Allan Sko

From the Bossman

Hello everyone. I am here today to talk to you about men.

It is well documented that men are inept at performing two tasks at once. “A watched pot never boils,” was in fact an idiom used to describes men’s failed efforts to pay attention to more than one thing in the kitchen at the same time. This sits right alongside the more popular yet not quite as snappy, “An unwatched pot boils over and spills scalding water all over the hob which you then try to feverishly mop up only to burn yourself, sending your hand in an arc of pain that knocks over a nearby bowl of miscellaneous small things that then perform the impressive task of scattering over the kitchen and beyond in the broadest spray pattern possible with many being discovered in regular intervals weeks later in the most unusual places, such as in the soap in the bathroom”. Y’know, that old chestnut.

And while we may like to tell our potential bed partners that we are wildly proficient in performing two tasks at once (It’s... It’s just not true... We mean well, though) in fact there is only one simultaneous act in the space of human history that men can perform successfully. That’s the art of starting up the car and putting on the seat belt whilst in motion.

We regularly indulge in this magnificently dangerous trait for two reasons; it saves a modicum of time, and it makes us feel cool.

Boldly skirting road safety issues for the sake of saving a precious few seconds of time is vital to your average bloke. There are many places we need to rush off to so we can spend just that little extra bit of time sitting down and vagueing out, whether it be in front of a beer at the pub, or in front of the cricket at home.

Doing things to make us look cool, much like water, makes up about 80% of the human male being. It is the vital coal to fire our machismo furnace. Despite nearly swerving into parked cars as we make the awkward grope behind our shoulder for that flamin’ belt as our better halves scream at us for being stupid we all know, deep down, that their loin hair is bristling with excitement at just how cool we are. The physical touch of a slap to the head is merely an affirmation of this thought.

If we don’t look and feel cool, then no-one will love us. We know this to be unequivocal, unarguable truth; every day we awake with the crushing pressure of needing to violently spin the stick of cool once more* lest the wobbly plate of psyche comes crashing to the hard floor of truth.
This is why we lean out of cars and holler obscenities at passing cyclists; this is why we use words like ‘holler’; this is why is we wear our belts around our knees to show you how much we’ve spent on our underpants; this is why we crack out the G-banger on special occasion to accentuate our sweet crotch area (Just me on that last one, then? Rightey-o). We want to look cool, because we need love.

So next time your inwardly sensitive ball of testosterone sticks his tongue in the corner of his mouth in concentration as he attempts to fasten the belt, even whilst veering dangerously close to that parked Mercedes with a pissed off looking rich guy in it, grit your teeth and say “Wow, honey... That’s so impressive!” It might just save a cyclist being yelled at.

ALLLLAN “BFGAII” SKOOOO... Sorry, I was trying to type and sip coffee at the same time there.

*this is not a wanking metaphor

New Southside Venue (Possibly)

If ever you believed in voting with your feet and want to support the venue future of Canberra, now my friends is the time to act. Old favourite The Greenroom is to take up residence at The Woden Tradies Club but for one month only as a trial. As The Greenroom’s Garry Peadon told us recently: “The plan is to gather hard data from the tills to submit to The Tradies board members in order for them to approve a permanent, purpose built, mid-sized venue that this city lacks,” he says. “So for the month of March you’ll be able to come check out the basic idea and catch a variety of acts including British India (Friday March 2), Closure In Moscow, and Funkoars. If all goes well the entire venue will be redone as a musos club – that’s all I can say about the final plan at this stage.” Make sure you come down and see at least one gig to keep the venue alive. Friday nights have $5 early bird specials and half price drinks from 6-8pm. Tix will be through Moshtix and tix giveaways/more info can be found at facebook.com/greenroomcanberra .

A New Venue Beckons... But It Needs Your Help

If ever you believed in voting with your feet, and want to support the venue future of Canberra, now my friends is the time to act. Talks of a new Woden venue raged for months last year only to be shot down in a blaze of glory. It wasn’t until recently that a plan was resurrected for old favourite The Greenroom to take up residence at The Woden Tradies Club but – and here’s where you come in, you gig-going scallywag you – for one month only as a trial. 

As The Greenroom’s Garry Peadon told BMA Magazine recently: “The plan is to gather hard data from the tills to submit to The Tradies board members in order for them to approve a permanent, purpose built, mid-sized venue that this city lacks,” he says. 

“So for the month of March you’ll be able to come check out the basic idea and catch a variety of acts including British India pictured (Friday March 2), Closure In Moscow (Thursday March 15), and Funkoars (Friday March 30).

“If all goes well, not only will the room be rebuilt as a venue, but we will gain a new club…  A muso’s club. Yep, the entire club redone as a muso’s club – that’s all I can say about the final plan at this stage.”

Make sure you come down and see at least one gig to show your support in favour of the change. To further dangle the juicy tempting carrot, Friday nights have earlybird specials ($5 chicken schnitzels for instance) and half price drinks from 6-8pm. Tix will be through Moshtix.com.au and ticket giveaways/more info can be found at facebook.com/greenroomcanberra .

Two Cavalera Conspiracy double passes

CAVALERA CONSPIRACY was formed in 2007 when Iggor Cavalera called his brother Max after a ten year period of silence. The split came in 1996 after the murder of Max’s stepson forced him to leave the band the brothers founded, Sepultura. A decade later Iggor parted ways with Sepultura, citing “artistic incompatibility”. The year after, Cavalera Conspiracy was founded and work began on their first studio album, Inflikted (2008).

Cavalera Conspiracy are wrapping up the current touring schedule with a final run of shows here in Australia. Max and Iggor have played here together as Sepultura, and Max last toured here with Soulfly back in September 2010. However, this will be the first Cavalera Conspiracy tour of Australia. We have two double passes for the show to giveaway. To win, email allan@bmamag.com and tell us what your favourite bit of Cavalera music is.

Cavalera Conspiracy play at the ANU Bar on Friday January 27 with special guests. Tix are $73.65 + bf. Doors 8pm.

Five Chemical Brothers live film screening double passes

Filmed with 20 cameras at a headline show at Japan’s very own Glastonbury, the Fujirock Festival, Don't Think is the first time the full Chemical Brothers live experience has been professionally captured on film. Directed by long-term visuals collaborator Adam Smith this full-length concert movie places cameras in the centre of the stage, as well as at the very heart of the crowd to perfectly capture a fan's eye view of the heightened emotional reactions.

During the film, Smith takes advantage of one of the most unique festival settings in the world when he follows selected audience members away from the stage and out into the natural environment. Then, by adding avant-garde magic realist moments where trippy visuals leave the screens and invade the open spaces of the festival, Don't Think undergoes a transformation from concert film to fully immersive document of one of the most mind-bendingly psychedelic live shows ever seen.

Don’t Think is the first concert film to feature glorious Dolby 7:1, surround sound, mixed for the big screen by the band themselves.

We have five double passes to a special one-off screening at Hoyts at Belconnen on Friday February 3. For your chance to win, email allan@bmamag.com and let us know what name you would give to a new Chemical Brothers track (think Fistpump Beatrock Platter... but better).

Plump DJs

Plumping Up The Breaks

Older dance denizens will fondly remember the zenith of breakbeat in the early-to-mid noughties, a time when citizens side-shuffled to a 130bpm groove and the Finger Lickin’ label ruled the realm. Now, as 2012 readies to take its first trembling steps, we’re more likely to hear dubstep crack the plaster of clubs and bass music to accompany the chin stroke of discerning EDM lovers. Not for UK’s PLUMP DJs, though; the duo is determined to prove the lustre of their crown is as bright as ever.

“We could always go into pop music,” Lee Rous jests, “but that’s just not us. What we do is more like 808 electro from the late ‘80s; electric disco if you will. We like making modern day electro tunes.”

Pleasingly, the Plumps are continuing with their two-man four-deck set-up implemented a few years ago. “We always DJ on four decks now,” Rous confirms. “It’s a particular priority at festivals, but we’re doing a club run in Australia this time. You have a real safety net as a performer at a festival, but we wanted to get back to our roots.”

I venture that with the crisis in the current festival market a club tour couldn’t be better timed.

“Yeah, but y’know, sad as it is to see so many fall, it’s not a completely bad thing,” Rous waxes philosophically. “Tough times weed out the dodgy promoters and the people in it to make a quick buck and you’re left with those with a true passion for music who can build it up again.”

This is the fifth time over eight years I have conversed with Mr Rous on a professional level and he has not lost his claim as one of electronic music’s stand up geezers. Although this chat occurs during a tumultuous time for music, Rous’ buoyant personality and eternal optimism shines through regardless.

“I feel rich, but certainly not in terms of money; nobody’s buying records any more,” he jests. “But we’re doing what we love, and we feel lucky to be making music full time. There’s three things in life you should never scrimp on... Your bed, your partner and your job. As long as you look after those three, you’re laughing.”

This unbridled optimism feeds into their future, with a long awaited album on the cards for April.

“It’s called Dirty Weekend,” Rous says with satisfaction. “We’ve been banging out big tunes for two years now without an album, so the time has come. It’s all about our new style; dirt disco. Plenty of dirty baselines.”

2011 may have been all about dubstep and the explorations of bass music, but the hardworking Plumps continue beavering away at what they do best, providing a musical option for lovers of EDM and proving why they have been on top for over 12 years.

Plump DJs will play at Trinity Bar, Dickson on Sunday January 22 as part of the new Picnic Jam! Sunday sessions. From 12pm. Tix are $20 on the door before 6pm. Supports from Offtapia vs Eldred, Peking Duk, Dept of Defiance, Shaolin vs Skinny, Party By Jake DJs and Strangeways DJs.

Noah Taylor & The Sloppy Boys

Taylor Made To Delight And Disturb

Noah Taylor. One of Australia’s most beloved actors, although he wouldn’t have you believe it. Despite playing significant and deeply memorable parts in Shine, He Died With a Felafel In His Hand, Almost Famous, Flirting, Red Dog (I could go on) he’s “not much into film these days” because of just that; he merely plays a part. But more on that later.

When not lighting up the silver screen with pitch perfect portrayals of the human condition, he is harnessing his emotional acuity as the driving force behind Noah Taylor & The Sloppy Boys, releasing an album that friend and musical influence Nick Cave described as “Some of the strangest, funniest, rawest, most heart-wrenchingly deranged music I have ever heard... A flat-out, freaked-out masterpiece.”

Indeed it is. So dripping in emotive post break up angst and sexual malaise it had me, at the very start of our interview, braying into the phone that his December-released Live Free or Die!!! six tracker was so raw and exciting that it made me want to wank into my own mouth.

“Umm... Wow. Umm... OK. Well. I can honestly say I’ve never heard that one before.”

It’s 10am in Brighton, England where Taylor is fielding this call, so despite the man’s gentle candour and freewheeling nature this graphic image may understandably not merge well with thoughts of breakfast. But as this lovable rag’s wily Editor Julia Winterflood espoused in her recent review of the album, “second track Fuck You, with its smashing cymbals and simple chords is the raunchiest, most honest confession of insatiability (“I wanna fuck you all night long / And all the next day too”) since QOTSA’s Make It Wit Chu.” So you see, we’re dealing with the kind of virile material that elicits such fowl interviewing behaviour.

“It’s nice to hear you enjoyed the record,” Taylor says. “It’s hard to be objective about your own work. Sometimes you read reviews that are so vitriolic it’s as if you went to the publication offices and personally defecated on their table. So it’s nice to hear the other side of things.”

You could forgive people for misunderstanding Taylor’s musical work; it’s a frenetic wall of sound, a crunch of guitars and wailing vocals about all things sexual.

“Fuck You is about what’s on everyone’s mind,” Taylor asserts. “It’s about what so many people think but, in a strangely conservative world, we’re not allowed to say. It’s the rock equivalent of lyrics like ‘I want to rock you all night long’ and ‘I want to give you every inch of my love’ but just coming straight out and saying it. One of the purposes of the album is to be out in people’s faces.”
Taylor’s tone is relaxed and measured. He takes regular pauses between forming and articulating ideas. Despite living in the UK for the past 12 years, a warm familiar Australian twang still peppers the voice of this eminently friendly gentleman. His music and lyrics may be raw and uncompromising, but his manner is that of a person you would happily while away a jolly afternoon in a London pub with.

“The whole album is written as an amalgam of the different ideas that flow through us at some point,” Taylor continues. “That post love stupor surrounding ideas of sex and love and what it all means.”

Indeed Fuck You’s forthrightness is immediately followed by the fear of love found in Scary (“I’m shittin’ my britches / And life is a bitch cos / I’m scared of falling in love”) which presents itself as an inspired piece of track ordering. Taylor is more humble when commenting on it.

“With only six tracks on the album, we didn’t overthink the order. Fuck You and Girl sound quite similar so we split them up. That’s about as involved as we got.”

Friend, neighbour, and inspiration Nick Cave is thanked on the album’s liner notes; indeed Taylor’s Sloppy Boys supported Grinderman late last year. I wryly congratulate him on getting Grinderman to support them.

“Ha, yes, it was nice of us to let them come along,” Taylor jests. “Nick’s always been very encouraging. Giving us that quote went a long way to helping us get noticed. His music has always been an inspiration, and he’s a good friend, and that quote helped open a few doors which was really good of him to do considering how busy and successful he is. So that warrants a thanks I’d think.”

From here we move on to a surprising portion of the interview. Gearing up to ask how he reconciles being a well known actor with a not-as-well-known musician (“You’ve made a pretty decent fist of this acting game,” I jest) Taylor derails my line of questioning with stupefying humbleness.
“Well, not really. I think you can give the illusion of success, when three films all come out at once, but it’s not necessarily the case. I’m not much into film these days, as in I don’t find myself watching a lot of them. It’s all about music and books for me. To use a music metaphor, acting in a film is like being a session musician; you’re playing an important part in essentially someone else’s creation. With music, you get to control and say exactly what you want.”

So those long, boring stretches between takes on set are often filled with daydreaming about being in the studio or on stage?

“No, I’m there to do a job, so my mind is focused on that,” Taylor says. “I find I often have side projects going at the same time to keep me busy. It pays the bills.”
With the happy news that Taylor has spent the first trembling steps of 2012 working on more music, I leave the man to his busy day.

“Hearing that you were on hands free earlier makes me slightly worried about that wanking comment,” Taylor takes the chance to say before we part ways. “I bet you won’t put that in the article. If I had said it, it would be the lead quote,” he says with a smile in his voice.
What can I say; good music makes journalists do strange things.

Noah Taylor & The Sloppy Boys’ Live Free or Die!!! is out now through Z-Man Records - http://www.zmanrecords.com/

Film Cutting A Splendid ARC

Back in 2006, beloved Canberra (nay Australia) institution the National Film & Sound Archive was one of few film archives in the world without its own on-site cinema to showcase its extensive and deeply historically important collection of films. Under the then-directorship of Paolo Cherchi-Usai 2007 saw the birth of ARC CINEMA. Under the guidance of David Boden (Manager of Access, Research and Development), Quentin Turnour (Chief Cinema Programmer), Cynthia Piromalli (Assistant Cinema Programmer), Trevor Anderson (Theatre Manager and, I’m told, a man instrumental in Arc’s construction), Reece Black (Chief Projectionist) and Greg Rooke (Projectionist) Arc Cinema has blossomed into an important cultural landmark that hosts a wonderfully eclectic snapshot of human life through film. 

At the dawn of 2012, I caught up with the ever-affable Cynthia Piromalli to discover the cinematic sights and sounds we have to look forward to for the year ahead.

“American Movie Treasures is on again in 2012,” Piromalli reveals, “which is a program we run with the support of the Embassy of the United States to bring Canberra audiences classic American cinema from film archives the world over. The first part of the season will be an Elia Kazan retrospective, kicking off with A Streetcar Named Desire outdoors in February then continuing with other classic Kazan titles in March/April and more US director retrospectives later in the year. 

“For the warmer months [and we use that term loosely these days] the Arc Outdoors screenings continue every Saturday night in the courtyard with Spinal Tap, Taxi Driver and Monty Python and The Holy Grail. We’ll also be running free Australia Day screenings including rarely seen films from the NFSA Collection including a featurette by Ken G Hall made in 1939 called Gone To The Dogs and a few of shorts in Bonza, Darra Dogs (by Dennis Tupicoff) and Down, Rusty Down by John Curran featuring Noah Taylor and Bob Ellis playing a pack of stray dogs. Plus we’ll have the 2011 box office hit Red Dog.”

The Australian flag will continue to be proudly flown as the year progresses, it seems, including a pleasing look at the world of Melbourne punk in Autoluminescent.

“We’re showing Australian director Ivan Sen's new film Toomelah in an exclusive season during February; the film screened a couple of times at last year's Canberra International Film Festival to packed audiences. And of particular interest to your peeps, I think, is the exclusive season of the new documentary Autoluminescent: Roland S. Howard which is screening from February 3.”

But it’s not all about celluoid from a sunburnt country. Arc Cinema will continue to showcase films old and new from around the world.

