop-culture wasteland, both trying to shine our light over a land of mediocrity. I should have intervened and directed him to the records. Instead, I didn't, and he left as disillusioned as ever. We beacons must help each other out. Its the only way we'll ever save ourselves from becoming this guy...

Binary solo!

I sat down for a read of the paper at Hungry Jacks. I noticed they had taken away the option of free refills. There was now a large space next to the wall where a drink dispensing machine had previously sat. A simple cost-cutting measure handed down from management? Or perhaps a greedy customer had ruined things for everyone? I enjoy much more the reality of the latter, and would be interested in seeing it play out one day. As I sat down to read, I noticed upon the wall two framed record sleeves: one of The Beatles' Rubber Soul, and the other The Beatles' Let It Be. My faith in the people of Knox City, and in their idea of 'good taste' had, funnily enough, been restored at Hungry Jacks. But the next thing I noticed was a man across from me eating a Whopper with his large fries between the buns. I was shattered once more.

By this time, and about $55 later, I had again begun to regret my trip to Knox. The fact that headphones are so expensive wasn't helping anything. And why are they so expensive? Budget MP3 players can be bought for less! As it was, I didn't end up replacing my broken headphones, meaning I'll just have to go the earphone avenue a little longer. The last place I tried, though, was Target. Before I had even walked in the store, I had braced myself to be let down. Its standard operating procedure (S.O.P.) when you go to Knox, trust me. Instead, however, I found something that did brighten my day.

Neil Finn! On TV!

Neil Finn! On many TVs! Turns out that someone decided that shoppers, this fine Friday afternoon, should be treated to the Crowded House DVD Dreaming, containing pretty much their entire catalog of music videos. As you might imagine, I sat there and watched all ten televisions at once, as if I'd never seen the clip of 'Private Universe' in my life. Little did I know, my day was about to get better still.

"Ooo, chimpanzee that!"

On a high from the sheer delight that is seeing a monkey with a surfboard, it was time to head home. Which meant, in a way, I was on a roll. I've had time to reflect though, and in no way do the brief appearances of the Fab Four, Crowded House and a surfboarding monkey change my feelings about Knox City Shopping Centre (where fashion goes to die, still) . I don't feel I've really touched on why I hate it so much, but put simply, its the people. Its the bright-colored, peroxide-haired, skateboarding, scootering, exasperating, ignorant, dim-witted bogans that shop like mindless drones and make the experience unbearable for us slightly better people. There. I said it. And I think I'm done.

MUSIC: Michael Jackson - Leave Me Alone

Don't even get me started on The Glen. Ciao.

Inflation

2009-08-25T02:08:00.000-07:00

"When we're two balloons, and together our direction is up, chances are we've found the right person. Our soulmate is the one who makes life come to life."

- Richard Bach

The weekend just gone will no doubt be one of the more unusual weekends I'm ever likely to experience. This is directly attributed to the fact that I both oversaw and contributed to the inflation of approximately three thousand party balloons. When it comes to weekends, there are options aplenty: some people have a nice picnic, some people see a movie with friends, some people even start that book they've been meaning to for months and months. I, however, was mostly lost in a sea of colored latex for around three days, and all for the sake of The Good China's music video for track one (All Nothing) of their new EP, Old Maps / New Roads. Which was released yesterday, actually . Here's just a taste of what to expect from the clip...

Really only the tip of a giant twee iceberg.

Yeah, okay, you probably imagined as much already. A balloon-pit and so forth. But I want to keep the project under wraps for now, and I presume these are the wishes of the band, too. So consider my lips firmly zipped. Its pretty damn exciting though. Jag's already whisked the DV tapes away back to his place, and he's currently slaving away in post-production. And if his dedication is even half of what was shown these past few days, it will be complete in no time. Its hard to summarize the entire experience, mostly because a summary simply wouldn't do it justice. But I'll try: these few days spent bringing everything together was unusual, intense, exhausting but amazing, all at once. I'd be happy not to see another balloon for a while. Of course, ever since the shoot, those carbon-emission ads with the black balloons are making their untimely re-emergence on free-to-air television. It just goes to show that you can indeed have too much of a good thing. Expect linkage soon enough!

Time for some random bits and pieces now. Earlier this year I was recommended a particular album that has continued to wow and amaze me ever since I gave it that first listen: Friendly Fire, the third full-length release from Sean Lennon - that is, Sean Lennon, son of John Lennon and Yoko Ono. As a general trend, most of the music I genuinely enjoy over a great period of time I end up buying - as was the case with this record. I had been looking for Friendly Fire for some time, and found it - also true to form - at Dixons. And what's more, I had purchased the CD / DVD set. A gem of a find really, a true bargain. Anyway, I I got to the train station, sat down and read the booklet. Nothing unusual. But then I found a credit I never expected to find. I seem to recall double-taking when I read that Lindsay Lohan appeared on the DVD disc of the set I had just bought. Without enough time to watch the disc itself, and my curiosity still burning, I decided to check out Wikipedia to see what exactly the deal was. That didn't yield much, but a Google search sure did. Sean Lennon dated Lindsay Lohan around three years ago. This comes as a bit of a surprise to me. Mostly because Sean Lennon is awesome, and Lindsay Lohan is, well...

Charming.

Melbourne's weather remains impossible to read, and I just wish it were Spring already. Misery is waiting for public transport in the pouring rain. And today was fairly bad. I was somewhat intrigued by one man in particular today, who stood next to me under a bus shelter, with his umbrella up. So, picture that: already under a shelter, with his umbrella up and at the ready. Nobody had more potential than this man at any given moment in any given circumstance to be dry. As other commuters shuffled in, I thought he might abandon the idea of having his umbrella up in complete dryness, but no such luck. Instead people had to deal with almost getting poked in the eye by the edges of the stupid thing. I just don't get some people.
To wrap things up, it seems Hawthorn still have a chance - albeit slim - of making the finals, and St.Kilda have now dropped two games in a row.

They breed 'em tough at St.Kilda.

MUSIC: Sean Lennon - Tomorrow
MUSIC: Oasis - Stop Crying Your Heart Out

Relax, take it easy.

Sticky

2009-08-16T01:37:00.000-07:00

"Disappointment to a noble soul is what cold water is to burning metal; it strengthens, tempers, intensifies, but never destroys it."

- Eliza Tabor

As the semester wears on, this feeling will likely fade away, which is exactly why I should acknowledge it now: I'm psyched for uni tomorrow. Admittedly, its been an awkward start to proceedings, and I'm still trying to sus out just how monumentally screwed my timetable is, but I'm raring to go. And who'd have thought I'd be so willing toward an 8:30am class on a Monday morning? Like I said: things will change. For now though, I'm looking forward to what seems to be a fun class, taught by a vaguely cool teacher. The guy's got a bit of success happening - past, and perhaps more importantly, present - and he's apparently working with Film Victoria and Shaun Micallef in developing some sort of project. And you reckon I wasn't won over pretty much immediately? Anyway, as far as my 'career' is concerned, it starts here. A class here or there, and pretty soon I'll be working with Micallef himself. Stay tuned for developments on this outlandish, somewhat feverish ambition of mine.

