30.06.06

okay..someone has to say this. Big sunglasses are over. It's been great, we've all wanted to be brian jones at some point in our lives...but the time has come to give it up. No more! No more cool 60's kids in bands with big glasses. It's a great look, but we've all enjoyed and need to move on. It's nbot shallow. I'm not worried about bullshit small things. I'm trying to help you all. Now, I can be a negative prick. But I'm trying to get over that. So...thewre is some reach around. I have some suggestions for you all. Try this. Thin stylish frames. It doesn't make such an obvious stament. But it makes a cleaner, better, more appropriate statement. And isn't that what we're all after. Paris Hilton wears big glasses. You get my drift. And before you can say it...it's actually not cool to enjoy Paris. Fuck that Ironic shit...she's a cock. If she's doing something, best you don't. Big glases are the "sorry skirts" of the naughties. remember that stupid Melbourne only fad of wearing skirts over your jeans. Shit look. Either dig your skirtness with pride or wear pants...no need to combine the too. Faye Dunaway wouldn't wear a sorry skirt. Avril lavign would. Dig.

30.06.06

the love of music.Ocassionally I wonder if giving so much of my life to music has been wise. Does it matter that much? Have I been wasting valuable time best spent on a career? Something happened recently to make me remember why music will always be king. I'm a massive fan of the movie badlands. Love the thing to bits. Anyway...there was a haughting bit of music on it I've been trying to track down for like 15 years. A few years back some melbourne dudes put out a rec of the bandlands soundtrack(david chesworth??)...i was like.,..at last...but it didn't have the bit I lusted after. Finally I found it. In a weird way. I bought the comp album by Javis Cocker...a rich rec filled with great music...and the song was the first one on it. It's called Gassenhauer and it's by Carl Orff (he of camina bariva fame). My god...the joy I felt when I heard that song. I couldn't believe I finally had it. It made my week. It's music he made for students and children to enjoy...and my little Babette just loves it. It made her smile right off. Music is king. Always was and no matter how serious my life gets it always wil be. As a side note....cock head tarentinos flick, true romance also uses it....but seriously...it's abused, not used...fuck that prick and all his heartless "smart" dialogue. He'll never make a flick one fifityieth as good as badlands. we all know that, right?

30.06.06

soccer is gay. Australians draped in flags are gay. The free kick was there. Soccer exists because posh dickwad upper class poms wanted a game where you didn't have to touch the ball. This is true. Fuck soccer.

04.06.06 ...

Had a ripper night at the footy. We lost to the pies, but I felt something I’d never experienced before. Pride in a loss. The lions, injury plagued and filed with kids had a real crack at Collingwood. And it was great to watch. Make no mistake, the pies are the real deal. When the game hung in the balance they turned on the kid of footy that wins premierships. It was fast. Brutally fast. And great to watch. And the fact they didn’t blow the game out to a ten goal win is due to the lions not losing it and continuing to battle on. I look forward to next week. There’s something kinda Zen cool about knowing yr team isn’t anywhere near a flag, but discovering the players who will bring it closer in the coming years. After beating a bunch of average teams the kids got to play against a great side. A good learning curve.

Jon Jon brown is so great to watch…he just loves his footy…old school strut and all. Even after a knock that must’ve left him concussed he still managed to pull it together and play another great game.

Had a ball listening and pissing ourselves at some of the feral pies fans. Fuck they’re deadshits. Grown men acting like 6 year olds. With some classic retarded comments. Some of our favs were…” put yr head over the ball Voss you weak prick”(if your reading this from another state or country, Voss is undisputedly one of the hardest men to play the game, ever!….”you’re shit brown, you’re overrated”. Man we laughed. I think they figured this was going to annoy us….we’re like, dude bring it on, you’re entertaining us. And, by the way, can you read? And did you choose that outfit for the night? You did? Great!

I love going to the footy.

I love watching the game and as I get older I enjoy what the other team is doing to. Even when the game was in the balance, you had to applaud some of Buckley’s skills. His kicking is second to none. Incredible to see.

Will the pies win the flag?

Oddly enough, while the sub mongoed fans are a tad trying and the president is the kinda dude who’s had enough success…the actual team has a lot going for it…west coast will have wasted their time in the sun, port style, if they don’t win this year. I think the pies can stop them.

But it’s the crows flag. Another great story. And we play them next week. Unreal!

20.05.06: Luna: tell me do you miss me.

Last night I watched the most profoundly moving scene in any film I’ve looked at in years. And I’ve seen some rippers lately. The squid and the whale. A history of violence. Capote. All wonderful. But the scene in question came from none of these. It appeared near the end of Tell me do you miss me. A doco on the final tour of my favorite band of the last ten years or so…Luna.