“The 2012 Alliance Francais French Film Festival will again be co-hosted at Arc Cinema  - including opening and closing nights - from March 14 to April 1,” Piromalli confirms, with news that the full program will be published in just over a fortnight at www.affrenchfilmfestival.org/default.aspx . “We will again be co-hosting the 2012 Canberra International Film Festival in late October/early November,” Piromalli continues, “and we will also be hosting the 2012 Japanese Film Festival in November which always has an excellent line-up of new and classic anime, brilliant action films and incredibly shot dramas from this amazing film culture. Further to this we also hope to bring a regular anime program to Arc this year, with the support of the Embassy of Japan.”

Of course an Arc NFSA program would not be complete without examples of the dawn of cinema, which will be ably demonstrated this year by the Autumn Silents season.

“Now this is where Arc shines!” Piromalli enthuses. “We're one of the few cinemas left in Australia that can run silent film at correct variable speeds with live musical accompaniment. We will be screening rare films from archives around the world, shown as they were originally; as they should be seen. This happens in the first two weeks of March, including some outdoor screenings early in the month.” 

All this should have cinephiles suitably salivating for the months ahead. I ask Miss Piromalli if there’s anything else she’d like to add before we part ways.

“That's about as much detail as I can offer, given we have only just programmed until April,” she reveals. “However we can promise - oh yes, promise - our usual year-long fare of exclusive seasons of new films, director retrospectives from around the world showcasing some rarely seen films from some of the best known filmmakers, our regular Sounds On Site program of music documentaries, the old cult title, new and classic Australian cinema every Saturday at 2pm and all with most films shown on - egad! - real film!”

To keep up with Arc Cinema’s terrific program you can sign up for their newsletter for the odd ticket giveaway and trailers of upcoming films at http://www.nfsa.gov.au/arc/ or email arc@nfsa.gov.au, search for them on Facebook and Twitter or keep a beady eye on these pages for news.

From the Bossman

New year, new beginnings, new hopes, new appliances.

Yes, new appliances. I bought BMA HQ a new microwave over the break, and I can’t tell you the giddy thrill it delivered sneaking into the office before the first day and eagerly installing it, and by that I mean plugging it in (I was trying to sound manly and knowledgeable by saying ‘installing’ when I am distinctly not; I could out mince Will Scarlett).

My excitement is two fold. Our old microwave did exactly what its title suggests, in that it emphasised the micro when it came to power and ‘waved’ goodbye to the concept of heat. It was as slow as a turtle with a limp; you could heat up last night’s scraps faster by flapping your arms rapidly over the plate to generate kinetic energy. It had two heat settings - Off, and Really? - and instead of offering a range of meat defrost options it simply had a crank labelled Misc. The final straw came one day late last year when a very hungry Paul the Ad Manager had to wait half an hour to defrost some soup. I could see him grow pale and wan before my eyes. In the end he conceded defeat and stabbed a fork into the icy husk to create a rudimentary broccoli flavoured icypole. Further to this, despite a staunch refusal to generate heat on the inside, the Tepidator 100 tended to burn an eerie incandescent purple shadow against the kitchen wall when dispiritedly attempting to warm something, which should be of concern except for the fact that the microwave has been here as long as the old geezer down the hall. He’s been here for years and seems to be fine. The flaky skinned wag.

Now, we have a nuclear powered Zap-o-tron Three Billion with 87 heat settings (the weakest of which is Supernova) and I can happily report that not only does it make a sound akin to a lightsabre when you press Fire!, it can turn a Titanic-sized iceberg of soup into liquid magma within five seconds. It’s so pleasing to see the burnt and charred lips of Paul the Ad Man curl into a smile.

You wouldn’t think an appliance costing a mere $300 should summon so much joy, but this brings me onto the second reason for my excitement; the symbolism it carries with it. Whereas public service offices will hoof out a fleet of new computers every half year to keep up to date, and order new stationary cupboards with the same frequency we’d order a new pencil, the tightly fiscal nature of small business means that you often rag daily essentials into the ground before you concede to buying a replacement. This is why walking into a street press office can often be a delightful romp back in time; akin to walking around the set of The Flintstones (“It’s a living!”). So the ability to make the humble yet long overdue purchase of a microwave - thus ensuring my staff don’t go starving for another day - is a minor fistpump for the very lower end of the corporate world.

And if you happen to be in the neighbourhood and need a burrito nuked or some sensitive documents destroyed, drop in and we’ll gladly disintegrate.

Good to see you all again. Missed you, I have.

Common

After spending a few years in the cinematic wilderness, Common is back spitting rhymes over dusty No.ID boom-bap beats with an undeniable feel of pleasing familiarity. Yet things have changed. Fortunately Common has left behind the experimental hip-hop found on the largely disappointing Universal Mind Control – an admirably bold album not without its charms (Make My Day with Cee-Lo) but one that jarred after the sublime warmth and earnestness found on Be.

Here album opener The Dreamer announces itself with a punchy beat, a soulful chorus and a spoken word inspiration piece from the wonderful Maya Angelou. We’re back to ol’ Common it seems. Yet Lonnie Rashid Lynn Jr seems more aggressive, boastful and hard-hitting this time around. He swears more prolifically, uses sexual imagery (“I want a bitch that look good and cook good,” he opens the Nas sporting Ghetto Dreams) brags about his film work and success (“How can I say this? Fuck it, I’m the greatest!”) and, in content matter at least, sounds much like every other rapper. Which is a shame. I prefer the soulful, poetic Common of Be, not the one you half expect to bellow “King Kong ain’t got shit on me!” at any moment.

This said, Common’s quickfire flow has not been blunted since his time away; No.ID’s beats are sure to put a crick in many a neck; and the album, heavily influenced by Kanye West to this ear, is not without its highlights. Just drop the hate, Com. I miss the happy, soulful you.

Hardcore/Indie Promotion Company Strike Hard Bookings To Close Its Doors

After years of shows to growing and appreciative audiences, Strike Hard Bookings will be closing its doors as of January 30, 2012. SHB were instrumental in bringing a slew of all ages shows to Canberra and this news, along with the Tuggeranong & Weston Creek Youth Centres being forced to close their doors to gigs due to defunding (which you can read about here), is very sad news indeed.

A press statement from Strike Hard Bookings reads as follows:

We are all moving on to bigger and better things, making it necessary to put an end to this chapter of our lives.

Since its formation in May 2007, SHB has moved from booking shows at makeshift venues in Wollongong onto things that were never thought possible. Indeed, we have grown into an international touring company that has presented some of the world’s best alternative artists to Australian audiences – from Unearth to Shai Hulud, from The Black Dahlia Murder to Cruel Hand, from Emmure to All Shall Perish. Throughout this time, we have been lucky enough to build strong relationships with record labels, bands, agents and audiences, and to all of these we are truly thankful.

While this signals the end of Strike Hard Bookings, the individual contributors are moving on in their careers. Founder and continued head of SHB, Daniel Misztal, will join the ranks of the Staple Group having accepted a position with Destroy All Lines. He will be the National Booking Agent for the Australia’s leading alternative nightclubs and booking international tours.
 
Oliver Cation has launched his own label, Broken Hive Records, and will continue his work in hardcore music by booking international and local tours, managing and booking local bands, as well as releasing and distributing a variety of titles through the label. Broken Hive's first tour will take place in March with Trapped Under Ice and Relentless embarking on a high profile national tour.
 
After years within the music industry, Jesse King has decided to withdraw from further involvement with the industry for the foreseeable future.
 
However Sam, Shane and Chucky will continue with their current projects, both playing in bands and being involved with bookings, design, promotion and sound, independent of Strike Hard Bookings.
 
We would like to thank all the bands, agents, managers, labels, promoters, tour managers, crew, street team, media and fans that we have all had the pleasure of working with over the years. Strike Hard Bookings could never have achieved what it did without you. We look forward to encountering you all in our future efforts.
 
The final Strike Hard shows will take place with Backtrack from New York taking to the road with Iron Mind starting Wednesday and running through till January 29th and the big Strike Hard Fest 2012 in Blacktown this Sunday with Confession, Thy Art Is Murder, Backtrack and many others. We hope you all come out and have one last show with us.

Koolism To Play at New O No! Night At University of Canberra

UC Live! regret to announce that due to scheduling conflicts outside of their control, Hermitude are no longer able to play O No! on Friday February 10. The silver lining however is that hometown heroes Koolism will be stepping in to keep the party going.

O No! follows O Yeah! on Friday February 3 and celebrates O Week at the University of Canberra. Koolism will be joining Australia electronic mash up stalwarts Bumblebeez, and the Sosueme DJs.

O Yeah! and O No! will be the first gigs presented by UC Live! in their new venue – Zierholz @ UC. For more information and to sign up for exclusive news and special offers go to www.uclive.com.au.

In the meantime, you can feast your eyes on the official press releases below to get you in the mood.

KOOLISM's footing as one of Australia’s favourite acts was cemented in 2004 when they won an ARIA award for Best Urban Release for their third album Random Thoughts Part 3. Together, DJ Danielsan and MC Hau have become an unparalleled force on the Australian hip-hop scene, pushing boundaries and blazing trails.

BUMBLEBEEZ have been described as a cut 'n' paste collision of noisy hip-hop and rock. The act is always known to bring a party to life and with the release of their latest hit single Summer Bum - a kind of post-carribean jiggy-beach baby - the trend is set to continue at O No!

Combine three of the scene’s best party DJs, add backup dancers, alcohol, a moshpit, shoulder fights, crowd surfing and dance-offs, you begin to get a visual of what the SOSUEME DJS are all about.

This year O Yeah! is set to feature some of Australia’s freshest indie pop talent in Hungry Kids of Hungary, Loon Lake and Atluk.

Recently dubbed by fans as one of the best live performances at this year’s Homebake festival HUNGRY KIDS OF HUNGARY are known to put on one of the tightest, strangest and downright entertaining live shows of any Australian band.

LOON LAKE is an indie pop 5-piece with a plethora of catchy tunes, great gigs behind them and a bright future ahead of them. Having just been announced for the Melbourne Big Day Out and Pyramid Rock Festival there is a lot of hype around this band, and deservedly so.

Rounding out the O Yeah! lineup for UC Live! are Canberra expats ATLUK, who have dubbed their style as Saccharine-Folk. A mixture of the narrative style of Belle & Sebastian and the light-hearted romance of She & Him, they also have the occasional group harmonies of Boy & Bear and the warm melodies of Angus & Julia Stone.

2012: A Huge Year In Music Awaits With Over 50 Significant Albums To Be Released

Music folk must be taking the-end-is-nigh thing seriously, with seemingly every artist worth their salt choosing to release an album within the next 12 months.

2012 is shaping up to be a huge year for releases, for reasons both good and bad (we'll let you decide which is which).

We can expect new albums from The Shins, Leonard Cohen, The xx, Bruce Springsteen, U2, Madonna, Justin Bieber, Muse, Queens of the Stone Age, Tool, How to Destroy Angles, Soundgarden, Paramore, Animal Collective, Paul McCartney, Pearl Jam, No Doubt (what?), Garbage (really?), Nicki Minaj, Cat Power, Andrew Bird, Grizzly Bear, The Beach Boys, Fleetwood Mac (possibly), Rufus Wainwright, Christina Aguilera, Alicia Keys, Mazzy Star, Black Sabbath (Ozzy Osbourne pictured, in one of his quiter moments), Rush, Van Halen, Aerosmith, Jay-Z, Rick Ross, T.I., The Offspring, Metallica, Janelle Monae, The Killers, Phoenix, Morrissey, Leona Lewis, Usher, Green Day, Mumford & Sons, The Magnetic Fields, Big K.R.I.T., Ke$ha, Sleigh Bells, Slaughterhouse, Lana Del Rey, Linkin Park, Old Ideas and Anberlin.

2012 - Set to be one of the most exciting, or one of the most disappointing, in recent memory. Only time will tell.

Roller Derby Joins Skate in the City

The Canberra Roller Derby League gals will be doing their level best to tear up the shiny new skating surface that has jazzed up Garema Place since early this January.

The CRDL are using their off-season to entertain and dazzle every Wednesday evening from 8pm, January 11 to February 1. CRDL will host demonstration roller derby bouts at 9pm, all the while injecting Canberra CBD with a revitalising reminder of the finesse, aggression and excitement available on old-school quads.

Garema Place has once again transformed into an open-air roller rink to jazz up this city's summer days and nights. This rink is the first of its kind in Canberra and aside from the CRDL skaters the rink will play host to retro video discos, feature skate shows, and present outdoor movie screenings. Skates are included in the entry cost, which is only a tenner.

Skate in the City is on now and runs until February 5.

For more information about Skate in the City, session times, and to book tickets visit http://www.inthecitycanberra.com.au/skate/ .

The Adventures of Tintin

There's much to admire about Tintin's first foray into the cinematic world, but sadly there's also much left wanting.

With the might of Steven Speilberg and Peter Jackson bringing motion to one of the world's best selling and most recognisible comic book characters, expectations were understandably high. Based on an amalgam of comics - mainly The Secret of the Unicorn and The Crab With The Golden Claws - we follow our beloved boy reporter-come-detective as he finds and teams up with a drunken Haddock to discover the mystery of a sunken ship whilst avoiding capture from a relentless stranger.

The animation is nothing short of jaw dropping; the characters' facial features and movement are rendered with spectacular realism, and the medium is used to create some sweeping and meticulously intricate settings and set pieces. The 3D is also superbly realised, creating an involving sense of depth in the gaudy settings.

The voice acting is brilliant; Jamie Bell is exactly how you would expect Tintin to sound; Simon Pegg and Nick Frost are good fun as the bumbling yet all-too-brief Thompson twins; and particular nods go to Daniel Craig's turn as the villain (who sounds like the character and not Daniel Craig) and the always-impresive Andy Serkis who absolutely nails Captain Haddock and provides the film's most enjoyable moments with his manic turn.

But this is all, to borrow a nautical metaphor, a mere shiny coat of paint on a rotten ship. The writers Steven Moffat, Joe Cornish and Edgar Wright (the latter of which I suspect only wrote the Thompson twins scenes for long time collaborators Pegg and Frost) make massive assumptions of their audience, and thus deliver an infuriatingly (and ironically) two-dimensional Tintin. We have no backstory, his emotion rarely wavers regardless of what level of danger he's in, and he has an annoying trait of talking to himself in the most expositional manner possible ("What's this? I wonder what it means? I'm going to walk over here now and look at this. I wonder what THAT means?" ad nauseum).

The Thompson twins feel tacked on and their appearance all too brief, the villain is not fleshed out much more... In fact, only Haddock escapes with a semblance of character development.

Also, the film's tone is confusing, veering from gritty (someone is shot up in a doorway and spells out a dying message in blood) to bizarrely comic book (there's a sword fight... Using cranes).

All this contributes to the film's greatest flaw; for all its bluster, location changes, action pieces, and high sea adventure, there's no risk. We feel nothing can touch our largely two-dimensional characters, and so by the middle we no longer care or fear for their safety, which takes the wind out of the film's sails.

The Adventures of Tintin is visually spectacular with wonderful voice acting, but we need more from our characters and plot to make it a watch-again classic like those found in Pixar's brilliant catalogue.

Plump DJs

Older dance denizens will fondly remember the zenith of breakbeat in the early-to-mid noughties, a time where citizens side-shuffled to the 130bpm groove and the Finger Lickin’ label ruled the realm. Now, as 2012 readies to take its first trembling steps, we’re more likely to hear dubstep fracture the plaster of clubs, and bass music to accompany the chin stroke of discerning electronic music lovers. Not for UK’s PLUMP DJs, though.

From the very start of last decade, Lee Rous and Andy Gardner were the kings of the genre that moved the hearts, minds and feet of the clubbing world. They laid the tracks with their A Plump Night Out album in 2000 and instant seminal classics like Squeaks and Bleeps, No Way and Electric Disco and went on to steamroll everyone with their eponymous track The Gate, which rattled more festival speakers that any other track in the 03/04 season (five times alone at Field Day; I was there to count).

A more balanced album followed with Eargasm - containing some rare ‘come down’ tracks, see Morning Sun - before the Plumps returned with straight out dancefloor stompers in Saturday Night Lotion (2005) and Headthrash (2008); albums that lived up to their respective titles. With the new year, the Plumps are determined to prove the lustre of their crown is as bright as ever.

“We could always go into pop music,” Rous jests, “but that’s just not us. What we do is more like 808 electro from the late ‘80s; electric disco if you will. We like making modern day electro tunes, which to us is a better, wider genre to experiment in. We constantly put pressure on ourselves to come up with something better; to find new ways to make people dance, but also to keep ourselves interested as well.”