Speaking of things uni, it looks like I may have a little direction when it comes to documentary stuff this semester. For want of a better term, I've effectively 'hitched my wagon' to a friend's golden idea. Whilst I felt that my own were strong in their own right, and I still have faith in them - the trouble was inevitably going to be assembling a crew as accepting of where I wanted to take things. Last semester, initially, I had pushed my own agenda to the utmost and strove to seize creative control where I felt necessary in order to create the kind of film I had imagined. Its for this reason my involvement in 'Change' was at its peak during pre-production, and its no wonder I took the reigns when it came to writing. It was last semester, in fact, that taught me to imagine myself in this role more than any other - I've since seen myself as much more of a writer, a cog in the initial creative process. Anyway, I have to say, I was mostly disappointed with the resulting film that we, as a team, had submitted just a couple of months ago. As easy as it might be to point the finger (and it is easy, don't worry about that) , my personal, particularly grandiose expectations certainly played a role in adding to my ill-feeling towards 'Change'. My strategy this time around is to render myself open-minded, opting instead to take more of a back-seat role with respect to the core subject of the doco, and lend my creativity where I think necessary. And the core subject?

"Camberwell: We've Got It All". They have a wall, anyway.

This is a wall found in Camberwell, plastered, as the graffiti would suggest, with gum. It just might be the filthiest landmark to ever exist, but a curious phenomenon nevertheless. There are a lot of questions raised when you consider that this wall was, at one point, completely gum-free. Then, over what I imagine to be years, piece by piece, this anomaly has come into being - it has clearly been established as a favorite site for gum-chewers to dispose of their brand of saliva-ridden waste. As you might expect, there's calls for the gum to be properly disposed of, and the council don't like the wall one little bit. Unfortunately, it turns out that the same council are also morons, citing simply painting over the gum as a good solution to the eyesore. It wasn't. So the legendary Camberwell gum-wall remains. And despite the looming $130 fine one risks for disposing of their gum in this famously incorrect manner, I have a feeling the youth just might roll the dice on it anyway. They have been for a long time, clearly, so I don't see things changing. Meanwhile, if you think $130 for a simple piece of gum is bad, I should remind you of the absurdity of Connex fining any passenger found with their feet on seats around $160. Enough said, really.

Alright, buccaneers. If you fancy yourself as a sea-faring sort, I have most excellent news: four of Melbourne's finest bands are teaming up to produce an audacious nautical concert on August 29th. Carnation, The Hovercrafts, The Process (certainly not Dew Process, the label - that would be crazy) and soon-to-be-your-new-favorite-band The Good China are playing aboard a cruise, and they want you to party with them until sea sickness. There's going to be around three hundred people, with live music, good brews and DJ's on a double level party ferry - all this whilst cruising around Melbourne's waterways and bays. What's not to like? The event is called Titanic. More information and tickets are available through Moshtix. Its selling fast, so get in quick! Also, a reminder that The Good China's EP comes out in just over a week, released on the 24th of August.

The Good China - Old Maps / New Roads

01. All Nothing
02. If Pain Persists
03. Turn The Page
04. We Found 3 Whistles
05. 39 Black

Check out your nearest JB and pick yourself up a copy. You know I will. Just one thing before wrapping up. I'm saddened that Blogger removed one of my posts. Typically, it was among my favorite, and probably my longest. C'est la vie.

MUSIC: Annie - Chewing Gum
MUSIC: Split Enz - Six Months In A Leaky Boat

'Til next time, y'all.

Boourns

2009-08-12T00:35:00.000-07:00

"Comedy is an escape, not from truth but from despair, a narrow escape into faith."

- Christopher Fry

Just a short time into my first week back at uni and the metaphorical red markers already well and truly out. Let's see what we have: early starts? Check. Most people less than remotely satisfied with their hours? Check. A seemingly irrelevant lecture? Check. And the people greasing the wheels at Swinburne - that is, whoever co-ordinates timetables and all that junk - have more than a few Film And TV students attending classes they apparently aren't supposed to be attending, and just missing other classes entirely. So I guess we can put a big fat tick in the 'Swinburne is still a joke' box while we're at it. As it stands, I'm one of those people I mentioned - I can't be 100% sure that I'm in the right place, despite following my timetable to the letter. But not all is doom and gloom. I already feel confident in my teachers (one of whom is collaborating with Micallef - bastard) , and the classes have generally held my interest. Which is a good effort for a first week back. I need to think of an idea for a documentary. I have a couple of ideas, but they're undeveloped. My attention and creativity has been swallowed up by personal projects external to uni coursework. I say 'swallowed', when really, I've embraced it all. But I'm sure once I have that spark, that golden idea, I'll get going with the work that's ultimately going to be marked.

I attended a show at the Comic's Lounge last night. Something about that place seems a bit off. I can't quite put my finger on it. The front bar and reception area is perfectly warm and welcoming, but it insists on playing obscure late-90s, early 00s pop-hits as house music. I'm talking Robbie Williams, Freestylers, Smashmouth on at least two occasions. Their playlist includes the kinds of songs you probably haven't heard in years, but they're songs that soon have you remembering why that might be the case. If by chance it is the thing you're into, its possible you'll enjoy Mix FM. Does anyone else miss calling it TTFM? I digress.
Tony, my friend who has gigs sometimes, remains among the funnier acts when I go to support him. Which is saying something, because as a general rule, I lower my expectations when I go to these things. After all, its a zone where a lot of comedians seize the chance to try out new material, or even make their stage debut. Everybody starts somewhere.

"So what's the deal with airline food?"
(Did he ever actually say that?)

I got particularly nervous when a sizable portion of the crowd left during an interval, and those of us sitting up the back of the lounge were encouraged to move close. Fair enough, too. No comedian, or any performer, should have to play to a bunch of empty seats. My idea was to wait until the very front rows had filled up, then slowly shuffle on down towards the stage. As it happened, I ended up much, much too close to the mic, and I knew right then and there what was coming. You should know this already, but a tip for those out of the loop: if you go to these nights, for the love of God, do not sit nearest to the microphone. Because if you sit there, you'll have to deal with the MC. Chances are he has nothing prepared, and the stuff he does have prepared, in all likelihood, stands to be received as well as a text message from a blind, thumbless monk encased in lead, shrouded in darkness, and situated somewhere within the tunnels of Melbourne's city loop (also he's with Vodafone) . That only leaves one option for comedy: you. You will be the butt of his every joke. What's your name? Where are you from? What do you do? If you're not careful, an MC will pick at your personal life the entire night like a greedy vulture at a rotted carcass. And nobody will tell him its not funny, and nobody will tell him when to stop. The best you can hope for is that you're not the one to be picked on. And the best way to do that? Get the fuck away from the stage.

I think its time I settled something once and for all, and I'm going to use this space to do it. I'm sure just about everyone remembers the American children's television show Blue's Clues. Hell, it was a hit. It apparently ran for six years, and other versions of the show have been spawned in various other countries. Let's face it, it was a fun show. And one of the main reasons it was fun was this guy:

"It was the Butler, with the candlestick, in the library!"
How the hell do you kill someone with a candlestick anyway?