The band has just come off stage after their final ever performance. The members sit together back stage. They are all fighting tears. Fighting tears always gets me. The very act of trying to curb your emotions makes those emotions so much deeper. The room is near silent. Just faces of musicians who have played together for a long time realizing “this is it”. It’s all over.

It’s beautiful.

I love Luna. Loved them from the moment I first heard 23 minutes in Brussels. Chris and I live to turn each other onto new bands. And as he laid Yo la tengo on me, I introduced him to Luna. In both cases we excitedly rang each other up. “Hey, drop what you’re doing right now, you have to go down to Greville(a record shop) and buy anything by this band I’ve just discovered”. We were both music fans long before being in a band ourselves. And we remain, proudly, record nerds.

Luna came so close to being big. So close to that elusive goal. But whether they were ridding high on critics lists or releasing albums to the diehards, they always delivered cool and warm albums, filled with great lyrics and stunning duel guitar interplay. Their last, rendezvous, is maybe my favorite. And you can’t say that about many bands. 13 years in and they are still producing.

It sometimes bewilders me that Luna aren’t more highly regarded. In indie circles it’s all about Galaxy 500. And hey, I dig em too. But I reckon Luna took Dean’s quest for the perfect amalgamation of the velvets, Television and various other underground touchstones to it’s highest plane. To me, their art is about that space between giving your all and holding something back. The planned act of holding something back can be a special magic. Most bands give you everything. And it’s usually too much information. You can see the snakes of desperately needed success writhing under their skin. It’s ugly. And surely there’s enough ugly going around at the moment. Take note fists in the air oz rockers of the month. You have no mystery! There’s no space for the listener to bring anything to the experience. You’re telling us everything. And your everything is so fucking paltry. Little more than you wanting to be famous. And something about “rock” .

But don’t mistake mystery for detachment, or aloofness; two things Luna were accused of. It’s bullshit. Their music is incredibly moving. Beauty is so rare in bands. I’ve realized it’s the thing I need most. If I have to sit through another supposedly post punk band play a disco beat with a choppy guitar over it I may have to take matters into my own hands. That road, that music, that style, leads to jacking off on your own in a palace of mirrors. Far too ugly and real for my tastes. Fuck that.

There’s been a bunch of great band docos come out lately. Dig, The Fearless Freaks, the Ramones, end of the century. I’ve enjoyed them all. The differences between those and the Luna doc is one of band personal. The aforementioned films all have extreme characters. There’s a kind of a circus element. You get to watch Anton losing his mind. Steve drozd talk about his fucked up family and drug addiction. Johnny Ramone being an uber right wing control freak while poor Joey tries to weather the storm. All great fun to watch but not something I could relate to in any way. Tell me do you miss me is about four, seemingly fairly together, people, give their lives to making music. And when Britta says the only way they make any money touring is from t shirt sales, you know they must really mean it. Care about what they’re doing. I like that. Well, actually, I love that.

The film has a lot of really pretty sequences with great instrumental music by different members of the band. A particularly bittersweet sequence is Dean playing with his son in the park. A dad mucking about with his kid. You know it’s his visiting day. You see the ex partner. You get a sense of them trying to work things out. But like the music, you don’t get the full story. It’s not warts and all. And it’s better for it. The other docs I’ve mentioned would have mined that situation for all it’s worth. But why bother, you get all you need as it is. The man who writes the songs also has the pressure, and joy, of being a dad.

The live footage is brilliant. Great versions of favorites from all over the world. I love how there’s always someone up the front, swaying, lost in the moment. Not jumping around. Not annoying the person next to them. Just off on some private music inspired little trip. That’s Luna in a nutshell. Songs with perfect melodies and interesting sometimes, partially hidden, stories that often move into wonderful musical passages that take you somewhere special.

This flick will probably not get the kudos of the other recent band docs. Just like the music hasn’t got it’s just rewards. But I know there’s people like me out there in the world that will love it and take it to their hearts. And there will always be new people out there who’ll stumble upon this band and have it make their lives better.

In fact that happened just recently. Our new guitar player, teen sensation, Tor, is incredibly knowledgeable and passionate about music. I didn’t think there was much Chris or I could lay on him that he hadn’t already ferreted out.

But then one rehearsal, Chris mentioned that Tor had just had his first 23 mins experience. The gleam in Tor’s eye as he talked about the song and why he liked it was a pleasure to hear. It’s why the Sun blindness are so great and why it’s so cool to have him play with us.

It’s also why I don’t have a lot of friends and the ones I do have can relate to that last paragraph.

Seriously, every person I care about likes that song.

So…back to that crying scene. Music means everything to me. It’s held my life together. And I really felt that it was the same for every member of Luna backstage after that final performance. There was the music and the tears. No tv sets out windows. No screaming fights(even the audio of band disagreements in the studio was pretty chilled).

Just music and tears.

It’s a beautiful film.

See it.

I love Luna.