The Plumps have also put pressure on themselves in the live arena, choosing to switch to a two-man four-deck set-up a few years ago. “We had an epiphany moment during a festival set,” Rous told me in a previous interview. “Andy was DJing and I was standing behind him nursing a beer and waiting for my turn as we normally did and I thought, ‘This just isn’t good enough’. To have one of us just standing around drinking beer for half the set waiting for our turn to play suddenly seemed like shortchanging people. So we decided to up our game.”

Nothing has changed over the years. “We always DJ on four decks now,” Rous confirms. “It’s a particular priority for festival sets, but we’re doing a club run in Australia this time which is very refreshing; it’s the first time we’ve done one of those in a long while. It was a big decision to do that; you have a real safety net as a performer at a festival, but we decided we wanted to get back to our roots.”

I venture that with the crisis in the current festival market, with every third one falling down due to poor ticket sales, a club tour couldn’t be better timed.

“Yeah, it’s a bit like that here at the moment too. But y’know, as sad as it is to see so many fall by the wayside, I don’t see it necessarily as a bad thing... It's evolution,” Rous waxes philosophically. “Tough times tend to weed out the dodgy promoters and those just in it to make a quick buck, and once the dust settles you’re left with people with a true passion for music and what they do, and can build it up again better than before.”

This is the fifth time over eight years I have conversed with Mr Rous on a professional level and he has not lost his claim as one of electronic music’s stand up geezas - equipped with that warm, familiar London accent you’d know from the telly; voted the Sexiest Man in dance music last decade by the UK press; eager to ask after you as much as you ask after him. Although this chat occurs during a tumultuous time for music, Rous’ buoyant personality and eternal optimism shines through regardless.

“I feel rich, but certainly not in terms of money; nobody’s buying records any more. But we’re doing what we love, and you have to love your job - you spend so many hours doing it. We feel lucky to be making music full time. There’s three things in life that you spend so much time with that you should never scrimp on... Your bed, your partner and your job,” he says, a smile creeping into his voice. “As long as you look after those three, you’re laughing.”

This unbridled optimism feeds into the future, with a long awaited album on the cards for April.

“It’s called Dirty Weekend,” Rous says with satisfaction. “It’s on our Grand Hotel record label, so I like the idea of a dirty weekend in the grand hotel. We’ve been banging out big tunes for two years now without an album, so the time has come. It’s all about our new style; dirt disco. Plenty of dirty basslines,” he promises, with the wry tone of a man who finds genres ridiculous. “And plenty of remixes on there too from Detboi, RESET!, Nom De Strip, Urchins, Blatta and Inesha, Marten Horger, Bonsai Kat, W.A.F.A, Stanton Warriors, Mistamen, King James & Budaken, Submo, Peo De Pitte, Dirty Super Car and N.A.P.T.”

2011 may have been all about dubstep and the explorations of bass music, but the hardworking Plumps continue beavering away at what they do best, providing a musical option for lovers of electronic music and proving why they have been on top for over 12 years and counting.

Plump DJs will play at Trinity Bar, Dickson on Sunday January 22 as part of the new Picnic Jam! Sunday sessions. From 12pm. Tix are $20 on the door before 6pm. Supports from Offtapia vs Eldred, Peking Duk, Dept of Defiance, Shaolin vs Skinny, Party By Jake DJs and Strangeways DJs. For more info on new Plumps releases, head to their website by clicking here.

Rahzel's Mother Dies; Rahzel and DJ JS1 Cancel New York's Finest Show

In sad news, rapper and beatboxer Rahzel has had to cancel his appearance at this New Year's Day hip-hop show at Transit Bar to be with family, after news his mother died overnight.

A statement has been issued by Randy Glazer of Joint Adventure, the group who were bringing the tour to Australia.

"RIP to our homie Rahzel's momma who sadly passed away last night. Our thoughts and prayers are with him and his family during this extremely hard time. May she find peace on the other side...

As would be expected, Rahzel and DJ JS1 will unfortuantely no longer be joining us for the upcoming New York's Finest Tour. We wish Rahzel an enormous amount of strength as he stays back home to mourn his loss and take care of funeral arrangements.??Gza, Pharoahe Monch, and Jean Grae are still coming here to make sure you get blessed by New York's Finest. We will party hard and keep Rahzel and his family in our hearts and minds every step of the way!"

Local promoters state that if this affects your decision in coming to the sold out show, and you have already purchased a ticket, you can contact Moshtix on 1300 GET TIX (438 849) or ticketsupport@moshtix.com.au to obtain a full refund.

Rest assured the might of Pharoahe Monch, Jean Grae (with Mr Len of Company Flow) and GZA of the Wu Tang Clan will still be, as they say, "in full effect".

Bossman Allan Sko Top Ten Albums 2011

2011 in music held two personal truths. It was a year of awesome songs on albums that just weren’t strong enough to justify a Top Ten ranking. It was also the year my most beloved genre of drum ‘n’ bass was swallowed whole by its ugly dubstep cousin.

Tiger & Woods’ Gin Nation was the house track of the year on an otherwise solid, enjoyable but largely unremarkable album. Fleet Foxes’ Lorelai, a gorgeously melancholic song about love lost (and a heavy nod to John Lennon’s Norweigan Wood and, in particular, Bob Dylan’s 4th Time Around), was one of my most played (and brayed) songs of the year on an album that failed to fire as a whole.

Justice proved they hadn’t lost it with the scintillatingly grungey yet strangely pop-friendly Civilisation even if the whole album didn't quite pack the punch of their Cross debut. And the utterly magnificent The Roots snuck in a concept album right at the end of the year which will probably take a few listens to fully bloom, but contained instant standout track Lighthouse.

Dubstep’s increasing popularity continued to amaze me, and managed to seduce many drum ‘n’ bass producers with allure of both the big bassline and the big buck. But for gurnstep’s raging yin there was the soothing emotional yang of producers like Apparat, James Blake, Kuedo, Instra:Mental and a slew of others, who proved dubstep can have restraint, emotion and complexity. Who’d a thunk it.

And 2011 was also the year that made me proud to be Australian, with cracking, joyful-yet-introspective albums from Bluejuice, Gotye, Cut Copy and Eddy Current Suppression Ring (well, a re-release of their old stuff, but good enough for me).

We often debate feverishly, magnificently, passionately in the BMA Magazine offices about what makes a good song great. What is it about a song that makes you come back again and again, wanting more? It’s a difficult question to truly answer, I’d hope you’d agree. Difficult because there’s so many aspects. There’s emotional connection (maybe a song’s lyrics remind you of an old flame and the way they used to flick their head) or you could simply be a sucker for a fat beat.

Something we struck upon this year is the minutiae of a track; that leeeeeetle something that when it comes in, being laid on top of (or indeed snuggled underneath) everything else, makes a track truly great; the reason you come back; the magical moment that makes the neck hairs erect. And so it is with the ten albums presented to you below.

“Enough with the wafting intro already, Allan, you floppy ballbag, and get on with the list!” I hear you shout. Alright… Settle down. Here goes.

10. Elbow – Build A Rocket Boys! [Fiction/Polydor]

Straight off the bat, I’ve gotta say I didn’t love the album as a whole. I enjoyed it, sure, but elsewhere I’ll talk about albums that are start-to-finish brilliant. But God damn if Elbow didn’t fire out of the blocks for their fifth album with two of the year’s strongest tracks. The Birds is a classic album opener; at eight minutes, it’s measured and confident, slow building, gently introducing all the elements, taking a slightly electronic/percussive twist at the three minute mark before launching into utter euphoria.

Lippy Kids delivered the year’s most haunting, beautiful and emotive song about the nostalgia of childhood and enjoying its fleeting nature (“Build a rocket, boys!”). Brilliantly composed, concise, orchestral and just… Lovely. It’s a song that we will be listening to in 40 plus years time. 

That truly great neck-hair-on-end moment – The solemn "Mmmmm-Mmmmm" chorus that wafts throughout Lippy Kids. Makes the eyes glaze over and casts the head back to a place of memory.

9. Bluejuice – Company [Dew Process]

  Back in 2005, Australia lost its way. We were always known as a sport-mad beer-swilling bunch of cheeky lovable larrikins, beloved in the same manner as the Irish. And then the Cronulla riots happened, and we started to suck at sport, and the world suddenly saw us as a sport-bad beer-swilling bunch of hate-mongering racists. It’s a reputation we’ve been trying to shake ever since.

One group looking to do their level best to redress the balance is Bluejuice, who delivered a third album of fist-pumping foot-stomping fun that captures, in musical form, all the things that make Australia great; energy, enthusiasm, talent, and a sense of humour. Yes, it’s nothing staggeringly new from the five-piece pop rock outfit; their keyboard-driven triple-vocal-harmony pop rock nuggets are instantly recognisable. But when they’re releasing gems like Act Yr Age why would you would them to change?

Bluejuice – Bringing the love back for Australia one tune at a time.

That truly great neck-hair-on-end moment – The Act Yr Age chorus and it's brash "Wah -oooo-oooo-oooo-ooooooooo" wail.

 

8. Radiohead – King of Limbs [XL]

Thom Yorke has been his typically prolific and experimental self this year, popping up as guest vocalist on many bass music proponents’ work including Modeselektor, and allowing bass music artists in to remix Radiohead tracks. It seems the genre has grabbed the man’s interest as Radiohead’s 2011 contribution King of Limbs is very much an album of now; a surprising and delightful exploration into bass music but with live instrumentation and Thom Yorke’s vocals. As such, it is an album that came out without much fanfare and confused a lot of people. It was also brilliant, delivering songs of complexity, restraint and beauty. Codex, with its sparse, haunting piano, gentle horns and Yorke’s instantly neck-hair raising falsetto was a 2011 highlight.

That truly great neck-hair-on-end moment – Codex is a beautifully sparse, haunting song as it is, but when that brass section glides in... Boy howdy.

7. Hail Mary Mallon (Aesop Rock, Rob Sonic, DJ Big Wiz) – Are You Gonna Eat That? [Rhymesayers Entertainment] PICTURED

Well, this came out of nowhere. And thank God it did. Ever since Aesop Rock’s magnificent None Shall Pass way back in 2007 I’ve been waiting around for another release. And he’s come firing with fellow wordsmith Rob Sonic and cutmaster DJ Sonic with a bombastic, beat heavy album akin to Funcrusher LP era Company Flow (a bonafide seminal classic, and a hip-hop Hall of Famer no less). Indeed the production duties are split between Rock and Sonic, and it’s Rock’s cuts in particular that could easily sidle up to Co Flow El-P’s work; Smock with its spirit-synths and crunchy beat swagger and Mailbox Baseball with its stipped stilted fat beat would have El-P smiling and nodding his head.

But it’s not just the production that makes this one of 2011’s finest additions to the hip-hop pantheon; Rock and Sonic are two supremely talented vocalists delighting in the tumbling rapid-fire wordplay variety of MCing, and the sound and cadence of their voices match each other pleasingly. Big Wiz also provides some welcome breaks in between vocals, allowing us to return to the lyricism with renewed vigour. A joy from start to finish, the record is as catchy as their namesake’s Typhoid (Mary Mallon was an Irish immigrant cook and became the focus of one of the best-known episodes in the history of communicable disease when U.S. health officials identified her as a healthy carrier of the organism causing typhoid fever… You learn something new, every day).

That truly great neck-hair-on-end moment – The call-and-response vocals between Rock and Sonic on Grubstake.

6. Balance 19 Mixed By Henry Saiz [530db]

I generally try to avoid mix series of any kind in ‘Year in Review’ list, but why is that? Perhaps it’s because critics, and indeed punters, feel a need to reward one particular group for one particular body of work as created by themselves. “A mix? You say? Why, they’re not even your tracks! You just ran them in order using a programmer!”

Well this scores a worthy addition to my Top Ten for two big reasons – the deserving Balance series as a whole never makes a misstep; and Spain’s Henry Saiz has poured a particularly impressive amount of effort into his two mixes. With a modus operandi of “exploring how music has the power to contain and store personal emotional experiences”, Saiz has created a modern yet lo-fi sound through varying analogue, 303 mixes and edits especially produced that are both unique and otherworldly. The blending throughout is seamless and long and the pacing perfect.

With such effort put into the whole it seems unfair to track select, but the stirring closers of each disc encapsulate each respective mix perfectly – CD1’s Uroboros by Saiz & Pional and CD2’s Nodo 6 by Sistema (Saiz Balance Rework). If the sound of a computer game in medieval times excites you, you’re in luck (just wait for those drums to kick in). The brilliance is continued on this excellent series.

That truly great neck-hair-on-end moment – When the drums kick in on Nodo 6.

5. TV on the Radio - Nine Types of Light? [Interscope]

There's something so reliable about a new TV on the Radio album, and at the level they operate at, that's nothing short of astounding. They release LPs with no dud tracks, not even mediocre ones; each song that ends has you immediately yearning to hear it again until the next one plays and you're swept up once more. They take full advantage of their five core members and 17 guest instrumentalists to deliver joyous "rock" that has their music described in a manner usually reserved for wines (depth, complexity, richness) without resorting to experimental ethereal nonsense; their songs are inclusive and will have you gleefully braying along. Nine Types of Light also serves as a timely testament to bass player Gerard Smith, who died shortly after the album's release. I could think of no greater legacy to leave behind.

That truly great neck-hair-on-end moment – The opening guitar stabs of Caffeinated Consciousness.

4. The Antlers - Burst Apart [Pod]

I had the pleasure of heading back to the UK – not the place of my birth, but the realm of my formative years – for a month mid-2011 to show off my new family to my old mates. Upon my return to the BMA Magazine offices – ask asking my beloved friends what I has missed – wide-eyed I was told about this new The Antlers record, and how it had rapidly become the office favourite.

"I’ll be the judge of that!" I roared, and 43 blissful minutes later, I was converted. The album is the perfect soundtrack to all the best emotive part in films. Opener I Don’t Want Love sounds like a euphoric slow burning pop gem until you realise it’s a heartbreak of a song about fractured love; and the utterly beautiful Rolled Together will have you thinking about all the significant moments in your life.

That truly great neck-hair-on-end moment – The haunting opening frains of Rolled Together. It's the soundtrack of waving goodbye to a long lost love on a train platform on a rainy day.

3. Cut Copy – Zonoscope [Modular/UMA]

I’m a Cut Copy tragic; I’m happy to admit that. In fact, one of my only dribbling fanboy moments was to lead singer Dan Whitford backstage at the inaugural Trackside festival (it wasn’t pretty, but they took it in good spirits). In Ghost Colours was my album of 2007 (I was only too eager to point that out to Dan and cohorts at the time), so anticipation for their follow up was, needless to say, cloud bound.

What they delivered was an album that captured what popular musicians struggle with most; a body of work that pushes the sound forward without alienating long time fans. Zonoscope was a perfect record in this regard, dripping in that four-four synth powerchord sound they’ve made their own whilst dropping a sublime ten minute prog closer in Sun God and jagging into indie-pop territory with one of the tracks of the year in Where I’m Going (picked up by Hollywood to promote the Joseph Gordon-Levitt/Seth Rogan flick 50/50 no less). A beautiful, joyous record that makes me proud to be Australian (I was in England recently and they were played everywhere; didn’t fail to swell the chest every time).

Sidenote: CC are also an act that has cleverly embraced the internet, often giving us free tracks and mixes as the year goes on. Way to build the faith, you clever, lovely fellas you.

That truly great neck-hair-on-end moment – The "Woo, Woo, Woo, Yeah!"s in Where I’m Going. Hard not to shout along every time.

2. Com Truise – Galactic Melt [Ghostly International]

With another year without a Boards of Canada release the synth-heavy mind music landscape was traversed by New Jersey’s fabulously named Com Truise, who gleefully peppered the grounds with blips, beeps, scrapes and snares as he went. With Galactic Melt the keyboard obsessed Truise takes us on a trippy skip through his synth museum, delivering an album akin to spinning through 2001 A Space Odyssey’s psychedelic ‘through the infinite’. In short, it’s music to stare off into space and blissfully vague out to. Describing himself as producing “mid-fi synth-wave, slow motion funk”, Seth “Truise” Haley has created something truly mesmerising; music that paradoxically uses all the hallmarks of the‘80s – synths, 808 drums, more synths – to create something futuristic. Yes, Haley’s sound smacks of Boards – with its cloudy synths and crackling snares VHS Sex sounds like a BoC B-side – but Haley has crafted his own synthy beast that’s more uplifting in tone. Brokendate, with its driving, insistent low synth stabs, steady punch-beat and soaring high synths should lure you into Truise's Chuch of Synth. And one listen to Flightwave will have you converted. As a Twitter fan said recently “@comtruise live is like finding yourself in Tron’s Grid and having a drummer follow you around. Wow.” That sums it up nicely.

That truly great neck-hair-on-end moment – When the high-hats kick in at the 3:44 mark in Flightwave. Gets me every time.