Hell yeah. Steve Burns. That guy was the shit. But you know what? He still is the shit. I know what you're thinking: isn't he dead? Well, no. Since leaving the kids program around five years ago, rumors of Burns battling terminal illness, drug addiction (and subsequent overdose) and other health problems have been rife. Of course, he's alive and well, and he's had to debunk speculation of his passing time and again. As it happens, he's actually been quite busy, with guest spots on TV shows including Homicide and Law And Order. But my favorite bit of all this would have to be his music career. And yes, he has an album, and another due out this year. I rediscovered his debut just the other week, and you know what? I still quite like it. Amazingly, members from The Flaming Lips lent their assistance in getting the record off the ground. Their influence, if you ask me, is all over Songs For Dustmites (the title of his debut release) and its certainly a talking point when it comes to the song I've posted below. And its a song I think you should check out, because honestly, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. Steve Burns: children's host. Rock star. Alive.

MUSIC: The Smiths - That Joke Isn't Funny Anmore
MUSIC: Steve Burns - Mighty Little Man

Its almost here! EP available from August 24th from the
likes of JB Hi-Fi and Polyester. Chinamite!

That's all I got. 'Til next bloggy.

One Step Beyond (MIFF Wrap Pt.2)

2009-08-09T01:27:00.000-07:00

"Our circumstances answer to our expectations and the demand of our natures."

-Henry David Thoreau

Attending a film festival gives the average person a great opportunity to stray from their comfort zone and see the kinds of things they normally wouldn't give themselves half a chance to see. Honestly, I'm not really one of those people. I know what I like, and I pick my films accordingly. Occasionally, though, it all comes undone - such was my experience of seeing Australian film The Loved Ones last night. When I left the cinema, I was awash with wonder in how my expectations of The Loved Ones could have been so far removed from what the feature actually turned out to be. Let's take a look at the synopsis, as given by the festival website...

"Set to a scorching soundtrack, The Loved Ones is a vivid, sexy, fun, relentlessly attacking rollercoaster that takes the conventions of the genre and then runs them off the rails. As the school formal approaches and decisions are made about what to wear and who to go with, Lola Stone, the quietest girl in school, asks her secret love Brent to go with her. But Brent is already going with his girlfriend, Holly. Upset with the rejection and with the formal only hours away, Lola and her father plan for Brent to be with her regardless. But it’s not the school formal, it’s a demented, sadistic and exclusive party hosted by Lola and her father – where the entertainment is Brent himself."

To be fair, nothing seems particularly amiss in this image.

My downfall probably lies in my tendency to extract certain key words from synopses, whilst ignoring other certain key words, and forming my own assumptions. For example, the impression I had formed was that the film was a nice, cutesy teen romance flick, in which the girl eventually gets the guy and goes to the dance with him, and everything pans out happily ever after. As it happened, I probably ignored the words 'demented', 'sadistic', and I might have been wise to take note of 'relentlessly attacking roller coaster', because The Loved Ones was all that and more. It started out rather melodramatically, and even then I thought my expectations might be realized. But I was soon wincing and squirming in my seat as it quickly turned into a horrific slasher flick. I will always remember it for its ability to push the envelope time and again with the sheer absurdity of the torture that the 'hero' endures. By the end of it, I was walking the delicate line between finding the funny and being sick. And that's one thing that impressed me about The Loved Ones: although, at times, confronting and frightening, the film never loses its sense of humor. For all the gasps one must elicit, there are also plenty of laughs, often (and oddly) derived from the violence that ensues. I maintain that it started slow, and that The Loved Ones is more confronting than scary, but these are pretty much the only charges I can bring against it. Not my thing at all, but it had me exactly where it wanted me: on the edge of my seat. *** 1/2

Last, but not least, the film release of Madness' The Liberty Of Norton Folgate. You may know them for such hits as 'Our House' and 'It Must Be Love', and yes, its true that they're awesome.

You know it, I know it, he knows it: he's cool.

Anyway, its not only a concert, but an exploration of various areas of London, making references to certain points and characters throughout history. Of course, our guides are in the form of the legendary Suggs and Chas Smash, as they preface performances from the new album of the same name, intercut with London sights and sceneries. I do like Madness, and I loved seeing them earlier this year at The Palace, but I have to say that I wasn't taken with their new material. It was enjoyable, but not up to their usual standard. Inevitably, a subjective take on the music will either hurt or assist the experience of a music film. Fortunately, however, my opinion of band's latest achievements didn't detract too much from The Liberty Of Norton Folgate, as the film proved entertaining and engaging throughout, particularly with the interludes and segueways provided for each song. The film was impressively paced, maintaining a fine momentum throughout, without a distinct dull patch. Its a small, but interesting insight into both the band and what London is all about through their eyes. Nothing groundbreaking; it is what it is, and its also not the place to begin with Madness - but fun nevertheless. *** 1/2

Well, that's it. That's the end of my festival season, and indeed the festival season. My favorite flicks were In The Loop (which I ended up seeing twice) , An Education, Unmade Beds and Black Dynamite - it was pretty much impossible to single one out as being superior to the rest, as all are worth checking out. I suppose the next blog will return to the standard random ranting I've come to enjoy. Tomorrow I start back at uni for the second semester of my second year of studying Film And Television. Among the challenges that await me is the creation of a documentary. So far I'm basically idea-less, but it comforts me that I haven't concentrated on it until now, and I'm usually good with this sort of thing. You know, that kind of mental-butchers-paper-and-textas stuff. Anyway, wish me luck, and no doubt I'll keep you posted with all the highs and the lows of my first week back.

MUSIC: Grizzly Bear - Knife

MUSIC: Madness - NW5

MUSIC: The Futureheads - Work Is Never Done

'Til then.

Boom Goes The Dynamite (MIFF Wrap Pt.1)

2009-08-08T23:52:00.000-07:00

"All deep things are song. It seems somehow the very central essence of us, song; as if all the rest were but wrappages and hulls!"

- Thomas Carlyle

Ah, the end of the festival, at last. I have to admit, as fun as it was, I was getting over it. I know plenty of my friends feel the same way, especially those who opted to see about four times as many films as myself. I still have no idea how any of you achieved that without going slightly mad. Anyway, its time to rewind back to Thursday, as I completely ignored the fact that I saw I Need That Record.

You need this record. As for me, I already have it.
'Yippie-kai-yay' indeed.