13.4.06 Weddings.

I love weddings. Love'em to bits. It's like a pageant; filled with good times, costumes, rituals, booze, and, if the couple are truly soul mates, love. Love, love, love!

I've had the pleasure of being a part of two weddings lately. One was for brother from another mother and sand pebbles bass man, Chris.

What a day! In fact, what a night before the day. WE went old school and got a hotel for the boys in the bridal party and had a real old school mates together booze up. Including revelations and rides at Lunar park. It was perfect.

Hanging over the day for my brother, Aran, was his best man's speech. My brother is one of my best mates. But I never took him for the public speaker type. Neither did he. And he was shitting himself about the speech. Moments before he went on, I wondered if he wanted a ciggie to chill himself out. He couldn't...too freaked. The suspense was big. The best man's speech has a lot ridding on it. I started to feel his pain. He'd spent months on this fucker...which only made it worse...an off the cuff disaster is one thing, fucking up after putting so much in is failure on a large scale.

So...he gets up. First few lines are inaudible...I'm seeing him dying before my eyes. I tell him to speak into the mike. He freaks, but does as he's told...and then goes on to deliver the best wedding speech I've ever heard. Funny, and then, when it should be, heartfelt. I was so happy for him.

Love, love, love.

And that's what's great about weddings...you celebrate the couple...never underestimate the powerful oonga boonga magic of two people saying they love each other in public...it affects you on a sub atomic gut level that's truly inspirational...but you also celebrate friendship group...the people who mean most to you...

And so it came to pass.

13.4.06 Soap. and Dallas!

I write soap for a living. There, I said it. I don't want props, but fuck I don't want attitude either. Sometimes I lie about what I do. You get sick of the shit. I mean, you'll be in a cab... dude says, what do you do? So, being honest and wanting to get down with the common folk you say "write soap". Then you get like "gee, I never watch that shit". I'm like, fuck me. Can I go to town about your freaking job?! It's just a job..end of story. But no...you have to get shot for it. Imagine being at a party and someone says "I drive cabs" and you go.."fuck I hate cabbies, never know where the fuck they're going, always give my girlfriend sleazy looks, in fact, matey, fuck you and fuck your job".

Anyway...when you write soap you start to look at other soaps for inspiration(rip ideas off) and sometimes you come across gold...Dallas is full on, no holds barred, gold. I never watched it as a kid. I was into arty shit, underground new York cinema...French new wave...you get the picture. But now I love it. And Dallas has so much to love.

Larry Hagman: what De Nero is to tormented gritty method action, Larry is to soap. And guess what...he's a bloody incredible actor. J.R is one of dramas great creations. An amazingly detailed and fully drawn character; filled with laughs and thrills. Camp as Christmas on Fire Island and all the better for it. Larry needs props. Not bullshit Ironic Haselhoof props, real love and affection for creating such a compelling bit of genius.


His wife on the show...Sue Ellen is also as good as it gets...a piss drinking freak trying to find her way out of a self made hell...and you can't take your eyes off her.

Get the dvds...they're cheap as chips at jb and worth every penny.

And, by the way...my fav tv show of all time is the Sopranos. And guess what...it's filled with soap conventions. I'm currently watching the final season...Pauly finds out his mum isn't really his mum...his aunty...get ready...his aunty the FUCKING NUN!!!! Is his real mum. Now that is straight out of soap 101. Does it work...you bet your arse it does.

Soap is all around us. Six feet under is soap. Deadwood has heaps of soap in it.

So, come with me, and let it all out, embrace!

13.4.06 Fifty-fifty.

I'm compelled and driven to read 50-50 in the herald sun every day. Obsessed. I love it. Nowhere else do you get such genius rantings from retarded anglo men. Fuck me, but if you read this from another planet you'd think white straight men are the most persecuted on earth. The blackfellas fire in the gardens has really got'em going. Now, I'm not sure the protest is the best way to go about things and hell, elders from the area have said it's a waste of time at best and disrespectful at worst. But either way...how is it affecting anyone. It isn't is the simple answer. so grow the fuck up and worry about Howard lying through his teeth about the AWB. But no, this has really got some men angry. "I can't camp there, so why can they, oh that's right, I'm a white straight middle class white man. Where are my rights?". It's gold. And don't get them started on gays. Shit, those weasels have got it all made. And now they want to get married too! When are straight men going to get their rights! Seriously...check it out. It's funny as shit...until you realise they vote...then it gets a little depressing. But hey, I have sleeping pills to take that all away.

13.4.06 Sleeping pills.

Shit. I'm an insomniac. Have been for years. Don't know why. I'll spend hours going over shit that doesn't matter every night. I'll try and stop. But I can't. The next day, I care little for what was troubling me...but that night, it's all back. That parking ticket from 94...why didn't I pay that? Will they one day come and sell my house because I owe thousdands of dollars...that's the kind of shit I contend with. Also...after a gig, I can never sleep...never. Good gig, shit gig...doesn't matter..the songs just pump through me for hours.