1. Machinedrum – Room(s) [Planet Mu]

One of the wonderful, wonderful things about being the self-appointed Grand Pubar of a magazine that covers music in all its forms is that I, much like you, get the best advice from specialist listeners in the genre. And so it is that I’m not going to lie; I completely stole this release off Tha Realness columnist, longterm friend, and fellow newly minted father Rowan "Roshambo" Thomson. I didn’t trawl through the recesses of the underground, nor did I pore through every release sent our way; I can not lay claim to the discovery of this release. Ro recommended, I listened, I loved. The man’s a basshound after all, and you’ve gotta learn to listen to those in the know (I’ve seen the man’s collection; it’s the only thing other than the Great Wall of China that can clearly be seen from space; and that doesn’t even include his digital collection).

There’s much to love about Machinedrum, but the main one is clear; drums, drums, drums. Drums that make you cheer and sneer, drums that elevate and devastate, drums that make you shit blood and eat dust. I’ve always been a sucker for drums, and the patterns to be found lacing these melodies are some of the more intricate and devastating you will come across. The whole album is a wonder, but for you iPod low attention span digital generation kids, have a listen to Come1 and the utterly fabulous Now U Know Tha Deal 4 Real (which starts off sounding like a John Carpenter theme tune before morphing into some blissful Boards of Canada-esque beauty) and let the beats wash over you. WARNING: Do yourself a favour, and be sure to play this on a good sound system. All hail the mighty Planet Mu label!

That truly great neck-hair-on-end moment – Absolutely everything, from start to finish, about Now You Know…; the opening bass pulses let you know immediately you're in for something special, and when the Boards of Canada style synths take over at the 1:32 mark, it's pure bliss.

Groundbreaking Exhibition 1601 Open Only This Week at NewActon

In what hopefully will be the beginning of many more of its kind, Canberra's wunderkind promoter Dave Caffery is at it again, using his newly appointed position as property developer Molonglo Group's Events Manager to stage an 'Ephemeral Exhibition'. Running for one week only starting today (Monday December 19), the exhibition will showcase 50 local artworks for sale, with 15% of proceeds going to Barnardos.

As Dave Caffery himself reveals:

"After 48 hours of promotion, no sleep and much haste, we launched an art exhibition in the most prestigious and largest apartment in NewActon. The place is a concrete shell (designed for the buyer to customise their own layout and fixtures) and so I've just managed to hold a warehouse-style art exhibition overlooking the entirety of Canberra in one of NewActon's most prestigious apartments. We've got over 15 local artists displaying over 50 artworks, ranging across sculpture, photography, furniture, painting, installation, live music and live artists. Our Saturday launch had over 200 people, and today we had another 100. The use of space, idea of being 'ephemeral', and the art have been generally received as exceptional."

The exhibition is located on Level 16, 19 Marcus Clarke Street. There are daily viewings from 1-4pm every day this week, with the exhibition closing at 4pm on Friday December 23. For more information you can join their Facebook page by clicking here.

John Harms Launches The Footy Almanac 2011

Lamb of God/In Flames/The Black Dahlia Murder Soundwave Sideshow Announced

2012 could be the Year of Metal for Canberra, with yet another sideshow announced.

This time we see Lamb of God (pictured), In Flames and The Black Dahlia Murder peeling off the mighty Soundwave festival to grace the interior of the University of Canberra Refectory on Thursday March 1, 2012.

Lamb of God promise to hit "with the force of an invading apocalyptic army" and deliver "a crippling dose of pure metal" to live up to their reputation as one of the most savage live acts to grace the stage.

Pioneers of melodic death metal, Swedish metal giants In Flames have paved an enviable career spanning more than 20 years filled with millions of album sales and a slew of bone-crushing albums. Their 10th long-player Sounds Of A Playground Fading is their most ambitious offering to date.

And paving a path of destruction, terrorising audiences throughout the world with their
unbridled passionate live shows, The Black Dahlia Murder deliver a barrage of
brutal breakdowns and technical death metal with knife like precision. They have made
a career out of being unpredictable, unclassifiable and uncompromising. Their new
album Ritual is the perfect snapshot of their career with Metal Underground calling it
an “absolute masterpiece of melodic death metal”.

Tix will go on sale 9am, Friday December 16, and can be purchased from www.ticketek.com.au / www.oztix.com.au .

Hip-Hop Event Heatwave Full Line-up and Drunk Sports Arena Announced

OK, first question you have I'm sure is... What the hell is a Drunk Arena?

Well, my inquisitive friend, on this occasion it is a multi-faceted inflatable activity centre, including a velcro jump wall, horizontal bungee challenge, sumo suits, bouncy boxing and gladiator duel (with the pugil sticks). The picture on your left there explains all.

This will join the extensive hip-hop line-up, which now includes the newly announced Chamillionaire. The full line-up is as follows.

Tech N9ne (US)
D12 (US)
Crazy Town (US)
Obie Trice (US)
Chamillionaire (US)
Koolism (ACT)
Big Dave and Grantwho? (ACT)
DJ Rush (ACT)
Dopus And Roshambo (ACT)
Kodak (ACT)
N2W (NSW)
Dlinkwnt (NSW)
Kitty B (NSW)
Bishop (ACT)
DJ Skae (NSW) with Eitha, Deon and Collossuss (ACT)
Hosted by the BRB

It’s an 18+ event, with first release tix on sale now costing $110 + bf, second release $140 + bf and VIPs $160 + bf from Moshtix.com.au (click here for tix), Landspeed Records and Co-op Bookshop in the city. For more info, details and messages from the artists head to kokyprik.com .

BMA Magazine Albums of 2011, Com Truise – Galactic Melt

With another year without a Boards of Canada release the synth-heavy mind music landscape was traversed by New Jersey’s fabulously named Com Truise, who gleefully peppered the grounds with blips, beeps, scrapes and snares as he went. With Galactic Melt the keyboard obsessed Truise takes us on a trippy skip through his synth museum, delivering an album akin to spinning through 2001 A Space Odyssey’s psychedelic ‘through the infinite’. In short, it’s music to stare off into space and blissfully vague out to. Describing himself as producing “mid-fi synth-wave, slow motion funk”, Seth “Truise” Haley has created something truly mesmerising; music that paradoxically uses all the hallmarks of the‘80s – synths, 808 drums, more synths – to create something futuristic. Yes, Haley’s sound smacks of Boards – with its cloudy synths and crackling snares VHS Sex sounds like a BoC B-side – but Haley has crafted his own synthy beast that’s more uplifting in tone. Brokendate, with its driving, insistent low synth stabs, steady punch-beat and soaring high synths should lure you into Truise's Chuch of Synth. And one listen to Flightwave will have you converted; the high-hats at the 3:44 mark get me every time. As a Twitter fan said recently “@comtruise live is like finding yourself in Tron’s Grid and having a drummer follow you around. Wow.” That sums it up nicely.

5 Surprising Ways in Which Babies and Children Can Help You

And so ends another year and what a tumultuous one it has been, to the extent that those crazy people holding up crudely scrawled signs declaring ‘The end is nigh!’ look slightly less crazy. The earth has been torn asunder by a variety of natural disasters that makes the Mayans’ 2012 prediction of total annihilation look pretty spot on; festivals have been battered and bruised; Charlie Sheen became a thing.

But plenty of good things happened too, and that’s what this edition is all about – a gleeful celebration of the best things 2011 had to offer. I bang on elsewhere in this wrist-splintering bumper dynamite end of year boy howdy wrap up edition about the year in TV, my favourite albums… All that good stuff. But I would like to take the opportunity to use my last column of 2011 to dedicate an article to my little daughter Isla Sophia Sko who will be turning one year old on December 14.

But rather than bore you with the daily minutiae of Sko family life dear readers – you who have been so patient with my antics over the year, what with the reports on porn and farting and all general other mature things – instead allow me to dedicate this article to Isla and all you hard-working parents out there. Stay safe, stay awesome, and see you in 2012 you sexy thangs.

5 Surprising Ways in Which Babies/Children Can Help You (And Why It’s Guilt Free)
 
We all hear until we’re blue as a spoilt child’s face about all the horrible, terrifying, sleep-depriving things our own offspring can do to us, particularly in the early years. Poo-namis, spew fountains, refusal to adhere to the basic principals of civilised society; it’s all there, and all very, very real.

But with these uncomfortable truths come some genuinely wonderful benefits that extend beyond the core reason for having children - that is the sound knowledge that once you shuffle off this mortal coil you will be leaving behind some part of your genetic code to stink the place up for you. So let us take a stroll through the various ways in which a child can act as a miniature scapegoat upon which you can blame life’s inconveniences. And what’s best... It’s all completely, utterly guilt free.


1) You Always Have an Excuse To Leave A Bad Event Early

So you’ve had a child. Congratulations! Yes, you have bags under your eyes that say ‘International Luggage’ and you perpetually have a bit of congealed sick on your shoulder, but you made it.

Eventually you get to leave your cave after many long months of intensive child-rearing, to delicately reenter the brave new world of socialising and celebrate the fact you haven’t yet killed your child. Wide-eyed, blinking, looking distinctly like Tom Hanks during his more desperate moments in Cast Away, you get to reconnect with friends that had considered you dead long ago.

Much like before you “went away” there are still plenty of events out there you would rather not touch with a ten-foot nappy-changing pole. But whereas before you might have been obliged to attend Uncle Rodney’s Late-In-Life-Conversion Brisk, now thanks to your little ’un you have the divine advantage of not only picking and choosing the events you go to, but determining exactly when you want to leave the ones you do attend.

If you pop your head into an event and discover there are only five people there (four of which you hate) and a disturbing lack of booze to boot, rather than indulge in an awkward conversational dance for hours on end whilst surreptitiously sneaking glances at your watch and willing, pleading, the time to go faster, instead you can happily declare you must leave, for you have a child. This can be done extremely early in proceedings, even five scant minutes after you’ve arrived.

The best part is not only will people refuse to challenge you for fear of retribution, they will actually thank you for taking the time to turn up to their 30th and fill your mouth with as many free snacks as possible before disappearing out of the door with a sextet of their ale.

Why It’s Guilt Free

Because it’s straight up, 100% true. You really DO need and want to get home to your kid, rather than be trapped in the corner all night by Sad Tim being lectured on the economic benefits of using the same teabag five times before throwing it out. Children, babies in particular, always need looking after, so it’s perfectly reasonable and indeed expected for you to disappear at a drop of a hat. Yes, it may be to avoid an undesirable situation but dammit, with the amount of poo you already deal with at home, you don’t now have to stand at some dull party and take someone else’s shit.


2) You can blame your smells on someone else and not feel bad

If we’re fortunate enough to grow up in a decent socio-economic background, we would eventually have character refining skills such as Etiquette and Social Airs and Graces thrust upon us. These are the same graces that keep us from unleashing a wet sonic deathfart during the quiet moments at church, or from belching in the face of a waiter asking if the meal was satisfactory with such vehemence that his hair actually blows back as if exposed to a hairdryer.

But a time comes in all our lives, usually at least a handful of times a day, when a trapped bit of offending gas simply must be eeked out, lest it start twisting one's lower intestines into amusing animal shapes. While many of us have mastered the art of Silently Letting One Slip (a skill picked up between lessons on Deportment and Pronunciation) we have still yet to cloak the tell-tale smell.

This inevitably forces us into farcical theatrics as a cover up, usually along the lines of bellowing “Dear me, what an odour! Someone evidently needs to visit a doctor!” whilst staring suspiciously at someone at random, knowing full well it is in fact our own rank tummy gas jamming up people’s now shrivelled nostrils.

But help is at hand. 17 minutes of frenzied passion, nine-odd months gestation and some 30 hours of the worst pain ever conceived later and you’ll have yourself a happy, bouncing little bub to blame all your unholy odours on. Not only will your unwilling offspring be a scapegoat for smells, but rather magnificently for sounds too. You can go all out and be positively cavalier about your body gas because we all know a newborn takes to the pristine nature of a new nappy with the same exuberance and enthusiasm that a spray-can-wielding teenager does to a big white wall.

So while the poor person next to you is scrunching their face and contorting their body in pain, struggling to keep in The Biggest Fart of the Year during Father Poface’s quietest part of the sermon, you can instead lift a triumphant leg, unleash the fury, and meet any accusatory stare by lovingly looking down at your little bub, stomach safely unknotted, and genially roll your eyes upwards whilst shrugging in an ‘whaddya gonna do?’ gesture.

And these same stares will melt into ones of affection, accompanied by warm understanding smiles as your Agent Orange grade stench wafts over their reddening cheeks.

Why It’s Guilt Free

Because babies smell, that’s what they do, that’s what they’re famous for and considering the amount of times you’ve removed clumps of poo from the hair on their neck (how do they even get it there? I mean, how?) they can take a few for the team. Besides, they’re babies; they can barely control their hands let alone master their bowel movements. And to top it all off, a throaty fart from a cherubic little baby is fun for everyone who witnesses it, so rather than be offended by an acrid odour that’s carries a suspiciously steak-with-pepper-sauce-and-beer niff, it’s a delightful moment that makes everyone smile and binds us all as humans.


3) You Can Disguise Your Raging Immaturity

If you’re anything like me, and God willing you are, then you will have a litany of “special social skills” that people simply just can’t wait for you to crack out at parties. Appalling impressions, well-timed raspberries, Dad jokes... The repertoire, aghast onlookers will attest, is seemingly endless.

For years your routines, or “quirks” as patient family members and friends refer to them as, have been cruelly misunderstood and have seen you poo-pooed at parties, tut-tutted at theatres and flung out of funerals. But put a little Poppit into the equation and not only do you have a captivated audience who loves every bit of material you can throw at them (“Ha!” they think. “Another raspberry! Where does he come up with this stuff?”) people will suddenly view you in an entirely different light. Instead of being drummed out of social situations, you will suddenly hear warm-hearted comments such as “O, he’s just so good with her... He spends hours doing those delightful noises, how does he have the energy?... He really is wonderful, you’re so lucky.”

And just like that you’ve gone from being the worst kind of dag to Father of the Year, and all the while, your long-suffering wife is affectionately rolling her eyes and thinking, “This is the man that made a fart noise when opening the engagement ring box.”

Babies; they’re camouflage for silly people.

Why It’s Guilt Free

Your child loves it. You will form a deep bond that will last until they’re a moody prepubescent, the charm of your “comedy” wears off, and you become Public Enemy #1. Still, there’s a good ten years of pure bliss in there, and they’ll love you for it eventually.


4) Revisit/Do All The Things You Never Got To Do As a Kid

Maybe your parents were poor. Maybe your parents were rich bastards who indulged in keeping things from you as stark revenge for coming along and ruining their perfectly good lives. Maybe you just grew up too quickly.

Whatever the reason there are some truly, magnificently fun kid things in life that we never got to do. And doing said kid things now would just look weird and would have people frantically dialling for the police if we tried. Painting plaster models, tea parties, finger painting, suction capping your ear to your grandma’s fatty arm... Such things make up the rich tapestry of our childhood malaise, and many of us have had to traipse sadly through adult life knowing that we’ve missed the boat on at least some of them. And even if you did have rich and generous parents who let you do everything, you’re no doubt crushed in the knowledge that you will never be able to dress as a sailor and commandeer a small boat made of cardboard down a slippery slide again.

Or will you?

That’s right, it’s living vicariously time! Finally, you can reinvigorate your childhood days without the consternation of strangers. Trips on the merry-go-round go from being classified as ‘pathetically ironic’ to ‘lovably endearing’ when riding with your tot. You can take your little nipper to a water park before pushing them out of the way to get the first go on the slide; you can finally find out what’s so great about Hungry, Hungry Hippos; and you can blast the ever-loving shite out of all those limp-wristed motherlickers at laser tag after a spirited 70 rounds. It’s being a child with an adult body.

Why It’s Guilt Free

It presents a crucial bonding time for you and your little Bubbins, creating moments that you will both cherish for the rest of your lives (well, you will anyway, and you’re the only one that matters, right?). And strangely, a lot of people will view taking their child to a child-like activity a minor chore, so by stepping in you’re actually racking up some vital brownie points that can be later exchanged for an ill-advised booze-fuelled sports-and-music-related night out.


5) Babies Are Effectively Tiny Stand-Up (or Sit-Down) Comedians

The rearing of children can be an epic slog that can create depression and anxiety; a giddying enterprise that sets your teeth on edge and has you rending the last clumps of hair left from your reddened pate. The sleep deprivation can nearly kill you, turning the most mundane of tasks into horrendous Tolkien-esque quests. The blinding worldwide success of Go The Fuck To Sleep illustrates how unifying the denial of rest is among parents.

But with all this agony comes so many other daily occurrences that will have you rolling around in the aisles and eagerly slapping your thigh as tears of hilarity stream down your face, enhanced perhaps all the further by sleep-deprived delirium.

For starters, you discover babies are largely onomatopoeic. When they have the hiccups, they actually say ‘hic-up’. A burp literally sounds like ‘buuuuuurp’. I believe it’s where scientists and scholars first derived the names for such human phenomena. It’s positively adorable. Every noise they make seems to have an exclamation mark at the end of it (Waa! Urgh! Wop!).