Its full title is actually I Need That Record: The Death (Or Possible Survival) Of The Independent Record Store. As I mentioned in an earlier post, its an investigation into the closure of thousands of American independent record stores over the past decade. Unfortunately, its not much of an investigation. I'm not particularly well-versed in record sales, figures and trends throughout music history, and yet I still found that Brendan Toller's documentary lacked in insight. A few things bothered me, really. The fact that there was no personality whatsoever, no passion in what could be best described as simply a 'report', hurt my experience of the film. I really wanted Toller to put more of himself into it, to grant it a sense of attitude, a voice of sorts. Toller was a very robotic narrator, an uninspired guide. He left it completely up to the subjects to state the film's contention - which, by the way, was very anti-corporation, and very pro-small-business-underdog. Also, on this point, the absence of any interviews of the supposed 'enemy' - that is, those who are apparently killing the independent record store - was blatant. It would have been nice to see the other side of the coin, to give a face to these often faceless forces of apparent destruction. Unfortunately, that side is never presented to audiences, and it all seems a bit lazy of Toller. The film is also very American. Australian audiences might find it difficult to relate to the sense of community and family emphasised in the ownership and operation of a record store. Sure, we have our own stores here, but as a friend of mine hinted today, has a record store ever made you feel entirely welcome? In short, not likely, and those who shop at places like Dixons and Polyester - as much as I enjoy them - will know exactly what I'm talking about. I just don't know. Its not that I hated it or anything like that. It was entertaining, but I tend to view I Need That Record as a missed opportunity. The whole concept has enormous potential. As it is though, the film feels a bit half-baked. ** 1/2

Now to a film that really took me by surprise, placing itself amongst my favorite of the festival: Black Dynamite. Its a blaxploitation film centred around 70s African-American badass Black Dynamite. Basically, a mob kills his brother, and goes about ruining the community by way of flooding it with nasty things like drugs and malt liquor. Typically, Dynamite decides to embark on a mission of vengeance, targeting all those responsible for, well, the things I just listed.

"Oh, Black Dynamite - you're so righteous!"

As if the above picture didn't give it away, Black Dynamite is perfectly ridiculous - a loving satire and homage to 70s films, soundtracked throughout by funk and soul (lyrics often describing the action unashamedly, and the title song strikingly Shaft-esque). Black Dynamite is entertaining, action-packed and consistently hilarious. Kung-fu scenes are never far away, and, although completely absurd (each sound effect brutally and amusingly over-the-top) , they remain hard-hitting and interesting as the movie progresses. Its one of those films you have to see to get. So here's a short-snippet that encapsulates the Black Dynamite experience quite well, without ruining anything.

If you like what you've seen, I definitely suggest somehow catching the rest of the feature. As I understand it, Black Dynamite won't have an official release Down Under, so Amazon (or, um, torrenting) is probably the way to go. The film's greatest strength is that it grants a certain wit to ordinarily silly comedy. It would be easy to report that Black Dynamite was all cheap gags, ridiculous fights and 70s in overdrive, but really, its more than that. It had cinema-goers in fits of laughter, even beyond its conclusion. I was among that crowd. Good stuff. ****

MUSIC: The Living End - Who's Gonna Save Us
MUSIC: James Brown - The Payback
MUSIC: Bruce Willis - Secret Agent Man

Here ends the first part of my MIFF wrap. I have two more films to cover, then I'm putting all this business behind me. I notice that since I've re-immersed myself in the blogging scene that my site's had a couple of hundred hits, so a big thanks to everyone who's read and continues to read my ramblings. Stay tuned for part two.

Vintage Books

2009-07-30T23:59:00.000-07:00

"I thought when love for you died, I should die.It's dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on."

- Rupert Brooke

I've just spent the last few minutes patiently waiting in line for a computer at the State Library. Its something I'm used to, and I usually have my MP3 player to pass the time whilst people respond to that urgent e-mail or ignore that annoying friend request, or whatever completely random things people seem to do on these machines. One thing that people normally don't do whilst waiting in these lines for the Library's moderately-capable computers, is talk about porn. Hard to believe, I know, but its not a phenomenon I've been familiar with. Its only when you eavesdrop on others conversations, you leave yourself open to hear just about anything. In this case, it was a Geelong man audibly - and keep in mind we're in a library; you don't have to try too hard to be heard - boasting to his mate about his porn collection, some of his files with durations of 'ninteen and a half hours'. Apparently this man also lives next to a brothel and gets discounts. What a rich life. Anyway, the other half of the conversation was pure envy, his friend approving wholeheartedly.

And so MIFF continues. I saw Awaydays the other night, a film based on the novel of the same name. Its set in North West of England, late 1970s, and revolves around Paul Carty, a teenager desperate to associate himself with The Pack: an abrasive gang of football hooligans, their lives soley spent in the pursuit of aggression, alcoholism, music, sex and, of course, football. Carty befriends one of the Pack's members, Elvis, and soon finds himself initiated into the fold. In terms of what happens after that, well, there's nothing groundbreaking. There's a pretty clear homoerotic subtext between Carty and Elvis. In fact, I felt the lengths the film went to in order to illustrate this point, was, overall, a bit patrionising. They might as well have just put subtitles in specific scenes reading 'I know what you're thinking, and it does seem a bit that way doesn't it? I wonder if either of them are, well, y'know?'. The Pack goes up against rival football gangs numerous times, there's a lot of violence and random sex. Carty gets quite popular with the group, and this understandably pissed Elvis off. Its amazing how little football is actually shown in a film where the sport is apparently so important to the protagonists. Its like their number one motivation, and the game itself gets maybe fifteen seconds screen time. Anyway, above all, I didn't understand the overall point of the film with reference to the sum of its parts. Carty meets Elvis, their mob fights another mob, they bring home a couple of girls, Carty tries it on with both of them, there's more fighting, someone dies - and it just goes on and on, ultimately meaning nothing to the audience. It wasn't horrible, but surely there was a way to instill some sort of reason or purpose or meaningful conclusion to everything? I could imagine how it could work as a book, but it needed a serious rewrite in its translation to film. Unfortunately the author also did the screenplay. ***

The library's about to close. In the time that I've typed this, I've had some guy play Summer Of 69' much too loudly - given that, again, we're in a library - and now a man next to me is playing one of those games where if your mouse hits a wall or object, you lose. To be fair though, out of the corner of my eye, he seems quite good at it. Anyway, that'll do. See you next post.

Chomp, Chomp, Chomp

2009-07-28T20:41:00.000-07:00

"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet."

- Plato

For those unacquainted with Plato, its fair to say he was a pretty bright guy. He's generally considered to be amongst the greatest thinkers ever, which I think you'll agree is a big deal. But why Plato, and why now? The documentary I saw last night opened with the following wise words from the great Greek philosopher himself: 'The unexamined life is not worth living'. That was just the tip of the iceberg. What followed was around one and a half hours of intricate discussion: dissections of morals, ethics, human nature, revolution, disability, ecology, culture - the list went on really. As you can imagine, its quite a lot to take in. Some films you can probably afford to experience a lapse in concentration every now and again. I, for one, in other sessions, began to wonder when my next film was, and whereabouts it was going to be screening. Examined Life, however, doesn't fuck around. If you're not paying attention, you get left behind.

"Ugh, films. Another hour of my life gone trying to explain
to him what the Matrix is."