So...I'm at the chemist the other day...unreal dudes from across the road who rule. And I have a cold, so I ask for nightime flu tablets. My buddy says he hasn't got any, but then reaches behind the counter and gives me sleeping pills.

I loved that he did that...what a guy! Fuck the rules give medicine to those in need...he's like a saint.

Anyway...

Oh Joy of Joys! I used to love sleeping pills...pop a few...have a bath, a bit of top shelf rye and away you go. But it's a little harder now, the kids don't really respect a crazed, mush mouthed dad puffing joints and whisky in the bath.

But, still. Here were these tablets. Of course I pop a few. And now, the next day, I'm fucked. But in a great way. Like being stoned but in control. A portable warm bath has been surrounding me all day.

Everyones saying I looked depressed, but I'm rocking on the inside...just a little slack jawed visually. And who cares about that? JUst stay away from mirrors.

I now see the housewife Valium thing. It's great. It's the respectable way to get loose and still be a model citizen.

Thank you Mr Chemist!

12.2.06 ... Okay. I admit it. I hassled Chris into giving me a page on which to rant, only to find I didn't have any ammo. Or, if I did, no will to spill. I have nointerest in back page of uncut drug stories. They exist, but really, drug stories are like people who insist on telling you about their dreams. Hey, dreams are importat to the one dreaming them. But, perhaps, best there.

Anyway, that's all changed. I have a story.

To some, the bloke who set up Ikea, is a genius. World's richest man, etc. He may well be rich. He's also a Swedish cunt.

Forget feeling you should read Kafka to be a well rounded person. Waste of time. Three hours in that rat trap of a "furniture" store gives the lifetime of Kafka scribblings in one big painful shot.

We had to buy our daughter her first proper bed. A nice ritual that she was very excited about. Our biggest mistake was being budget conscience. Never gain.

You enter this store, more a rat maze, and are then forced to go past everything fucking thing they have to offer before you can leave. What a nightmare. And it never seems to end. The place is huge. And never seems to stop. And when you finally reach the checkout, you suddenly find out part of the joy of Ikea is being a storeman. You have to get all the shit you buy off the huge shelves. That takes more precious time. Time you could have spent in a nice shop with someone that vagley resembles a human who gives a shit.

Never again. We saved a couple of hundred dollars. Not early enough. Our psycic scars will be with us for some time. And that's not a Sunday paper opinion colom joke. It really hurt us. That shop gave us pain..

It's not very rock and roll. I know there are bigger targets. But, then again, maybe not. He's a Swedish cunt, who takes all the joy out of what should have been a pleasant ritual.

He saves himself money at every turn, bugger all staff, you do all the work, to make things cheap.

And guess what? Cheap is ugly.

We're returning the bed. I know this will involve more hours of pain but we will do as we should have done in the first place. Hassle a friend in the trade to get us a discount on a bed that's made with love and craftsmanship. One that'll still be beautiful in twenty years time. Okay, next week, stay tuned for my supermarket battle. Safeway or Coles. Hold onto yr hats, it's going to get rough.

A reply to the Lester Bangs of Furniture Retail...

Saw your rant against Ikea on the Sand Pebbles' site ... my 2c worth...

(1) Ikea is a very clever retail plot - it's impossible to just duck
in and out - you're forced to go past 95% of the stock and think
'hey, I've always wanted a plastic shelf that doubles as a stock pot'
or some other ridiculous product design.

(2) There's a revolting smell in the place that could be some toxic
substance developed by the Nazis, and appropriated by Swedish
sympathisers in the dark days immediately following WWII. It gives
me the same shuddering feeling as the slightly disconcerting
illustrations in a 1950s Disney book my sister had (y'know, the sort
of pictures that make you think all step mothers are old hags with
only malicious thoughts in their minds).

(3) My brother-in-law was visiting recently and was 1/2 through his
sojourn through Ikea when he realised he hadn't had his morning
coffee and cigarette. He decided to duck out quickly to rectify the
situation ... except there's no ducking out of Ikea quickly. You're
there, you're trapped and you may die there very soon.

(4) The last time I ventured there (to look for CD shelves) I ended up
getting very pissed off and remarked to Babette (who loves the
slippery dip thing) "Daddy says Ikea is a distinctly unsatisfying
shopping experience". It talk all my mental discipline to stop me
using every profane expression under the sun to describe my inner
angst.

(5) Don't get me started on the waste products masquerading as coffee
and foodstuffs in the cafeteria.

(6) We bought Babette's bed from somewhere else (name eludes me).
Cost about twice as much as Ikea but very robust. We've never looked
back.

Ikea is Swedish for Satan's Retail Hell.

Patrick