And like a good comedian, you never know what they’re going to come up with next. Many a time have I stared lovingly into my daughter’s angelic face – doe-eyed, as pure as the driven snow – before she unleashed the kind of loud, extended bottom noise that would make a French sailor blush. Why just the other day she mastered the art of rolling over so her bottom was a mere inch from my face before letting rip. There was tears rolling down my cheeks for many reasons that morning.

And nothing, and I repeat for effect nothing, swirls the cockles of the heart more than the gentle peck of a baby smooch. It nearly makes you forget you haven’t sleep in three days, you’re caked in baby juices, a sharp toy is embedded into the softest part of your foot, and you’ve forgotten, again, to put on pants.

Why It’s Guilt Free

Babies love the sound of your laughter and in turn they, in the classic monkey-see monkey-do manner in which we all learn to be human, will also giggle foolishly, and there’s nought much purer and more joyful in this world than the sound of a baby’s laughter. That, in turn, sets you off again and so you continue in a seemingly endless spiral of reactionary laughter until you suddenly realise, with great nasal clarity, that a certain little someone has just soiled themselves, and there’s some solid neck-scrubbing waiting ahead.

Five RocKwiz Season 3 on DVD

A staple of Saturday night viewing since 2005, ROCKWIZ has come to occupy a special and unique place in Australian music culture. The show, helmed by the sharp and sassy Julia Zemiro and created by super music nerd Brian Nankervis, quickly became the most enjoyable show on SBS since Des Mangan’s Cult Movies (read borderline pornography).The live show has been and gone, but the RocKwiz memories live on with the DVDs. We have five copies of Season 3 to giveaway, plus a grand prize pack of Seasons 1-3 for one lucky reader. To win a copy, tell us your favourite bit of music trivia.

HeatWave Hot Ticket Scavenger Hunt

If you like Willy Wonka, scavenger hunts, posh vodka, limosines and hip-hop then you, my esoteric friend, are very much in luck.

The all-in hip-hop HeatWave event folk are certainly not resting on their laurels, with the announcement of the Hot Ticket promotion. There is one hot ticket hiding around Canberra in a treasure hunt style free for all.

To find out how to get involved, head to:

http://www.facebook.com/bigdaveKP#!/event.php?eid=192530217499928

As the promoters tell us, the Hot Ticket includes:

 • An autographed D12 photo signed by Bizarre, Kuniva, Swift and the late Proof (With certificate of authenticity)

• A King bed hotel room in Canberra City

• A bottle of Grey Goose on arrival

• Limo ride for 2 from the hotel to HeatWave

• A visit back stage to the artist village

• VIP upgrade for standard ticket holder so you can rub shoulders with the acts in the VIP bar and beer garden

• Double guest list entry to the biggest hip-hop after party Canberra has ever seen

• A VIP pass for a friend so they can share your experience

• A copy of Tech N9ne's All 6’s And 7’s LP

• A copy of the KP Records/Bone Thugs N Harmony DVD The Inner Circle

• A Dog Fight Australia T-Shirt and sticker pack

For full line-up and event details, click here - http://bmamag.com/articles/news/20111121-heatwave-festival-hits-canberra/

Cavalera Conspiracy Announce Australian Tour & Canberra Show

Performing for the very first time in Australia, Cavalera Conspiracy are peeling off a Canberra sideshow from their Big Day Out tour.

Cavalera Conspiracy was created following a decade long silence between Max and Iggor, the two brothers who formed the legendarily trailblazing heavy metal band Sepultura as teenagers together in 1984. Across six studio albums the Brazilian punishers perfected the art of metal (look no further than thrash classics like Beneath the Remains and Arise) while exploring the underbelly of third world political issues and broadening the genre’s horizons with an exploration of indigenous culture, culminating with the landmark Roots album in 1996 (all together now… “Roooooooouuuuuuhts, bloody Roooooooouuuuuuhts”).

Max left Sepultura and formed Soulfly in the late ‘90s, with seven albums under the studded belt. Iggor stayed in Sepultura for a few more albums before splitting himself in January, 2006. A few months later the phone rang. It was Iggor calling Max to set aside the bullshit that had pursued them both in the press during the ten year period since they had last played together.

Less than two years later the metal world was turned upside by the debut album from Cavalera Conspiracy.

Max Cavalera is very forthright about the fact that Cavalera Conspiracy is a metal band. “Cavalera is super metal, it’s supposed to be metal, it’s not supposed to have anything else but metal and hardcore in it. The new album is even heavier and more aggressive than the first one.”

You can see Max and Iggor Cavalera unleash Cavalera Conspiracy in Canberra at the ANU Bar on Friday January 27. Tickets are available from www.ticketek.com.au or 132 849.

Incubus Announce Tour & Canberra Show

Multi-platinum Californian-based alt/funk (alt/funk?!?) rockers Incubus are heading our way this summer in support of their seventh and latest album If Not Now, When?, and have now added two extra shows to their itinerary.

Incubus will travel to Canberra’s Royal Theatre on Saturday February 4.

The boys will also play a 2^nd and final show in Melbourne, playing Festival Hall on Tuesday February 7.

Tickets for both shows will go on sale at 9am, Thursday December 8, through Ticketek.

It will be a 'Greatest Hits' affair with the likes of Drive, Pardon Me, Wish You Were Here, Are You In?, and Dig, as well as songs from their latest offering, including Adolescents and Promises, Promises.

Incubus’ latest album, released July this year and titled If Not Now, When? (Sony Music) features the single Promises, Promises, and is the band’s first in nearly five years. Lead singer Brandon Boyd describes the album as: “darker, slower, more rich, more refined, and more involved than anything Incubus has birthed to date.”

Since forming in 1991, Incubus have accumulated worldwide album sales exceeding 13 million through their double decade-long rise to the top.

In Australia their debut album SCIENCE, plus later album releases Light Grenades and A Crow Left of the Murder have all earned Gold status, whilst Morning View and Make Yourself have hit Platinum.

Howling Bells Double Passes

Howling Bells return to their spiritual home Australia for their first national tour since 2009. In early September we saw the release of their raw, psychedelic third studio album, the sequel to 2009's Radio Wars, The Loudest Engine. Produced by The Killers' Mark Stoermer, the recording of the album saw the four-piece forge a sonic union with Nevada's expansive surroundings and Las Vegas' street-soiled vibe. Featuring the stunning lead single Into The Sky as heard on triple j, The Loudest Engine has earned glowing press home and abroad and is set to become an essential album for the summer. Howling Bells are hitting ANU Bar on Thursday December 8 with Step–Panther & Steve Smyth, and we’ve got five doubles to throw your way. To win, send an email to allan@bmamag.com and tell us something that's made you happy this week.

Crazytown Added to Heatwave Lineup

In a left of centre move, Canberra hip-hop event HeatWave has just announced the addition of US group Crazytown to the line up.

Most will likely remember Crazytown for thier ARIA chart dominating single Butterfly that still enjoys rotation on commercial Australian radio. Here, this will take you back to when you were in short pants:
 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Put4QPco57A&feature=related
 
As HeatWave themselves say: "We hope to still announce at least one more US headline to really make this an event to remember.

I will have news on that inclusion very soon."

Stay tuned.

It’s an 18+ event, with first release tix on sale now costing $110 + bf, second release $140 + bf and VIPs $160 + bf from Moshtix.com.au, Landspeed Records and Co-op Bookshop in the city. For more info, details and messages from the artists head to kokyprik.com .

Attack the Block

It’s November 5th, Guy Fawkes night, and fireworks are exploding over a rough council estate in inner London. Amidst this cacophony an alien spaceship crashes both earth and a mugging, a neat little event that introduces us to the film’s protagonists; a gang of ne’er-do-well youths, a vulnerable young female nurse and, of course, aliens. When more arrive it becomes inner city versus outer space.

So often these days we hear of mixed genre pieces that aren’t strong enough in either category to make a film work. Fortunately Attack the Block is the opposite; a comedy horror that is both fiendishly funny and suitably scary. The claustrophobic nature of the apartment block is used to good effect to create tension, with time-sensitive lights, smoky hallways and dark corners successfully utilised for the gorilla-like aliens to lurk in all their eyeless neon teethed glory.

But the film’s undeniable highlight is the dialogue; the lippy London teens’ banter is fast-paced, often over-lapping (the beanie-sporting Pest has the lion’s share of the best lines) and is the perfect counterpoint to Nick Frost’s slow drawling stoner. Through its setting, and the fact these kids are forced to crime to survive, the film makes a timely comment on poverty in England adding weight to the story. Although the film steers into twee territory towards the end, this is a hugely enjoyable experience that will have you clinching your seat and relaxing your jaw.

Book Review: Terry Pratchett – Snuff

Four years ago beloved fantasy funnyman Terry Pratchett was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. Far from slow down, the man has been churning out interviews, documentaries, and of course books, counterpointing the undeniably sad news with the triumph of latest Snuff – his 50th release as author.

At his best, Pratchett uses the fantasy scape of the Discworld to reflect our own, finding humour in the absurd and making insightful social commentary. Snuff’s sleeve suggests Pride & Prejudice territory but its story is more akin to film Hot Fuzz. Always-on-the-job city Watchman Sam Vimes, at the insistence of his boss Lord Vetinari and his wife Sybil, takes a reluctant holiday to the country only to uncover a grim, long standing town secret.

Despite its wonderful humour, the Discworld is a treacherous place, and Snuff explores themes of genocide, stolen generations, class wars and racism. With this weighty material, Pratchett delivers us a solid novelistic start, an arresting middle, and a slightly unsatisfying end.

Snuff takes its time to set up its countryside premise and gently introduce its characters before hitting a steady pace that makes the book a genuine page turner through its middle stages. However the pace, and interest, fade towards the end for a number of reasons. Pratchett’s skill has always been to create lovable, flawed heroes and scurrilous villains so strong that they make the transition across books. But with the exception of young country policeman Feeney, most characters old (Fred Colon, Cheery) and new (Jethro the blacksmith, Stinky the goblin) – feel tacked on and underdeveloped rather than expertly weaved into a cyclical narrative. The villain, whilst known about early in the book, turns up very late in proceedings and, minus a sharp reveal scene, doesn’t make the impact of previous novels. His conclusion also feels a tad serendipitous. With a stunning 39 Discworld books, Pratchett has a wealth of characters to call upon, so an editing decision had to be made lest the book resemble Lord of the Rings in size, but this means beloved characters Pratchett has taken such pains to develop get a minor role.

But while not one of the better Pratchett books, it’s still worth the time. Pratchett’s hallmarks – the expedients that have made him so successful and beloved – are very much in force; the language sparkles with wit and energy (“Do I strike you as a dashing man?” Vimes says to his bodyguard butler Willikins. “More of the running type, sir.”) and there are a wealth of wonderful ideas such as oxen-powered ferries. So whilst not his best Snuff is another sturdy addition to Pratchett’s legacy.

Snuff is out now through Random House Australia - randomhouse.com.au

From the Bossman

When you get to my age (that is 29 going on 82) with yet another year drawing to a close, you start to get all nostalgic about the past, your roots, where you’ve been to get where you are... Y’know, all that ‘ratings gold’ prime time TV style bollocks. And so my thoughts have turned to when I first set foot in the BMA Magazine office (don’t worry, this isn’t going to be a D&M personal piece; it’s about farting in a confined office space. And there’s you all worried I was about to raise the editorial bar...)

You may have a certain idea about what a Street Press office looks like. I certainly did nine long years ago when, as a wide-eyed, trembling poor man’s writer and women-poor student I set foot into the BMA Magazine offices for the first time. My 20 year-old self expected an expansive room stretching as far as the eye could see, with perfectly symmetrical desks all lined up with Chinese-grade regiment; people barking into telephones, perpetually barging into rooms shouting ‘Stop the press!’ while frantically waving pieces of paper like surrender flags. Instead I was treated to a room that could give a tissue box an ego, with four people huddled over seemingly the same desk (it could have been multiple desks joined by paperwork). And even though smelling of a jock strap (or perhaps because of it) there was a majesty, a warming vibe and hum to the place that summoned an undeniable sense of awe. I was walking on egg shells; not wanting to breathe too sharply such was my adulation.

Now as Managing Director – or Head Arseclown to use the official office title – it’s amazing to look back. The digs are bigger now; we can fit a sofa in here for those just-got-back-from-an-important-pub-meeting 3pm snoozes, and corridor sports actually play out in a corridor. But it’s still delightfully cozy. We pretend we’re in a bigger office, sure. If someone calls the editorial line seeking the advertising manager, even though one’s knee is rested daily in the other’s armpit, we’ll still carry on with “I’ll just see if he’s available” and feign walking down a non-existent five mile corridor. It’s good for morale.

Where once I wouldn’t dare breathe out of place, years in the same abode, getting to know and love the people you work with tends to, how should we say, relax things somewhat. On a building site, open gruffing isn’t much of a thing. But if you’re the type of person that likes to keep up with the ballet, forthcoming farts aren’t usually the go.

But as you get to know someone and a bit of offending wind at first politely knocks at your back door before attempting to thump it down with the violence of a Baltimore gang banger, and the choice is to either send the offending gas on a 180 degree destructive path through your lower bowel or to attempt to silently squeeze one out in front of your long term colleagues well… You know where this is going.

It was an unholy smell, akin to tying together a brimming bin liner in an overcrowded share house where one person has a penchant for fish and another has a champion pooping baby, and wrenching the knot together thus sending a belch of the foulest air into your nostrils, through your brain and out to puncture the ozone layer and outlast the concept of time. Sadly, grossly flaring my nostrils in an attempt to hoover up the smell like a cartoon character didn’t quite pan out.

But this frankly juvenile act of letting one slip became symbolic of how close I am with my colleagues, and how far I have come. Let your wind, and your bonding, fly free.

ALLAN SKO – allan@bmamag.com

Fabric 60

"Reach for the laaaaaaaaaaaseeeeeeeeers!"

That’s right fleet of foot and wide of pupil dance denizens, it’s 2003 all over again with stalwart Dave Clarke’s addition to the ever expanding, ear demanding Fabric mix series. Via 17 tracks, Clarke has put together a fitting homage to a club night out, with careful selection and deft mixing to resemble the build up, crescendo, and inevitable comedown of a rinsing night on the tiles. Starting with the swift and effortless movement of Crotaphytus’s Chemidophorus Sexlineatus into Tommy Four Seven’s Armed 3 into Marc Romboy/Paris The Black Fu’s Dark N Lovely, the stomping four-four beats and moody bass conjure images of a club’s dark recesses as it begins to fill. From here the sound is ramped up further with a section that includes the highlight of the disc; the insistent thumping, stripped back Silence Complot by Cute Heels, a pure techno track if ever there was one. The mix is steered into old school territory with Exzakt’s Clarity, continuing for a time before easing the foot off the pedal for the final comedown tracks.

Clarke’s mix immediately cakes the skin with that 4am post-club grime, summoning nostalgic feelings of grotty, sweaty euphoria. This is a hugely enjoyable snapshot of club life perfect to warm up or cool down a night out, or to simply remind you of another time while you chip congealed baby milk from your shoulder.

Cancelled: Mission To Launch NYE Festival

And so the tumultuous nature of 2011 continues, with the sad news of Mission To Launch's cancellation. As their press release states:

“Organisers of Canberra’s Mission To Launch Festival regretfully announce that the festival has suspended ticket sales and is officially cancelled.

The decision has been a very difficult one for organisers who, as Canberra locals themselves, envisaged bringing a world-class party to the nation’s capital for New Year’s Eve.
Unfortunately, the current economic climate has seen music festivals across the country suffer with drops in numbers of attendees and poor ticket sales on a large scale. Mission To Launch has unfortunately suffered the same fate.

The festival was a bold and unique business venture designed for Canberra – an idea initiated by local businessmen and activated 18 months ago when the event market was more resilient.

Ticket holders are entitled to a full refund from the point of purchase. Contact your ticketing agency for more details.”

You Pissed Me Off

To the ARSEHOLES who think it is their god-given right to drive around Canberra: you are not threatening me when you rev your Hyandai at me when I am riding my bike across the crossing. You are simply parading your small-minded neanderthal attitude. When you rev your car and nudge it forward at me aggressively, well what - am i supposed to quiver?

I especially like it when  you feel the need to do this at peakhour (yes that 10 minute period), when you are moving at a 5km/h crawl, and the fact that I am riding across the crossing actually makes me quicker!

And don't pretend you're looking out for my own safety - I'm only going at the same pace as the pedestrian who is walking right next to me and who you would have had to stop for anyway! I pay more attention to the road than you numbskulls anyway - and I'm quite aware of the fact that you haven't seen me - so don't try and abuse me when you get startled by my presense at the side of the crossing because you haven't been paying attention!

Grow some balls and go and get yourself a bicycle.