Its philosophy, thick and fast, and as I soon found out, there's no real segue way from section to section. That said, I find giving a review of this documentary particularly challenging. I definitely knew I was totally engaged and interested throughout the entirety of the film - a plus in anyone's book. But the sheer volume of content was so overwhelming, its hard to know what exactly I took from the experience. I remember who spoke - Australian philosopher Peter Singer among those featured - and I have a basic overview of the core concepts and ideas, but I can't recall specific details and the insights spouted from each individual speaker. Which ultimately makes Examined Life hard to, well, examine. You, the reader, have read this far, and you still don't really know what the film was 'about', per se. It makes me wonder if Examined Life really achieved anything at all. It might have been more effective to focus on one particular subject matter than address a range of topics. But then, it might have risked becoming monotonous. So I just don't know. Maybe I'm in danger of thinking about it too much. It is true, like I said, that I enjoyed it, an, and maybe that's all that matters. It was nice that people clapped at the end of the film. Post-feature applause is a key festival experience. *** 1/2

After the film, I decided to meet my brother. He was set to emerge from seeing Doves at The Palace in a matter of minutes. I noticed there were still a lot of bouncers and security guards on the door. I reckon when it gets to around fifteen minutes out from the advertised 'end' of any gig, it should be fair game. Just let people in. I guess the biggest problem with that, is that there would be issues with capacity and crowd control and all that jazz. But you'd be surprised on any given night, at any given gig, just how many people make that decision to leave only slightly earlier than the official end. I also watched as some poor punters appeared in the foyer of the Palace, and decided to head upstairs to the second / third levels of the complex. A couple of minutes, they were back downstairs. A couple more, they were running back upstairs again. The lesson here, of course, is if you want to see anything at the Palace, get there early and get up close. And if you do get there early, don't replenish your thirst halfway through the headliner's set, because when it comes to the Palace, doing that basically marks the end of your night. Unless you're a twat and you push your way right to the front of stage again. But do note: nobody likes that guy. By the way, I was going to post a picture of a burly, statuesque, stereotypical bouncer, and, as such, Google-Image-searched 'bouncer' for a picture. I found it amusing to yield the following result on the first page.

A different kind of crowd control.

Before I met with my brother, I opted to be a little generous and ducked over to the 7-11 across the road. I already knew what I was after: Chomp. Three of them in fact. Let's face it, Chomp is one of the most criminally underrated confectioneries today. And its budget confectionery too, at most times coming in at just under a dollar. Put simply, they're the shit. I was most disappointed recently to come across a Coles that did not stock them. Shame on you, Coles Elizabeth St. No, I don't want a Curly Wurly. Fuck you. Anyway, tirades concerning yummy delicacies aside, the highlight of last night can be found in the following photo.

Is it still litter if its on but not in the bin?

Yes, its a shoe, on a bin. My issue is with the person who appeared to be so lazy that they put it on the bin, rather than simply dropping it into the bin as trash. The only possible explanation I've formulated is that the person who placed it there thought the owner of the shoe might come back for it. But honestly, I don't think a person who's obviously wandered back home minus a shoe is too fussed about footwear. They're not coming back. And even if they did decide to track it down, why would the surface of a bin be the logical place to look?

MUSIC: The Bedroom Philosopher - I'm So Postmodern
MUSIC: Paul McCartney - Let 'Em In
MUSIC: Baha Men - Jump

Anyway, hope you enjoy the above smorgasboard of music, and may it tide you over until my next installment. By the way, feel free to substitute the word 'Jump' for 'Chomp' in that Baha Men track. It works quite well, and its topical in the context of this post. Two from two. So, yes, I'm going to keep the reviews of the films I see coming - to see out the week: Awaydays, A Woman Is A Woman and Unmade Beds. Stay tuned. Or logged in. Or whatever.

Festival Scrounge

2009-07-27T18:16:00.000-07:00

"My problem is how to reconcile my net income with my gross habits."

- Errol Flynn

So, as it stands, I've only seen a quarter of the films I have planned this festival season, and I'm already starting to understand just how ridiculously expensive the whole experience can get if you're not careful. Now, as a poor unemployed simpleton, its true that I can only indulge in so much. For instance, I'm not so reckless as to approach Greater Union's candy bar, with half a mind to stoop to purchasing the mega-ultra-jumbo sized combo, in which - never mind the price - the outrageously skewed cola-to-popcorn ratio is a joke in itself. And I'm certainly not about to pay another $3.50 for a packet of Pods on top of everything, even if the simultaneous possession of all three - Pods, popcorn and coke - may very well constitute as the closest thing to heaven on earth. No, I generally keep a level head when it comes to money. But as I've found, even treading lightly ends up costing a fair bit. A drink, just one drink, at the Festival Lounge costs upwards of $4. This is for a 390ml bottle of a non-alcoholic beverage, mind, so I wasn't particularly happy. I was daft to think the Forum would have altered their prices for the Festival. Anyway, I'm going to stop whining and moaning about money now, and instead give you a brief rundown on what I've seen so far.

In The Loop was the first and best film I have seen so far at MIFF. It goes like this: during an radio interview, Secretary of State for International Development Simon Foster makes a terrible blunder, stating that a proposed war in the Middle East is 'unforeseeable'. Although his conduct is chastised by the Prime Minister's enforcer Malcolm Tucker for not following 'the line', the statement coincides with a visit by U.S. officials who run with the misstep, and begin to use Simon, and his hapless new aide Toby, as pawns in their own international agendas. Clearly, its all about political satire. Hell, I just found this promotional poster for the film.

The film is an adaptation of the BBC series The Thick Of It, a series I will most definitely be checking out now, as In The Loop was just hilarious. Peter Capaldi (seen above, also starring as Sid's father in the hit series Skins) plays the rapid-fire, foul-mouthed, hot-headed Scotsman Malcolm Tucker, and steals the show with some of the most memorable on-screen tirades I've ever seen. It also features a particularly amusing cameo from Steve Coogan, representing the hapless everyman, a constant thorn in Simon's side. Its fast-paced, witty, and notable for its one-liners. Even if you're not politically-inclined (I'm certainly not) , then I'd still suggest you see In The Loop. To say more would be to spoil its magic. A must for fans of British comedy, anything from Monty Python to The Office. ****

I must admit I approached All Tomorrow's Parties well aware that I might not enjoy it. I had a feeling the general musical direction of each ATP in years gone by drastically differed from my own individual tastes, which didn't bode well. But the idea of the festival was developed by Stuart Murdoch of Belle And Sebastian - one of my most-loved bands of recent years - so I decided to give it a chance, if only out of curiosity. As it was, I ended up being mostly right: a lot of the music featured wasn't really for me, aside from the odd band (Gossip took me by surprise) . That didn't really bother me though. What did bother me was, around forty-five minutes in, the film became ever-so-suddenly about a message, almost like it had an agenda to set. Whenever possible, the idea that 'music is freedom', and the notion that artists and fans should 'fuck the record companies' were both pushed incessently. I got this sense that these festival goers captured on film would be less inclined to like music if it were somewhat commercial. That kind of attitude just frustrates me. If you can't enjoy art for that or any associated reason, you're a halfwit and you need to get down off your highhorse immediately. And a message for these wannabe hippies: guys, gals, music is commercial. I don't care how much you don't want to believe it, that's how the world works. Now get the fuck on with it. That said, ATP was a pretty good insight into a festival like none I've seen. Its all very communal and, yes, there is an emphasis on 'freedom', and the footage illustrates a definite departure from that which we are used to here in Australia (the Big Day Out arguably our premier music event). Its all one big fascinating insight, which successfully captures the magic and individual nature of ATP. Overall, it was alright, before it became a bit wanky for me, and alright, even if musically I wasn't quite on the same page. ** 1/2

