So Thom Yorke has come out and declared the album dead. This isn’t the first time Thom’s been the bearer of bad tidings. In 2004 he cancelled the second Melbourne Radiohead show due to a frail voice. Frail voice? I thought that was the whole point. Not only did I have a ticket but I’d won a competition to meet him by sending in four barcodes from my brand of anti depressants.
Well, if the album isn’t dead it’s certainly lying in intensive care with a cracked case and a terminal cross-hatch of scratches on the disc. Since the advent …
Did you know that every thirteen minutes a relationship in Australia ends? Statistics tell us that only 5% of these relationships will end cleanly. The majority will haemorrhage into heaving silence with one staring into space and the other in tears. Sentences will get said: “I don’t know what I feel any more. I just don’t think I can give to this relationship.” The carcass of trust shall hang from necks. There will be gazes from the doorway. Beautiful creatures in knee high socks and soft cotton dresses sprawled on the bed, faces buried in pillows. Nervous men out of …
Hello. Oh hey Joel how you going? Ya. I’m just on a, uh, tram, just really hungover. Hey, you know that um, band competition we went in, So You Think You Can Copy? Yeah, we won man! Yeah we got a record contract out of it. We’re with like Independent Records, they’re like an off-shoot of Sony. Ya we have to make like one over-hyped album, we get uh, Molly Meldrum kudos, Rage guest programming rights, a memory stick full of Myspace friends and we can write the soundtrack to an ad of our choice. Na man we haven’t sold …
February 23, 2010 – 7:58 pm
They say dance is the hidden language of the soul – if this is the case then Friday nights are all about learning to say rude words. Is there no greater relief from the cerebral shackles of modern life than cutting some serious lunch on the floor? While girls are so rhythmically infused they could dance to their own heartbeat, for men, like most things, it’s tricky. Strangled by their Straighty 180 collars and Blend It Like Beckham jeans, men love nothing more than to hover on the sides like out of work bodyguards, tapping along sheepishly, demonstrating that a …
January 14, 2010 – 2:49 pm
Throughout the ages man has felt an insatiable desire to self publish. The origins of blog and zine culture can be traced back to the Stone Age. It was here that early man first became aware of his own genitals and was able to draw them on a cave wall (a cromagnadoodle). This is the art worlds equivalent of inventing the wheel. Man then became in touch with his own ego (‘grong woz ere 10000 b.c.’), and published a primitive rant piece (‘mamoth sux.’) These incidents would also provide the well tagged cornerstone for modern day graffiti, which has itself …
November 12, 2009 – 3:27 pm
Press stud check shirts and three piece flared suits
Art Deco prints and mod Beatle boots
vintage scrabble with no pieces missing
a few of my favourite second hand things.
Ah yes, like Scrooge McDuck used to flap wildly about in his columns of cash, the modern young thing can interpretive dance around shelves of perishable trinkets and wardrobes laden with long-lost fabrics, basking in the wealth of yesteryear. Boy/Girl, do we love vintage! If we had it our way, the whole world would be one big ‘the 60’s.’ Psychedelic pop art, milk in bottles, mint condition Stones records and no-one would have …
November 12, 2009 – 3:25 pm
They say humans spend a third of their lifetime sleeping. Of that time, I spend a third lying in bed swearing, a third sitting in the kitchen eating ham and a third rolling around in a half-awake dream state with the devil playing Pictionary. Rock and roll brain, you god forsaken sponge! Where did it all go wrong? Insomnia. Discusszzzzzzzzzzz.
I’ve always had an overactive imagination, and can’t remember a time when I didn’t spend at least half an hour hurtling through wormholes down the rabbit hole of my mindioli. Through childhood, this tended to be an exciting time, like a …
November 12, 2009 – 3:23 pm
This is how it goes:
Me: I’ve never been overseas.
Person: What!?
Me: Yep.
Person: But you’re from Tasmania.
(Person laughs for 18 minutes).
Me: True. I guess I have then.
(Person continues anecdote of how they caught a train from Paris to Berlin and then ended up in Amsterdam and fell in love with a New York girl who they lived with for a while before moving to London via Tokyo.)
Me: I’ve been to Broome.
You’ve heard of the 40 year old virgin, now meet the 29 year old travelling virgin – oft attracting the same kind of playful derision …
November 12, 2009 – 3:21 pm
Alcohol is pure sex. Frosted white wine splashing between your lips. A smooth green bottle, snug in your dancing hand. The spitfire sweet of a straw sucked liqueur. The luscious punch of ice shrapnel between teeth, a slush of lemon and gin anointing your smoky throat. Alcohol lubricates your gasping mind. Oils your dancing bones. Fuels your childlike craziness. Alcohol is the slinky DJ at the decks of your brain, fading your inner monologue and amping up the joy. Alcohol is your dear, dear friend. Wild and reliable. The champagne spray that christened your adulthood will also toast your …
Who could forget the feeling of first discovering your favourite band or show. Like a seasoned explorer, you sail the air waves, telescope poised, waiting for a particular hook, lyric or joke to glimmer on the horizon like a cheeky lighthouse. Eyes grinning through sea spray you throttle your badge encrusted wheel, drop the striped sail on the Good Ship Indie and lay a course for life-changing island. Reaching shore you dash out, plunge your headphone jack into the coconut tree and immerse your mind in its luxurious bounty. That which lay undiscovered now feels like home, and your map …