Nigel Featherstone

"Nigerian writer Ben Okri: ‘Writers have one great responsibility: to write beautifully, which is to say write well. Within this responsibility is that of being truthful. To charm, to amuse, to enchant, to take us out of ourselves, these are all part of beauty. But there is a parallel responsibility: and that is to sing a little about the realities of the age, to leave some sort of magical record of what they saw and dreamt (because they can’t really do it the same way when dead) and to bear witness in their unique manner to the beauties, the ordinariness, and the horrors of their times.’ (from A Way Of Being Free).  So that’s what I aspire to.”

Erstwhile Canberran-come-Goulburn based Nigel Featherstone.

1) REM has great meaning to the central character Lou Bard; mainly through memory. Do you find it strangely apt that the band split up at almost exactly the same time as your book was released? What made you pick REM as the band; are you a particular fan?

Thanks for your congrats, Allan.  And I hope that as a parent you never have to face what poor old Luke Bard had to face!  Yes, REM has great meaning for Lou, the father in Fall On Me.  I chose that particular band as a way to characterise him.  Lou grew up in football culture and indeed for a while there he was heading towards being a professional player.  It would have been easy to make him a fan of Cold Chisel or Midnight Oil or The Angels, but people are more complex than that, and I do try to write about complex characters.  I love how people are full of contradictions, and, for Lou, his obsession with REM is a bit of a contradiction.  It would be neat to be able to say that I wrote the novella around the title, but that wasn’t the case.  Somehow, through the writing of these characters in their predicament, a certain wonderful song emerged and then almost took over the whole thing.  In the process of writing, terrific synergies can happen.  In this instance, the song ‘Fall On Me’ started to have extra meanings, especially in terms of what happened to Lou’s wife.  Am I fan of the band?  Yes, I have a few REM records in my collection, but I think I like the idea of them – the brashness, the honesty, the rough beauty – more than the reality, particularly their more contemporary reality.  ‘Fall On Me’, however, the song, is a perfect pop gem, and all in three minutes; it’s a master-class in brevity.  I listen to it regularly and never fail to get goose-bumps.  (As a cute aside, my mother rang me today to ask if I wrote ‘Fall On Me’, the song.  I laughed and said no.  She said, ‘Well, I can never tell what’s fact and what’s fiction in what you write.’  I took that as a compliment!)

2) Music and memory appears to be one of the book's themes; what are your particularly thoughts and feelings on music and its relationship to memory.

I adore music, and I’ve done so for a long, long time now, ever since when, as a ten-year-old, I first heard ‘London Calling’ by The Clash.  I remember waiting by my little transistor radio all day to tape the bloody thing.  There was something about those opening chords, the alarm of Joe Strummer’s dog-on-the-hill voice.  Since then I’ve had a multitude of love affairs with bands, some so embarrassing I’ll keep to myself, others more respectable.  I'm pleased to report that for my recent birthday my partner gave me a box-set of everything The Smiths ever recorded, on CD, vinyl, and digital-download, including all the original art work.  I remember how, as a teenager, my older brother’s best-friend gave me The Queen Is Dead to listen to, because he thought I’d really like it.  I listened to one side of the record and then spat back, ‘Why do you think I’d like this shit?  The singer can’t sing, the miserable words don’t match the happy tunes, the whole lot’s a complete bloody dog’s breakfast!’  A year later, however, I was addicted to Morrissey and Marr and co.  Listening to those albums again – preferably on vinyl – does take me back to my teenage years, and my twenties, when I didn’t know whether I was Arthur or Martha; probably not a lot’s changed in that regard.  But never is there a day when I don’t listen to music, and one of the highlights of the week is when I’m Canberra and get to go to Landspeed Records.  I do hope that when I’m eighty I’ll still be looking for new music; if I go deaf I’ll go mad – what good is life without music?  I’m sure, however, that I’ll still be listening to the music from previous years as well.  Only on Saturday I put onApocolypso by The Presets and it reminded me of some very boozy deck parties I had in my little guvvy house in Dickson, which I sold last year before moving to Goulburn.  Other music takes me back further, albums like Loveless by My Bloody Valentine and anything by Red House Painters.  Funnily enough I can’t write to music – I get too lost in the tunes.  But another highlight of my current life is getting to spend so much time in the car.  How good it is to listen to an album from start to finish undisturbed as I go up and down the Hume!  It’s just magic, I tell you.

3) What led you to settle in Launceston for a two month period, and to set the book there? Is it just somewhere you have always wanted to visit, or is there a deeper connection? 

I went to Launceston because the good folk at the City Council gave me a one-month residency (others have reported that it was two months, but it was actually only the one).  The Council provides the completely marvellous Kings Bridge Gatekeeper’s Cottage in Cataract Gorge for artists to create work.  There’s no requirement to make work that directly relates to the Gorge, but it’s always great to immerse yourself in a place when ‘on residence’.  Strangely enough, it took me a while to warm up to Launceston.  It’s a hard place, a harsh place, and the living is difficult for many – the unemployment rate is high.  Despite the Tamar River and the Gorge, it’s also not a picture-postcard place; it all just feels a bit depressed.  The residency itself was also a challenge.  The Cottage is dark, the Gorge is dark, the weather is average to say the least, and despite being a natural recluse I was surprisingly lonely down there.  I’ve been on a number of residencies in my writing life now, all of which I completely adored, but with this one I can remember coming home and thinking, well, that wasn’t my favourite ‘away’ experience.  But as time goes by I realise that it was the most productive residency I’ve ever had, and also the most profound – my writing changed during those four weeks.  I learnt about taking risks, about being brave.  For that month, I also wrote everything by hand, which is quite something if you’ve seen my handwriting.  But it made me slow down and compose rather than merely type.  It also makes writing a physical act on top of being an intellectual and emotional act.  So these days I’m able to draw a line: there is my ‘pre-Launceston’ writing, and there’s my ‘post-Launceston’ writing, and in 90% of cases the latter is better than the former.

4) I read that the book's origin came from you browsing in a Launceston window. Is this true? If so, tell us more about that. How did the situation and characters form from there?

Apologies, but I’m not sure what you’re referring to here.  Perhaps a review that appeared in The Canberra Times which referred to the ‘aperture of a cafe window’?  The genesis of the story of Fall On Me actually came from seeing some quite radical work at the Canberra School of Art some time ago – I just thought to myself, what do the parents of this artist think of this stuff?  It was a simple question, but once I got down to Launceston I started to think about it more deeply.  What if I was the parent of a child who wanted to do radical things, things that might put my child – and myself – in danger?  I’d want to support my child no matter what, but does there come a time when that support becomes qualified?  Lou, as the father in Fall On Me, is forced to ask himself these questions.  I do think that the job of parents (easy for me to say when I’m the least paternal person on Earth!) is to expand the horizons of their children, to help to open them out, to help to make them bigger, not to limit or diminish.  Lou would agree with that.  But what happens through the course of the novella is that the son ends up opening out his father, not the other way around.  Sometimes the characters of a story take a while to emerge, but I knew a lot about Lou before I started writing the story, and also about Luke; I also had a good idea about Fergal, Lou’s best friend, who played such a significant role in Lou’s early-adult life.  And Anna too, the Bards’ housemate – what a wonderful woman she is.  If I saw all these people in the street I’d recognise them.  Of course, they emerged even further during the writing of the novella, and again during the redrafting/editing process.  Even now, almost two years after I first had the idea, these guys are still revealing themselves, and I hope they’re still revealing themselves to readers.  As much as Fall On Me is about art, it’s also about family, how families are comprised from a diversity of ingredients, and it’s about memory, and it’s about survival. 

5) Where did you conjure the central conflict from? That is, Lou's grappling with whether he should allow his young son to pose nude for his art installation? Did the central situation come first and the characters after? Or was it the other way around?

As per the above, the central idea came first, that is the notion of a teenage boy doing radical things and his sole-parent father trying to work out how to respond.  Initially, Luke, the son, was going to be an art-school student, but I quickly realised that there was more drama – and more danger – if Luke was still at school, still a minor.  Many have commented that the story seems to be inspired by the Bill Henson affair, but I wasn’t drawing on this during the writing, at least not consciously.  In relation to Henson, I do think that these are complex matters and that, on the whole, Australian society leapt to judgement without considering all the facts and ramifications.  It is fiction’s job to go looking for complexity.  All fiction – at least all good fiction – says that life is always more complex than we originally thought.  I’m sure I’m paraphrasing someone there, but I’m buggered if I can remember who that is.  But novels, even short novels, should dig into the deep, to tease out these complexities, not necessarily in order to find answers, just possibilities.  In purely technical terms, I am the sort of writer who believes that plot comes from character.  As a potentially interesting aside, I just had a look at the very first sketchy outline ofFall On Me.  What Luke was going to get up to was something very different, so Christ knows where the nudity came into it!

6) One thing that struck me about the book is the tone and characters. In comparison to other novels I have read recently, the characters are all charming and lovely, full of love and affection for each other (the complete opposite of The Slap, basically!), which allows a real warmth in tone thus forcing conflict elsewhere; moral dilemma for Lou regarding his son; haunting memories from the past in the form of his wife and Fergal; underlying romantic tension between Lou and Anna. Was this the intention with the characters and tone, to put the emphasise on the drama? Or is this just how the book was written?

I’m glad you’ve raised this, because it was absolutely my intention to write about how a good person – Lou, the father – would respond in this situation.  How a bad – read: narrow-minded conservative – person would do in this situation wouldn’t be anywhere near as interesting.  Plus it’d be a particularly short book: Chapter Two: the father stops the son’s exhibition, end of story!  I’m attracted to good people, particularly humble people, people who struggle with their goodness, people who have their goodness tested.  Goodness is much more complex than bigotry.  I find it hard to write about people I don’t care for.  That’s not to say that everyone I write about is good, but I like asking questions about what it means to be good, and how far does a good attitude or action go?  At what point does it break?  I admire The Slap very much, as I admire much of what Christos Tsiolkas has written – I think he too is writing about good people, although his characters are particularly honest about their faults, their faults are on show and almost beg to be judged.  But with Fall On Me you raise an interesting point: if Lou is a good, open-minded person, where does the drama come from, especially when essentially the book concerns the five days leading up to to an art exhibition?  Saying it like that doesn’t make it sound like thrilling stuff, does it!  So, you’re right that much of the drama comes from Lou’s past, what happened to Katelyn, his wife, but – importantly – Launceston becomes a very important character.  How is Launceston going to respond to what Luke has done?  It’s a murky old town.

7) Forgive the use of a gaudy term, but the revelation at the end that Lou had been effectively living in an emotionally cut-off trance struck like a 'twist' of sorts; being that we have seen the action through Lou's eyes and he strikes as being a man always interacting and running through his ideas, only to discover he's been largely shut off the entire time. This sets up a fascinating relationship between perception and reality; how we perceive ourselves in the world compared to other people's reality. Was this your intention? If so, is this something you had planned from the beginning, or did it become apparent as the story developed?

Wow, you’ve got some pretty amazing insights there, Allan.  What I love with writing fiction is how different people take different things away from it.  Of course, as the writer, there are things I want to say, and it is my job to be as articulate about them as I possibly can.  I’m trying to communicate something through the stories I tell.  I’m very much inspired by a quote from the Nigerian writer Ben Okri: ‘Writers have one great responsibility: to write beautifully, which is to say write well. Within this responsibility is that of being truthful. To charm, to amuse, to enchant, to take us out of ourselves, these are all part of beauty. But there is a parallel responsibility: and that is to sing a little about the realities of the age, to leave some sort of magical record of what they saw and dreamt (because they can’t really do it the same way when dead) and to bear witness in their unique manner to the beauties, the ordinariness, and the horrors of their times.’ (from A Way Of Being Free).  So that’s what I aspire to, and I’m sure it’ll take me a lifetime to get anywhere near Okri’s ideals.  As to your question, Fall On Me is about what turns out to be the most important five days in the lives of a father, a son, and a potential new addition to that precarious family unit.  Luke, as the son, discovers his limits.  Anna, the potential new addition to the family, might be about to find love at last, and Lou, as the father, confronts the present but also his past.  Without giving away too much of the story, there’s a moment towards the end of the novella where Lou admits that his son has ‘opened him out’.  So you’re right that Lou’s been operating in a ‘cut-off trance’, but that’s out of necessity: he’s had some pretty challenging – as in, dark – events in his life, and he’s been focussed on getting his son through school and being the best father he can be – in a way, everything he’s done has been for his son.  Now, however, it’s time for him to confront much of which has been haunting him.  I’m amazed – relieved, delighted – that most have found Fall On Me easy to read, many getting through it in one or two sittings.  It’s actually a very dark tale.  As opposed to other contemporary writers, I like to gently lead readers into the darkness and through to the other side.  I’m not interested in being shocking.  I’m more interested in exploring and communicating.

8) With the book safely done, what are you working on now?

For the purposes of maintaining my own mental health (!), I keep a diverse writing practice.  I usually have some short stories on the go, and I also do creative journalism, primarily for the Canberra Times. I also have some longer manuscripts that I’m working on.  It’s true that ‘writing is rewriting’; I’m constantly editing, polishing, trying to makes things as good as they can be.  I’m one of those insane writers who doesn’t mind editing; it’s the blank page that’s a bastard!  In terms of future publications, I wrote two other novellas when I was in Launceston – it really was a mad storm of writing – so fingers crossed at least one of the others see the light of day.  It’s absolutely brilliant that Blemish Books is interested in novellas, because they’re notoriously difficult to publish.  Perhaps Blemish will take a punt on another one from me?

9) Anything else you'd like to add?

For a bit more about novellas, you might be interested in a piece I wrote for The Canberra Times.  I republished it on my blog, which is here.

Fall On Me is out now through Blemish Books - and you can keep up with Nigel on his blog nigelfeatherstone.wordpress.com .

Nigel Featherstone

FALL ON ME

"Nigerian writer Ben Okri wrote – ‘Writers have one great responsibility: to write beautifully, which is to say write well… to sing a little about the realities of the age, to leave some sort of magical record of what they saw and dreamt and to bear witness in their unique manner to the beauties, the ordinariness, and the horrors of their times’ (from A Way Of Being Free). So that’s what I aspire to.”

So says Goulburn based writer NIGEL FEATHERSTONE, who utilised a month-long residency in Launceston, Tasmania to craft novella FALL ON ME; a story concerning father Lou Bard and his struggle to keep his café alive from stiff competition, his son Luke from harm due to Luke’s confronting artwork, and his own tragic past from enveloping him. In the words of the author: “It’s about the most important five days in the lives of a father, a son, and a potential new addition to that precarious family unit.

“The genesis of the story came from seeing some quite radical work at the Canberra School of Art some time ago,” Featherstone reveals. “I just thought to myself, what do the parents of this artist think of this stuff? Once I got down to Launceston I started to think about it more deeply. What if I was the parent of a child who wanted to do radical things, things that might put my child – and myself – in danger? I’d want to support my child no matter what, but does there come a time when that support becomes qualified? Lou is forced to ask himself these questions.

“Many have commented that the story seems to be inspired by the Bill Henson affair,” Featherstone continues, “but I wasn’t drawing on this, at least not consciously. These are complex matters and, on the whole, Australian society leapt to judgement without considering all the facts and ramifications. It is fiction’s job to go looking for complexity.”

Despite its dark subject matter, the novella’s characters are loving and sympathetic and delivered to us in a warm tone. The opposite of Christos Tsiolkas’s The Slap I venture.

“I like asking questions about what it means to be good, and how far does a good attitude or action go? I admire The Slap very much – I think he too is writing about good people, although his characters are particularly honest about their faults, their faults are on show and almost beg to be judged. Much of [my] drama comes from Lou’s past, what happened to Katelyn, his wife, but – importantly – Launceston becomes a very important character. How is Launceston going to respond to what Luke has done? It’s a murky old town.”

Fall On Me is a simple and touching tale well told, and one that has done Okri’s mantra proud; for both Launceston, and Lou.

Fall On Me is out now through Blemish Books - and you can keep up with Nigel on his blog nigelfeatherstone.wordpress.com .

From the Bossman

With news that Eddie Izzard’s Canberra gig is almost sold out, and that Carl Barron now has a staggering seven ACT shows (two in Adelaide, one in Brisbane, three in Sydney... seven in Canberra. As the kids would say, wtf?) it seems an apt time to focus the Spare a Thought section on Comedians.

Since the time of court jesters where a mistimed joke could see a harlequin burned at the stake, the world of comedy has been a perilous one. Pratfalling and insightful witticisms on the King’s mead appear effortless when done well, but are far from easy. And bubbling underneath it all is a fate arguably worse than feeling flames lick at your flesh; the Stony Silence... Of Death! (SSOD).

There’s not much worse than the SSOD. It happens in all forms of entertainment, but is arguably the most painful, the most excruciating, the most acutely toe-curling for a comedian. A bad band can be ignored. A poor play you’re forced to watch but the reverence of the theatre dictates respectful silence throughout. And there’s usually an ensemble cast to share the blame.