Alphaville. Where do I begin? Well, in the Q & A session that followed the feature, I learnt that the feature didn't exactly have a script, it wasn't exactly 'directed', and according to festival-guest and star Anna Karina, it didn't employ any additional lighting. In that context, what I saw made a lot more sense. I suppose my ultimate criticism of the film is that its duration is just under 100 mins. It probably could have been over in half that, and as a result, I felt it dragged on horribly. Lemmy Caution arrives in Alphaville a not-so-futuristic city, apparently on another planet. He is instantly seen to be at odds with the ways and customs of Alphaville, and seems to oppose the city's ruler, an evil scientist named Von Braun, who has outlawed love and self-expression. So basically its a film about a dystopian society. As it turns out, Lemmy is actually a secret agent looking to gather intel on Alphaville with the ultimate intent of bringing the society undone - and he gets the girl in the process, of course. It sounds like it could be quite action-packed, right? It isn't. It felt like I was waiting forever for the next development, and each development never really felt satisfying. When I think about the film, it feels like so little happened to justify the 100 minute duration. Which is a shame, because it had great potential (which is why I saw it at all, I liked what I read in the synopsis) . ** 1/2

That's all I have for now. Though one last thing: my favorite MIFF moment thus far. At the start of the Q & A for Alphaville, I noticed there was a woman positioned next to the microphone - a deaf interpreter - conveying the speaker's words to the hearing-impaired by way of sign language. I found it amusing that the interpreter signed, as the speaker tested the microphone, 'Can everyone hear me?'. Nice one. Thought I'd leave you with a little Belle And Sebastian, a track from one of my favorite albums: The Life Pursuit.

MUSIC: Belle And Sebastian - Funny Little Frog

By the way, I noticed the links to the MP3s weren't working, but I'm confident I've fixed that now. So good news everyone: you can all download to your hearts content. Ciao.

American Bad-vertising

2009-07-25T19:43:00.000-07:00

"Comics have become the dark horse in the entertainment community, rising from the depths of vagueness, once only embraced by a minority, now engaged by the world."

- Jacob Schantz

I think its pretty obvious to everyone I'm an on-again, off-again comic book nerd. It started when I was young - when X-Men had that awesome animated series, and all was right with the world. The Royal Melbourne Show was partially responsible for my comic book interest. For those deprived of the experience, the 'Show is pretty much every kids dream. Rides, candy, rides, candy, horses, more candy, stupid novelty shit and - that's right - candy. In retrospect it was (and still is) a complete rip-off. I feel sorry for the parents who make the fiscally-fatal decision to take their children, completely unaware that their bank balance is doomed to suffer enormously. That said, when I look back upon each time I was at the 'Show, each occasion seems like a fundamental event of my childhood. So cheers to my folks, I'm most grateful. Anyway, I'm getting off topic: there's candy - lots of candy - and it comes in show bags. Most of the show bags I ever received included comics: random issues of Batman, Green Lantern and even ones that I'd never even heard of before.

Eternal Warrior! Badass! This is the
issue I own, by the way. Never read it.

Hell, I've even got a few Rocko's Modern Life comics. Whatever the publication, though, chances are, it was American. It had all the hallmarks of being American, for a start. The between-pages advertising alone was just intense, like nothing I had ever seen. The boardgame DragonStrike was especially memorable, its promotion plastering just about every comic I had, sometimes taking up two to four pages, even on occasion a double-spread. Which, given the size of any one comic book, is a hell of a lot. Sometimes the experience of reading about what will happen next to Wolverine is more a highlight reel of other crazy awesome shit you can buy: video games, fruit roll-ups, Pizza Hut promotions, and - unbelievably - cereal. As an impressionable Australian kid, I thought Cap'n Crunch was the shit. Screw Toucan Sam and Coco the Monkey. Its only now I'm beginning to learn of Count Chocula and the Trix Rabbit, and its clear the US-of-A really had it over us in terms of cereal promotion. If you're wondering (and I know you are) , I do have a favorite ad. But I only stumbled across it this morning, reading one of my old issues of X-Force. I couldn't get a decently focused picture of the ad, so its my pleasure, readers, to transcribe this A4 page of wonder, just for you.

"New! Kids' Choice ® !
"Oatmeal in all the hot new flavors you asked for!"
"Maple & Brown Sugar? Oat-rageous!"
"Strawberries N' Stuff? Berry intense!"
"Cinnamon Graham Cookie? Cinn-sational!"
"Radical Raspberry? Radical!"

Cringe-worthy as it all is, I'll admit that they really were doing quite well with the puns - that is, right up until Radical Raspberry. "Radical Raspberry? Radical!" - well, yes. Yes, it is radical. I would've thought 'Radical Raspberry' sufficiently suggested that. On second thought, maybe I shouldn't be so critical. After all, its not like I have any pun-believable ideas for it myself. And they already went with the berry pun elsewhere on the page, so what more could I ask of them? Anyway, ads like these reflect American culture in the 90s, and I personally find these little insights quite fascinating. Similarly interesting is the question of just who the hell is asking for 'hot new flavours" of oatmeal. But all these are musings for another day, I'm afraid. All this talk of comic books reminds me of a certain song by a certain bunch of Danes.

MUSIC: Aqua - Cartoon Heroes

You know they have a new single? YouTube that shit. ASAP.

MIFFed

2009-07-25T00:31:00.000-07:00

"He who cannot give anything away cannot feel anything either."

- Friedrich Nietzsche

So its true that, as I type, I'm not exactly in the best mood. After a stunning game of football at the MCG, my beloved Hawks unfortunately went down by a mere point (kicked after the siren, no less). My disappointment is far from solidified in a kind of certainty that Hawthorn were to be victorious - years of mediocrity have shaped me into a scrupulous supporter of my team, and against a side of Geelong's calibre, the game is never quite over until the final siren. It is, however, the expense of great passion and support throughout four quarters of intense football for such a so-close-yet-so-far result which is most upsetting. To be a supporter - a real supporter - ultimately requires one to wear their heart on their sleeve, to invest as much emotion in each and every game as each player may physiologically. Of course, then, to be a fan is to make the concession of vulnerability. This sacrifice inevitably exaggerates the result to any one person who so chooses to immerse themselves in such a pasttime and align themselves with sets of colors. This is all a roundabout way of accepting today's nail-biting loss: simply the realisation that to bank on that which promises great joy is to risk, simlutaneously, great sadness.

Its a balance present in many institutions. Airports see friends and family reunited, but more often than not sets the scene for the imminent separation felt between friends and family. Churches are home to weddings: a commemoration of unity - and yet, they are used to host funerals, too: a commemoration of loss. And then, of course, we have hospitals, that profess in absolutes: life (birth), and death. Outrageous as it may initially seem to say, but the MCG is a bit the same. It is an institution of victory and defeat. But it is always worth being a supporter. After all, to be afraid to feel the undesirable at the expense of the chance to feel great happiness is the greatest defeat of all.

Wanky rhetoric aside, yes, alright: we still lost. But I still have one thing.

He looks just like Buddy Franklin.

You all want him. And on that note, its time to see the first of booked films at this years Melbourne International Film Festival: In The Loop. Apparently its a comedy, but I'll be the judge of that. And then its time for All Tomorrow's Parties. What a big day its turning out to be. 'Til next time - ciao.

Finnatic

2009-07-22T23:23:00.000-07:00

“I don't really know how to do anything else very well, but I'm just starting to learn a few things about music.”