But as a stand up, you’re out there on your own, a piercing spotlight burning your eyes, blotting out the audience so they’re a cruel faceless void of hungry black, waiting for laughter, demanding it, making you painfully aware of every bead of sweat that has just been summoned through your itching pores, perversely finding yourself having to conjure over an hour of talking – talking, for Chrissakes, a whole goddamn hour of it! – peppered with witticisms, insights, gags, puns, social commentary, wordplay, and all the while above you hangs the proverbial Sword of Damocles and beneath you roars the Pit of Fire that is the SSOD. Even a brilliant routine can come unstuck with an awkward silence. There are none too many things more painful than a comedian bombing on stage, and there’s no person more acutely aware of this than the comedian themselves. Unless your name is Geoff Setty.*

And old hands at the game are not immune to this either. Many years ago I had a lengthy chat to the lovably bumbling Brit comic Bill Bailey. After 20 minutes of the more bizarre verbal diatribe either of us had witnessed, he eventually spoke of how he nearly gave it all up. “I had a rule,” Bailey revealed of his formative years strutting the boards of Bath, UK. “If I had three bad gigs in a row, I’d take it as a sign to quit; that this wasn’t for me. I’d had two. Luckily, the third went really well.” The world was one bad gig away from being robbed of the mighty Bill Bailey. Tough gig.

Comedy is maddeningly subjective too; anyone who has born witness to and enjoyed Bailey’s musically tinged surrealist comedy could understand why someone else simply may not get it. In music, a good song is a good song and people turning up to a Rolling Stones concert are going to go nuts when Satisfaction is played. But a jape that may have King Edward III roaring with laughter and slapping his fat thigh may have Henry VIII calling for the executioner. There’s no accounting for taste, and nowhere is this adage more terrifying than in the world of comedy.

And my-my aren’t we all so quick to point out, berate, and in many cases positively crucify an unsuccessful comedian. We all need to laugh. Hell, it’s even good for our health (there are those frankly creepy ‘laughing courses’ you can go on). But for some reason, biological I’m sure, if we turn up to see something funny and it doesn’t tickle the relevant bone, we resort to murderous rage. Bands get underwear and beer thrown at them. Comedians get heckling and insults. Sheesh, even Shakespeare has to marry everyone off at the end of his comedies to keep the rotten veggies from being hurled. Tough crowd.

If we as a human race rank Public Speaking as a greater fear than Death, then imagine throwing Trying To Be Funny into the mix. That shit’s positively terrifying. So hat’s off to those brave enough to give it a punt.

ALLAN SKO – allan@bmamag.com

*joke endorsed by Geoff Setty

Fash ‘n’ Treasure Market This Sat Nov 5

With the last Fash ‘n’ Treasure Market for the year happening this Saturday November 5, there is no better time to check out their varied wares.

Happening at the Old Bus Depot Building, Kingston, Fash ‘n’ Treasure is a blushing menagerie of wonders old and new, bringing together local and interstate clothing designers, vintage traders, fashion designers, fashion shops, milliners, stylists and contemporary recycled clothing.

Fashion is not the only wares to be rifled through; there are also thousands of records, books, CDs and DVDs to be had. Ensuring that you can make a day of it, there will also be international food and a professional barista brought in especially, and live music to nod your head to whilst you browse.

Entry to the markets is free, and the markets run from 10am to 4pm. For more info on how to become a seller, and everything else the markets is about, head to their rather spiffy website www.fashntreasure.com .

Please note – this event occurs on Saturday November 5 at the Old Bus Depot Building, Kingston and is not part of the Old Bus Depot Markets.

Review: Working Words

Many of us believe we have a firm grasp of the English language and can wield the written word with clarity and aplomb. But if put on the spot, could we name the difference between a noun, verb, adverb and adjective? What about a pronoun or conjunction? Do you know exactly when and where to use an en dash over an em dash? And what about the placement of that pesky ’postrophe?

There are many books dealing with English grammar and language. Elizabeth Manning Murphy’s WORKING WORDS, the first book to be published by the Canberra Society of Editors, claims not to compete with them but to provide a complementary companion to books on grammar, style, punctuation, plain English, editing and the world of freelance writing/editing. In this ethos, it succeeds admirably. The 224-page book is presented as a collection of articles written by Murphy for The Canberra editor over a period of ten years, and is a thorough resource for both the beginner and the more experienced lover of language.

With a career spanning decades, it is clear Murphy is confident with her craft. As you would expect from an advocate of plain English – one of her numerous other books is on Effective writing: plain English at work – Working Words is written in a clear yet uncondescending style. Some passages on tense, participle and voice may spin the head of the uninitiated but are worth wading through in order to grasp the basics.

On occasion, lessons and their examples are repeated verbatim, sometimes in consecutive chapters. As separate articles one can see the need to retread previous material for the sake of clarity, but when compiled into a singular book read in one sitting, it becomes repetitious. Of course in instructional manuals repetition is a useful tool for committing information to memory, and with Working Words designed for dipping into this is an observation rather than a fault.

Breaking the chapters are whimsical sections called ‘itchypencils’ concerning observations on grammar in the wider world. These lighthearted pieces provide an entertaining pause, but the first two accompanying images are slightly blurry which is somewhat distracting.

But this does not detract from the overall quality of this excellent companion. With the proliferation of the veritable Orwellian newspeak of texting and internet chat – where abbreviations and numerical substitution increasingly breed and slap in a clumsy, ugly fashion like cane toads – it’s important to remember the basic mechanics and ideas of the English language. That was quite a long sentence; would you break it into smaller sentences? Did ‘cane toad’ seem a clumsy metaphor? Why? And would you recommend starting a sentence with a conjunction, as this very one has done? These are the sort of questions Working Words will throw up and solve, and thus improve your writing and editing as you go.

Working Words is out now through editorscanberra.org/working-words/ .

From the Bossman

In keeping with the theme of the month we turn this column’s attention to ol’ Spare a Thought – the section where we lend an oft-maligned industry peep a sympathetic ear – with the focus this ish on Festival Organisers (or FOs, for the sake of brevity).

“Why should I feel sorry for FOs?” you may bellow, fetid chicken chunks flying from your mouth in the process. “Those cashed up bastards take me for every ha’penny I have!” Well, I’ll tell you for why but first, for heaven’s sake, stop talking with your mouth full and lose the silly British accent. You’re not fooling anyone.

When your festival is going swimmingly there’s hardly a more thrilling job in the industry. You get to cozy up to some of the world’s biggest acts on both a professional and often personal front.* There’s the sense of life fulfillment upon staring out at a sea of smiling people knowing you’re responsible. There’s having the best seat of the fest (ie anywhere). And yes, there’s the kind of returns that would make Scrooge McDuck blush.

But all this is only possible thanks to the kind of hard work that conjures ‘International Luggage’ bags under the eyes. Think 80 hour weeks in the early stages; try not to think about the kind of hours in the late stages. You need to keep artists happy, venue owners happy, agents happy (and they’re hard people to please), site managers, graphic designers, media, security, staff, on and on. It’s like spinning plates, except these plates get pissed when they think you’re looking after the others more than you. Which is all the time. Finally after months of ears glued to phones and fingers glued to keyboards, you’ve completed the first phase. You may look like Tom Hanks in his more desperate moments in Cast Away, but it’s done. Then your headliner pulls out…

And let’s not forget the financial stress. Even when a festival is going well the outlay for putting them on is astronomical, more so as time goes on, and one bad festival can ruin you. The Sword of Damocles hangs heavy every year. In our disconnection to festivals and how they’re run, we hear unreal figures like one, five, 20 million to put them on and consider it Monopoly money. But we forget… That’s actually a real human person’s cash. If I stick a fifty down on the Melbourne Cup I break out in hives.

And as we have seen this year, there is not the guarantee of success there once was. If a festival fails yes, you lose a shedtonne of money. You often lose your livelihood. But what’s worse, much like politicians at election time, you lose very publicly and often receive scorn, hatred and even death threats (no kidding) at a time when you are at your most vulnerable; financially, physically, and emotionally.

So yes we might baulk at FOs when they’re doing well because they’re rich and get to hang out with famous people, and we might sneer when they’re doing badly from some kind of holier-than-thou ‘how did you screw that up?’ attitude. But remember – all FOs stump up a terrifying amount of money, put in a staggering amount of hours, and have delivered some of our best gig memories in the process.

ALLAN SKO - allan@bmamag.com

*Shameless name drop section – I know Wally De Backer (Gotye) very well; he played at my wedding as part of The Basics. I have his moby number and everything. I text him, like, all the time… “Hey Walz baby! Drop me a line soon, lest you turn into Somebody That I Used to Know! LOLZ” and occasionally he writes back with high-larious banter such as “Please leave me alone” and “We’ve talked about this before”. Such a kidder.

The Dead

Great, another zombie film. Just what we need, right? Well, let’s just get one thing straight before we start… THERE IS ALWAYS ROOM FOR ANOTHER ZOMBIE FILM. Especially a good one.

The Dead follows American Air Force engineer Lieutenant Brian Murphy, the giddy sole survivor of a plane crash, and his attempt to escape the undead ravaged wilds of Africa. Teaming up with local military Sergeant Daniel Dembele, the two cross relentless desert and relentless zombies in an attempt to reach a communication point in order to find a way back to their respective families.

The Dead’s success is twofold; switching the familiar American city setting for the wide sandy plains of Africa, and doing away with the trend of running zombies/infected to favour the slow, shuffling kind. The flat sunny setting and slow moving foe forces the filmmaking Ford Brothers to be clever with creating tension, relying more on an effective slow creeping dread (which AMC series The Walking Dead lacks compared to its comic counterpart) and less on cheap shock moments where the soundtrack is clumsily ratcheted to 11. We are also blessed with intelligent and sympathetic characters, thus delivering us from many frustrating moments the genre often delivers, as well as allowing us to genuinely fear for their well-being.

The film isn’t flawless. The acting in parts is a tad wooden and the strongest moment – a brutal moral decision involving a baby – is quickly resolved in a disappointingly limp manner. But overall this is a solid zombie think piece with an apt ending that lingers in the mind afterwards. And yes vouchers for viscera; it’s not without moments of genuine gorey awesomeness.

Darren Hanlon Hits The Street Come December

Plucky beloved Aussie songsmith Darren Hanlon returns to Australia with his customary Christmas shows, after a spirited attempt to cheer up our ailing cousins in USA and Europe.

After a hugely enjoyable sold out show at his new favourite venue The Street Theatre earlier this year, our man Darren will be returning in solo mode, and with a new sidekick to boot.

Also travelling with him is the wonderfully named David Dondero (USA), Darren’s first signing to his own label Flippin Yeah Industries. Dondero has been compared to such American folk music/troubadour greats as Woody Guthrie and Townes Van Zandt, and will release his critically acclaimed album #Zero With A Bullet across Australia on November 11.

Tickets for the show are $29 standard, $27 concession, $23 student and can be purchased by clicking here. Snap ‘em up while you can.

Trinity Bar Relaunch Happening This Weekend

It’s a massive weekend for Canberra dance this Oct 14-16 with the re-furb and re-launch of inthemix 2011 Club Night award winner Trinity Bar.

“It’s one of Canberra’s biggest weekend for artists in the last two years,” publican and Pang! Director Hugh Foster enthuses. And with good cause.

Friday October 14 is a massive double header, with so-hot-right-now Bag Raiders (pictured) teaming up with Uruguay’s DJ PP to devastate ear drums. Offtapia, Cheese, Shaolin, Dept of Defiance, Celebrity Sex Tape, Princi and Peking Duk will all be in support. Doors 8pm, tix $20.

On Saturday October 15 there’s another big double header with Sinden (article on the man to be found here) and perennial party favourite Ajax. Peking Duk, Offtapia vs Cheese, Eldred vs Dave Norgate, Shaolin and the awesomely named Sammy Soundslike will be bringing up the rear. Doors 8pm, tix $20.

And the massive weekend is finished up with Koan Sound, a free entry gig, that will deliver some tasty bass music. Supports from Skin & Bones, Shifty Business, Ced Nada, Ben Colin, Lost The Plot and D Wils. With Trinity now open until 4am on weekends, you can shake your rump and get your sweat on well into the following day.

“This is such an important weekend for Trinity, and so massive for Canberra,” Foster says. “Trinity prides itself on pushing the boundaries and creating a respectful dance music scene in Canberra.”

An exciting weekend ahead, an excellent chance to be among the first to check out Trinity’s shiny new digs, and all indicative of the varied line-up Trinity has in place for the rest of 2011 and beyond. Stay tuned for announcements of all the many national and international acts. There’s a more than a few stone cold crackers I can tell ya.

ONE MORE Summer Rhythm Festival Double Pass

So hugely popular was our previous comp for a Summer Rhythm Festival double pass that we got together with the lovely promoters and decided to run it again!

The beloved Summer Rhythm Festival returns for another year, with a new month and a new line-up. Spanning three days and four stages from December 9–11, this year’s event is another wonderful amalgam of international, interstate and local talent, playing host to over 70 acts including Salmonella Dub, Hook n Sling, The Bird, Hermitude, Van She Tech, Jeff Lang, Kingfisha, Dubmarine, Goodwill, Cassian, Ganga Giri, The Ellis Collective, Los Chavos, D’Opus & Roshambo, Magnifik, Black Samurai, Rodskeez, Beth n Ben, Dissect, Team Wing and many, many more. The event is once again at Goolabri Function Centre and Golf Course (10 mins outside Canberra off the Federal Highway) and first release tix are on sale now from Oztix for $85, (2nd round $95, $120 on the gate). They are still some limited street team positions left, so if you’re interested contact organiser Dan Luton at dan@strangehours.com.au The generous bastard has given us one double camping pass to give to you, dear readers, every issue up until the fest. To win this most excellent of prizes, email editorial@bmamag.com and tell us who your fav act on the line-up is and why.

TT3D Closer to the Edge - Five Film Double Passes

TT3D Closer to the Edge is a film about the TT, the most famous motorcycle race in the world. This gripping documentary follows several riders as they get ready for the ride of their lives. Racing along public roads just inches apart - speeds hitting 320km/h - drama, tension and tragedy all combine to thrill, and tell a very moving human story. This is a non-stop, action packed look at the most dangerous motorbike race in the world, not for the faint hearted, but also a story about the enduring strength of the human spirit and the will to win. Thanks to Icon Films we’ve got five double in seasons passes to give away. To win email editorial@bmamag.com and tell us how you feel when you’re on your bike.

Martin Scorsese’s documentary George Harrison: Living in the Material World - Ten Film Double Passes

Martin Scorsese’s documentary George Harrison: Living in the Material World focuses the imaginative and inspired eye of one of cinema's most pre-eminent filmmakers on one of the world's most influential men. The film takes viewers on the musical and spiritual voyage that was George Harrison’s life, much of it told in his own words. Scorsese traces Harrison's life from his musical beginnings in Liverpool through his life as a musician, a seeker, a philanthropist, and filmmaker. Scorsese weaves together interviews with Harrison and his closest friends, performances, home movies, and photographs. Much of the material in the film has never been seen (or heard) before. The result is a rare glimpse into the mind and soul of one of the most talented artists of his generation and a profoundly intimate and affecting work of cinema. Thanks to Hoyts we’ve got ten double passes to give away to one of the screenings running from October 20-22 at Hoyts Belconnen. To win, email editorial@bmamag.com and tell us what your favourite Harrison-penned song is and why.

Tiger & Woods

Enigmatic Italian loop-mad disco duo TIGER & WOODS have one of dance music’s better origin stories. Or do they? And if their moniker sounds silly to you then settle down; their real names are actually Larry Tiger and David Woods. Or are they?

T&W deliberately wrap themselves in mystery, being scant with interviews and shy with facial promo pics. Their alleged initial meeting concerns an unwitting record store owner putting on a rare highly sought after disco 12” with Messrs Tiger and Woods both in situ, leading to mutual surprise, delight, counter-rushing, cash-waving, arguing, and a fight… Which eventually ended in them sharing the record, thus birthing their partnership. What a wonderful story. Is it actually true, though? “Is true,” they say, in delightfully broken English. “It was such a gem that we couldn’t avoid a fight to get it. It was such an unknown one that we cannot even remember what it sounded like. Or maybe is just made up.”

Or maybe is just made up, indeed. And what about the names? “Let’s say that Tiger & Woods sounded so good and rhythmical that we couldn’t resist; it reminds us of names like Jimmy Jam & Terry Lewis or Gumble & Huff… Producers we really love.”

Regardless of authenticity one thing is clear – the duo has deliberately chosen to move away from the superstar DJ iconography and into anonymity in order to put the focus back on the music. “For once we wanted to do something like back in the days,” they say. “Nowadays you can find all the infos and details about everyone just browsing internet. The magic of an unknown record from an unknown artist is a bit lost now and we wanted to do something like the old white labels and let people dream about who’s behind those records. We’ve noticed a constant show off from artists and DJs acting like superstars… We just want people focusing on music.”