- Neil Finn

I received a tip from a friend of mine last Saturday that I ought to head out Northcote way to a place called Scroungers, just one of the many places along High St ripe for bargains of all sorts. Scroungers, as a kind of op-shop, were selling a number of CDs including some miscellaneous rare stuff by Neil Finn. Which was a good tip, considering my renowned adoration of all things Finn. The next day I wandered on over there and found Neil's solo work, recordings with brother Tim, and of course, Crowded House releases.

Neil Finn. Standing somewhere.

Needless to say, I scored myself an impressive haul, including a Finn Brothers album (which I had not owned, as Dad's copy had previously sufficed as mine), a couple of singles, and Box Set - a full-length release now long out of press - by Tripod. And when all was said and done, I was only out of pocket $10. The brief shopping experience went along way towards making me appreciate the purchase of records again. For a while there I had avoided buying music altogether. It becomes easy after a while, when a) you don't have money, and b) you have torrents and MP3 blogs at your fingertips every second of the day. We're well into the digital age, and owning music has never been simpler nor more convenient. But there was something undeniably special about making the trip out North for physical copies of the music I love. At the end of the day, to purchase something tangible works grant one more than a mere file on the computer could ever hope to achieve. The cases, the booklets, and the discs themselves are all testaments to my passion and interest in my favorite artists, and as a whole, are ultimately demonstrative of my identity. Though that might be looking into it a little deeply, I have a simpler alternative as far as a conclusion goes: music makes me happy.

Speaking of records and the like, out of the twelve or so that I'm seeing, there's one film in particular that I'm looking forward to at this year's Melbourne International Film Festival (aka MIFF) , and I highly recommend it to anyone who shares anything remotely similar to the above sentiments. Its called I Need That Record: The Death (Or Possible Survival) Or The Independent Record Store. Some title, huh? Basically filmmaker Brendan Toller sets out to investigate why thousands upon thousands of independent record stores have closed across the USA in the past decade. He goes on to cite multinational media conglomerates, the digital revolution, commercialised radio, mega stores and all the sorta junk. Reading the synopsis, its essentially an exploration into 'the (probable) demise of an institution that supports musical innovation'. Well, sounds good to me. I try to imagine Dixons shutting down, or even Polyester, and I think I'd be pretty upset if either happened. Even stores like Missing Link, and Basement Records - stores, admittedly, I hardly visit - I would hate to see go under. So, yeah, anyway, I think it'll be an interesting watch. I'm actually seeing two other music films at the festival. One of them is a documentary concerning the recently reformed pop/ska group Madness, which takes on the title of their latest LP, The Liberty Of Norton Folgate. I had the privilege of seeing them play at The Palace some months ago, a gig that's easily solidified itself amongst my favourite of 2009. The other is also a documentary, featuring a look at music festival All Tomorrow's Parties. MIFF itself gets underway this Saturday, and I highly suggest you take the opportunity to see something. Anything. You're spoilt for choice, really.

And still on the topic of music, I am delighted to share (and shamelessly plug) the news that The Good China have an EP due out August 24th. Its called Old Maps/New Roads, and promises to be all kind of awesome. Stay tuned for more news and upcoming gigs as I continue to relentlessly promote what you're no doubt fated to enjoy as much as myself. Anyway, I leave you now with a track from Crowded House. The decision as to which track, exactly, was far from easy, but I went with one of my personal favorites from the classic Woodface. Neil and Tim combine lyrically and vocally for pure pop brilliance.

MUSIC: Crowded House - Its Only Natural

Enjoy. 'Til next post.

Fat Bottomed Girls

2009-07-20T21:39:00.000-07:00

"And fuck you, the makers of this show as well. You can't wash your hands of this. You can't keep going, "Oh, it's exploitation but it's what the public want." No. The Victorian freak show never went away, now it's called Big Brother or American Idol where, in the preliminary rounds, we weed out the bewildered to be snickered at by multi-millionaires. And fuck you for watching this at home. Shame on you."

- Andy Millman, Extras

An excerpt from, without doubt, one of my favorite scenes of all television, in which Andy Millman - the protagonist of Ricky Gervais' and Stephen Merchant's hit comedy, Extras - makes an emotional stand against the business of fame, notoriety and the media. I think part of the reason I enjoy it is because I've always felt, for whatever reason, that Gervais and Merchant put so much of themselves into the character of Millman in particular - that in this particular monologue, it is actually their own expression of disgust, and it transcends the realm of mere fiction. Either way, I tend to agree with the sentiments above. I'm tired of reality television. It all seems fairly relevant at this time, especially with Channel Nine airing a brand new show tonight.

The intial working title, 'Eat A Fucking Salad' , was eventually opposed.

As if there were any doubt that Channel Nine were 'Still The One', now this absolutely settles it. First off though, I'd like to say that its not an entirely bad thing. These contestants are genuinely trying to make a change in themselves for the better. Its great to see that they're taking such a huge step to force what will ultimately benefit their health in the long run. At the same time, this is exactly the kind of tacky shit that I hate. Yes, its exploitation. Nobody actually wants to watch fat people dance or strut their talents. Viewers get a kick out of it, it allows them to feel better about themselves at the expense of others. But I especially hate it, because chances are it will be a hit when it premieres here, and its popularity will demand that Australia creates its very own version. We've seen it happen time and time again: Dancing With The Stars, Idol, and Survivor as examples just off the top of my head. Anyway, Channel Nine won't pass up capitalizing on the show's proven success, and soon Australia will have its own competition. It will probably air for around twelve weeks, taking a prime-time slot, and if all goes well, a second series will be commissioned. And you might be thinking, well, what's wrong with that? Well, plenty.

Man's last hope.

Shaun Micallef's Talkin' 'Bout Your Generation has solidified itself as one of the surprise hits of 2009, dominating Tuesday nights for a number of weeks now. Reportedly, the only ratings loss it suffered was at the hands of a Michael Jackson tribute programmed aired on Channel Nine some weeks ago now. I could gush relentlessly of my love for Micallef, but that's not really tied to the point I'm trying to make. The fact is that TAYG is an original, Australian concept, and now a proven ratings-winner. Working Dog's Thank God You're Here - my vote for one of the best Australian shows this past decade - was also an unbelievable success for Channel Ten, and when Channel Seven stole it for themselves, its audiences followed as the show evolved. Even a show such as Rush, which I don't particularly like, is a popular enough Australian drama to prove that it is worth time investing in original Australian television.

I guess what I'm trying to suggest is that we would be far better off escaping the monotony of reality television, and its formidable juggernaut of constant trash. Surely I'm not the only one tired of seeing the same thing over and over? And I can't be the only one my age who mostly ignores most television - which, lets face it, is a sad reflection on the state of things given this is the industry I actually wish to enter. There's nothing wrong with a breath of fresh air. Unfortunately, money talks, and its a shame that execs throw their wads of cash at proven ratings hits rather than taking a chance on homegrown stuff with endless amounts of potential.

Talkin' 'Bout Your Generation and Dance Your Ass Off are pitted against each other tonight. I shouldn't have to convince you which to watch, but put it this way... your choices are: Shaun Micallef, or rolls of fat jiggling to Ricky Martin. And if I haven't managed to win you over, I have just the song for you.

MUSIC: Morrissey - You're The One For Me Fatty

That's all. For now. Later.

Visits From Visitors

2009-07-20T06:04:00.000-07:00

"My friend, you have seen this incident, based on sworn testimony. Can you prove that it didn't happen?"

- Plan 9 From Outer Space

I took a sip from a glass of bourbon and cola, made myself comfortable in front of the television, and sat patiently as Jag busily readied the PS2. But we were far from battling it out in any sort of multiplayer deathmatch. Instead, I had been granted the 'privilege', for want of a better word, of sitting down to watch that which has been commonly cited as the worst film ever. And when the back of the DVD case itself promotes this very notion, you know there must be some legitimacy to the claim - so much in fact, someone along the line thought it might be a more prudent marketing strategy to simply admit its substandard nature straight out. Have I kept you in suspense long enough? This is the work of art I'm talking about.

The dead people in this film are immaculate dressers.

It sure doesn't seem too promising, does it? Basically, its about aliens who set about resurrecting the dead as zombies and vampires to stop humankind from creating some uber-dangerous weapon called the Solarbonite. Mind you, nobody but the aliens themselves seem to know what the fuck the Solarbonite is, so I can't imagine it poses much of a threat to anyone. But for the record, it has the potential harnesses and explodes sun particles or some shit like that, theoretically possessing the ability to obliterate the sun. Which would be bad. At least, that's what the aliens reckon. Anyway, I have to admit, after I got through all eighty-odd minutes of the film, it didn't strike me as the worst film ever. I've certainly had much stronger reactions to much shittier films.

Don't get me started.

But it is quite bad, if we're talking cinematic convention. Amazingly, I find that I can forgive this film of a lot of its atrocities. The sets are lacklustre, the special effects are mostly poor (with half-baked UFOs dangling, visibly, from strings) , the dialogue is badly written (and delivered just as poorly) , and there's no way this film needs to run for over an hour with a plot so God-awful and shamefully balsa-wood-thin. There are even cast changes mid-film, due to untimely cast-deaths that occured during production. I was continually astounded and in fits of laughter with everything I was seeing, to be sure, but there was one particular aspect of this film that I simply can't get over: the continuity. Throughout the movie, the bulk of the action is set at night. But on occasion, the shots juxtaposed with one another will change from eerie darkness to broad daylight, the action continuing as normal. It has to be seen to be believed just how utterly incompetent you would have to be to make errors of this calibre.

An exterior shot, but where the fuck are they meant to be
standing? If that's not a studio and they're not looking at girders
and lighting rigs, I'll eat my hat. I'll do it. There'll be pictures.

But perhaps my favourite thing about this entire experience was, again, reading the back of the DVD case. I couldn't help but notice the disc did, in fact, contain some special features. Trailer, commentary, full length feature...

"Full length feature"?

That's not a special feature, that's the fucking film!

Anyway, I had to laugh, as I did with most of Plan 9. And I think that's about all its good for nowadays. It might be just that little too patronizing to show to first-year film/media students as a tentative guide of 'what to avoid' in film making. But considering how ludicrously bad it is, you certainly can't take it seriously. So if you're feeling game, take my approach: get nice and comfy, maybe find yourself a bag of Doritos and strap yourself in for some rare unprecedented hilarity. To bring my ramblings to a timely close, one of my favorites from Radiohead.

MUSIC: Radiohead - Subterranean Homesick Alien

Party on, Wayne.

Falling Slowly

2009-01-31T00:26:00.000-08:00

I'm listening to The Swell Season - their album, from start to finish, and maybe for the fourth time this month. Its unsurprising turn of events, given my recent (and all too fleeting) brush with fame at St.Kilda's Palais Theatre. Stuck to my noticeboard is a ticket stub, perhaps one among few I genuinely prize. The noticeboard is a record of things I've seen. Places I've been. And, I suppose, a testament to how much I've truly devoted my adolescence to music. And I have, in mind, soul - and I'd be ignorant to neglect the body. My feet have ached to the bone from The Corner to The Forum, from Festival Hall to the Hi Fi. And these stubs are, I suppose, eternal proof of my everlasting love affair with so many sounds of so many genres over the years. This particular stub has scrawled upon it the signature of Glen Hansard, frontman of Irish-sensations The Frames, and one-half of The Swell Season. As you might expect, its more, then, than just a stub. But then, in reality, its also more than a signature. Its a symbol of something much greater.

A standing ovation. Hell - two or three standing ovations. A stalwart memory from The Swell Season's 'stoundingly brilliant two-and-a-bit hour set at The Palais, should I lose all else from the evening. Unfortunately, however, it was over, and the adoring crowd began to file out of the theatre, forever awe-struck. I knew I was. Rachael and her sister were practically beaming. Hayden mustered about as much emotion as I've ever seen in the entire time that I've known him. The line out was long, and it felt futile to encapsulate the quality of their set in words. It was then that I turned from my friends gushing praise to notice Mit and Nicko at the foot of the antique-ancient Palais stage. Set-list scavengers? Or something more? Again - and as was my way with Ryan's circle - I decided to investigate.
As I approached, I've no doubt I filed through the same sets of thoughts and emotions and patterns I so often do. And each of which are simply matters of acceptance. Or perhaps, beneath it all, questions of confidence. They had it. I didn't. I still don't. I have a blog. Is it that they're older? No. Mit, at least, is barely older than me. In any case, they were cool, and as a twenty-year-old with too many questions, and rarely an answer, I always thought it nice to know just how one arrives at the point in which they can live with themselves, despite even the most grave cases of self-doubt. When they invited me for gelati, I followed like a little lost puppy. When I knew I needed the last tram, and that it would arrive any minute, I stuck around anyway. The extent of my juvenile fascination is far from lost on me. But then, it was this very thing that drove me to follow them back to the car, and in doing so, toward the side of the Palais - toward a charming, genuine character in Glen Hansard. It was, effectively, what landed me the prized stub.

I think its because I'm the little brother. Is it normal? I have no idea. This kind of relationship is probably a tendency between brothers though. I've always been stubborn in my ways, but a taste - that is, any invitation into Ryan's world (a world that I suspect is as intricate and as maze-like as I have come to realise of my own life) - has always proved, ultimately, hypereffective in shaping the person I am today. Maybe that's why I'm excited by his music, his friends, their music. It is, quite possibly, a drug. Its exciting. Its opportunity. I remember when he introduced me to Radiohead. No: I remember when I approached him months later and told him of my sudden love for OK Computer. And months later still when I had discovered The Bends. He told me - and I suspect always will tell me - so.

I often reflect upon whether this strange infatuation is at all healthy. Probably not (as if it were something I could control). But then by the same token, its probably not worth thinking about. All I know for sure is that I'm listening to The Swell Season.

You know, I saw them once.

I have the ticket stub to prove it.

Your Day Breaks, Your Mind Aches...

2009-01-30T04:15:00.000-08:00

The Beatles.

And you don't even have to ask why: they're The Beatles. But truly, once I had mused upon the idea, I had no choice but to embrace the irony in titling a blog - essentially a public journal, to be accessed by the entirety of the Internet community - "For No One". At the very least, this journal will be, at its core, for me.