This move could be considered conceited were their music not so good. Their instantly recognisable eight-minute slow-build tightly looped disco monsters are the stuff of party legend. “Loops are such an important part of our lives,” they gush. “It’s something that makes us smile, have fun. We layer them in order to have a solid texture, long build ups and big releases, giving you a massage from your brain down to your ass.”

Indeed. One listen to Gin Nation will change your life for the better and have you completely hooked on their self-titled brand of ‘future boogie’.

“Probably ‘future boogie’ is close to what we do, but is not completely true as well. To be completely honest, we’re not big fan of definitions or tags in general. Our work is a mix of everything we like, from disco to house, boogie to techno. ‘Future boogie’ was the first thing coming to our mind under a stressful interview circumstance.”

O right, sorry. I’ll just liken you to a disco-funk Daft Punk and leave it there, then.

Tiger & Woods play at Trinity Bar on Saturday October 22. Free entry before 10pm, $15 thereafter.

Gold Standard

450-1. Not a scenario you would normally bet on. Canberra author and editor IRMA GOLD did; and won. Gold’s Two Steps Forward is the sixth and final book in a series of short fiction collections by Melbourne-based publisher Affirm Press called Long Story Shorts. Submissions were called for, 450 manuscripts landed and, much like her namesake suggests, Gold was at the top.

Two Steps Forward’s central theme is that of people pressing through difficult circumstances. Miscarriage, single parenting, poverty, drug abuse; the rich gamut of human suffering is covered. Despite seemingly grim subject matter, dogged hope pulses through the characters and their stories. “It’s something that I’ve always been interested in exploring through fiction,” Gold says. “How people in difficult situations struggle towards some kind of happiness. How sometimes they don’t get where they wanted but instead discover happiness in smaller things.”

The 12 stories on offer do what a good short should; dipping briefly and adroitly into a life long enough to take away something about the characters, their stories, and how they reflect our own lives.

“I have no idea where most of my stories come from,” Gold says. “The characters arrive in my imagination – quite unexpectedly – and I allow their stories to unravel. Tangerine is a good example. An image came to me of a man and a young girl standing on a train platform in the middle of the night. They were ill at ease with each other and I didn’t know why, but I wanted to find out. The story grew from there about a father who is trying to reconnect with his estranged daughter… Writing, for me, is the art of discovery. Where the characters and stories end up can be surprising. That’s part of the pleasure of writing.”

Miscarriage features in two of the collection’s stronger stories. Gold deals with this sensitive subject in a way that is simultaneously unflinching, brutal, emotionally open and refreshingly raw.

“I wanted to write about miscarriage in a way that was real,” Gold says. “Miscarriage is so common and yet it rarely seems to be represented in fiction in anything other than clichés. A hand clutched to the stomach, a rush of blood, and then it’s all over. It rarely happens like that. So I wanted to write about characters who were authentic, and really draw the reader into the complexity of the experience. It’s been very heartening to get so much positive feedback about these two stories from both men and women.”

‘Resonance’ is a quality all writers, particularly those of short fiction, aspire to. That Gold’s Your Project and Sounds of Friendship are currently dancing through this author’s head suggests she has achieved just this. “I feel great affection for all my characters, even the unlikable ones,” she says. It’s likely you will too.

Irma Gold’s Two Steps Forward is out now through Affirm Press.

From the bossmann

The news of 43-year-old Stonefest’s downsizing was met online with a combination of anger, upset, disbelief and sadness. So what does this news tell us about the festival itself, Canberra punters, and the wider scene in general?

It’s no secret that the festival market is tight. In early September, ticket outlet Moshtix ran a survey called State of Festival Market Report, polling 2,949 people. According to their findings, 83.7% of Australian festival-goers believe that attendances at festivals are declining because of rising ticket prices. 41.6% believed that the “experience” had worsened. 52.7% of respondents said there are just enough festivals in Australia, while 27.2% believe there were too many. 56.3% preferred to watch a favourite act in a pub.

People complaining about things being too expensive? Hardly new, although costs are undeniably going up. An increase in the number of festivals creates a feverish seller’s marketplace; acts, and their agents, can ask for a higher amount leading to bidding wars where performance fees greatly increase. Costs need to be passed on somewhere thus increasing the price, and punter dissatisfaction. Once inside a festival, many get an undeniable feeling of being taken for every cent. A festival can be about a celebration of music and art or a full blown commercial enterprise where you’re taken for the shirt on your back (that explains the shirtless bogans, then). $11 for a VB? $6 for a water? To quote Regurgitator “I’d rather dance in ugly pants in the comfort of a loungeroom in suburbia.”

So what of poor old Stonefest? It was certainly cheaper than many. Some have blamed the line-up, a solid all-Aussie affair that was by no means ‘bad’ but perhaps paled to the multi-international affair of the fellow UC-staged behemoth that is Groovin The Moo. The saturated market has raised punter expectation, and we simply expect more; often much more than what can be reasonably expected. In 2007, a line-up of that calibre would send jaws earthward. Now people complain there’s “only 50 acts” on a bill.

While many think otherwise, we’re undeniably spoilt in Canberra. For a population of some 380,000 we get a stunning array of shows. Due to our size, we rarely need to rush out and secure our tickets, leaving the decision to the night. While this flexibility may seem great for a punter, it’s also neutering our culture. Chris Moses of metal promoters Blue Murder ceased putting on gigs here back in 2006 as no-one bought tickets beforehand. Hip-hop group M.O.P cancelled their 2010 show as “only 50 presale tickets had been bought”. It’s likely the show would have been well attended on the night, but promoters can’t be certain. Many people online greeted the Stonefest news by stating they were just about to buy their ticket. Would we still have Stonefest in its full form if people had bought their tickets in the first week? We will never know for sure.

All the factors discussed – expense, market saturation, higher expectation, slow ticket buying – have led to a zeitgeist shift in festival sentiment. Increasingly, people would rather see their band in a more intimate setting with like-minded punters and not be forced near a hater camped there early for a good spot for the next act (the year Björk played before Rage Against the Machine at Big Day Out was an early indication). In the end, the power is in your hands – if you want to see your favourite festival thrive, be sure to buy your ticket, and buy it early. Nothing is certain unless you make it so.

Soundwave 2012 Line-up Announced

There’s no hanging about with the Soundwave crew this year, having assembled their 2012 festival line-up already. The Soundwave beast will be crashing on five cities next year, kicking off in Brisbane, RNA Showgrounds on Saturday February 25, Sydney Showgrounds on Sunday February 26, Melbourne Showgrounds on Friday March 2, Adelaide’s Bonython Park on Saturday March 3 before finishing up in Perth’s Claremont Showgrounds on Monday March 5.

General Public tickets on sale Thursday 20 October through www.soundwavefestival.com www.oztix.com.au & Oztix outlets & www.ticketek.com.au 132 849.

The line-up, as you would expect, is suitably epic, with every shade of the black rainbow covered.

Soundwave Line-up

System Of A Down (pictured)

Slipknot

Limp Bizkit

Marilyn Manson

Hole

A Day To Remember

Machine Head

Lamb Of God

Trivium

Alter Bridge

Lostprophets

Angels & Airwaves

Cobra Starship

The Used

You Me At Six

Devin Townsend Project

Unwritten Law

Coal Chamber

Dashboard Confessional

Thursday

Forever The Sickest Kids

Raised Fist

Dillinger Escape Plan

Zakk Wylde’s Black Label Society

Mastodon

Underoath

Saves The Day

Circa Survive

Steel Panther

Jack’s Mannequin

Meshuggah

The Sisters Of Mercy

Enter Shikari

Four Year Strong

Black Veil Brides

Madina Lake

Zebrahead

Hatebreed

Biohazard

Times Of Grace

Cky

Street Dogs

Dragonforce

Gojira

Kvelertak

Letlive

Hellyeah

Cro-Mags

The Cab

Relient K

Versa Emerge

Heroes For Hire

Kill Hannah

The Dangerous Summer

Chimaira

Framing Hanley

Watain

Royal Republic

I Am The Avalanche

Turisas

River City Extension

Stonefest Morphs Into 'Rock On'

The tough times for festivals continues, but Stonefest refuses to say die with news that UC Live! and The Frontier Touring Company have announced changes to this year’s music festival.

This just in from the good peeps at UC Live!:

Over the past 43 years Stonefest has grown into an iconic Canberra music festival boasting acts such as Groove Armada, The Dandy Warhols, Pendulum, Bliss n Eso, Does It Offend You, Yeah?, Art Vs Science, The Living End, Josh Pyke and Birds Of Tokyo.

A new event will be held this year, which will see Stonefest return to its roots as a festival held to celebrate the unveiling of the University’s foundation stone in 1968. The Stonefest ‘Rock On’ party will be held in the UC Refectory and on the UC Concourse and will feature some of the nation’s best dance and hip hop artists.

“Stonefest is not attracting as many people as seen in previous years, and we feel we cannot continue with the 2011 festival in its current format,” director of Campus Life Peter Dahl said.

“This is an opportunity for us to present something different to the Canberra audience. So, to give our loyal supporters something to look forward to, we have decided to present a more intimate event, which still boasts a strong lineup of some of the best dance and hip hop artists in Australia today. 

“We are excited about the Stonefest ‘Rock On’ Party line-up and encourage the local community to support this event.”

Some recent additions to the Stonefest format will remain, including the Silent Party which was very popular among fans last year.

Ticket holders who purchased Stonefest 2011 tickets via credit card will receive an automatic refund to their card. Those that purchased with cash or EFTPOS should return to their point of purchase with photo identification to obtain a refund.

The Stonefest ‘Rock On’ Party will be held at the University of Canberra on Saturday 29 October, 2011. Tickets for this event will cost $27.50 plus booking fees and can be purchased from Ticketek via 132 849 or www.ticketek.com.

The rejigged lineup for the Stonefest ‘Rock On’ Party will be:

The Aston Shuffle

Illy

Tonite Only

Flight Facilities

Sampology (AV/DJ set)

Diafrix

The Hump Day Project

Dept. of Defiance

Silent Party featuring: Strangeways DJs, Jemist, Pang! DJs, Architect DJs, PARTY BY JAKE DJs, Swim Team DJs, MUM DJs & M.I.T.

Whilst an undeniable disappointment, kudos must go to the festival and its organisers for soldiering on despite hugely difficult circumstances.

Field Day 2012 Line-up Announced

It’s the day for big line-up announcements. Hot on the heels of Big Day Out’s release comes everyone’s favourite ‘Oww, my frickin’ head’ New Year’s Day event Field Day, and by gar they’ve assembled a pretty exciting array of artists this time around.

Straight off the ranks, those wacky Frenchmen Justice are back after a long hiatus, and they’re be bringing their supposedly spectacular new Live incarnation to the headlining Field Day stage. But if banging grungy disco pulse ain’t your thing, there’s a little summin’ for everyone. Take a look:

Justice (Live) – pictured… Check out that admirably dirty mo

Crystal Castles

Moby (DJ Set)

Gotye

Skream & Benga

Metronomy

Tiga

Busy P

Jack Beats Live

Yuksek Live

Spankrock

The now ironically titled Young MC (with respect)

Totally Enormous Extinct Dinosaurs

12^th Planet

Foreign Beggars

Once again, a dance festival has decided to have a bet each way, complimenting the largely electronic affair with some quality live acts (Metronomy, 2011’s go-to-man Gotye) and a blast-from-the-past (Young MC).

If this is your bag, you can score tickets from October 6 from the Field Day site. For more info, ump onto http://www.fielddaynyd.com.au/index.html .

Big Day Out 2012 Line-up Announced - Soundgarden, Tony Hawk

Next year’s Big Day Out marks a momentous occasion for two distinctly different reasons. The first is a happy one – much like BMA Magazine, Big Day Out will be celebrating its 20^th year in 2012, a significant number that shows just how much of a bellwether event the BDO franchise is for the Australian musical landscape.

The second is a nervy one – it’s no secret that the Aussie festival market is under strain, with even the mighty Splendour in the Grass not selling out for the first time in its history (although, to be fair, it got mighty close). So if BDO suffers the same fate, it will truly mark a seismic shift in consumer sentiment.

But with the advent of Soundgarden, plus some clever out-of-the-box thinking by bringing skate legend Tony Hawk out (and no, he won’t be playing the spoons) the BDO folk are giving themselves the best chance of continuing success.

The line-up in full is as follows:

Soundgarden (pictured)

Kanye West

Kasabian

My Chemical Romance

The Living End

Hilltop Hoods

Battles

Odd Future

Mariachi El Bronx

Girl Talk

Parkway Drive

Röyksopp

Foster The People

The Jezabels

Architecture In Helsinki

The Getaway Plan

Cage The Elephant

Frenzal Rhomb

Boy & Bear

Best Coast

Tony Hawk

It’s happening on Thursday January 26, 2012 at the Sydney Showground

Showground Road, Sydney Olympic Park. Gates open 11am. Tickets $165 (incl GST) + bf*. Strict limit of 4 tickets per customer. Tix available from Wednesday October 12 from the BDO site and www.ticketmaster.com.au. For info on acts or other city dates and locations, head to www.bigdayout.com .

Chuck Palahniuk Transcript

The following is the full transcript of the 35 minute interview between BMA Magazine’s Allan Sko and world-acclaimed author Chuck Palahniuk (Fight Club, Survivor, Invisible Monsters) to talk about his career to date, as well as his latest book Damned. The talk covers his mother’s death and how it informed his new book; how Fight Club’s core message is still being ignored; and many other incredibly important topics, such as who would win in a fight between him and Bret Easton Ellis.

A succinct, 900-word article format of this chat can also be found by clicking here.

Allan: Do tell me, to kick things off with, how did I go with the pronunciation of your last name? Am I still in your good books?

Chuck: <hearty chuckle> We say PAUL-uh-nick, here.

Allan: Get things off on the right foot I always say. Absolute pleasure to be talking to you. I’ve been a huge fan of your work for many a year, so it’s thrill to actually be able to speak to you. And congrats on the new book!

Chuck: Thank you very much. I need to come to Australia one of these days.

Allan: You do. When I was bragging about this interview to various people, after their eyes nearly popped out of their head they said ‘What do I need to do to get him out here on a spoken word tour?’ The demand is definitely there.

Chuck: That would be terrific, maybe next year. I’m hoping they’ll release the second Madison book [referring to Damned which is a two part story] in 2013 which will give me next year free.

Allan: Good bit of timing; nice. It must be a relief to have it all done. Now you just need to talk to endless random bastards like me for the next few months to ensure people know it exists.

Chuck: Nothing is ever done is my life; everything is only ever half done.

Allan: How long did it take you to do from concept to completion?

Chuck: Madison was a big, big book. It was two years, because it took two years for my mother to die… My mother was diagnosed with cancer.

Allan: I’m sorry to hear that.

Chuck: Yeah, it sucked. It was two years of taking care of her and I wrote Damned until she died.

Allan: Ahhh I see. Had you started the book before your mother fell ill, or during? How much did this tragedy inform the book?

Chuck: I was finishing up the previous book Tell All when she was diagnosed; then as she was being treated and they sent her home – essentially to die – I was working on the Madison book. And it took me about a year after she had died to finish it.

Allan: It would extremely hard to put yourself in the right head space; really sorry to hear that.

Chuck: But it gave me something to do to keep my mind occupied; and I was busy, and I was quiet and I could be with her without wearing out so yeah… It wasn’t a completely bad thing; it gave us a perfect time together.

Allan: It’s all got to come to a close for us eventually – as you so wonderfully put in your book through the words of Madison – but as far as having to check out goes, at least you got to spend some quality time with her.

Chuck: Exactly, and I’m not the only person who has ever had to take care of their mother. Everyone dies, this is something we all have to deal with and it’s a shitty, shitty thing.

Allan: Yeah, we do all we can to distract ourselves from it, but it’s always there lurking in the background.

<at this point, a small silence occurs>

Allan: One of my friends I play indoor cricket with – arguably your biggest fan here in Australia – has written to you on a few occasions and he asked me to pass something onto you… He’s written… “I would actually really appreciate if you could pass on my thanks for the fan packages and personalised letters. The second time he did it was around the time of my Dad’s cancer. I had mentioned this in my letter to him, and he came back with some really useful advice about not mourning things which haven’t happened yet. Those words have stuck with me, and I thank him for that.”

Chuck: Oh good. Well please give him my regards.

Allan: I will. Now I believe it’s not so the case these days with your various projects, but is it true you would take a month out of each year to respond to fanmail?

Chuck: <Laughs> Ooo ho. No. It used to be every few years I would designate one month and all letters postmarked within that month I would respond to them as a gift. It really was exhausting; it took me over a year to respond to all the mail I had received in that one month.

Allan: Wowee… Popular guy! You deal with such wonderful subject matter across your books, so you must have some “wonderful” fans writing to you. What’s been the most bizarre thing someone has written to you, or indeed included in the post?

Chuck: Let me think… They are so many stories, and a lot of them I end up using. The Guts story, which I read is the one that made people think for the longest time, two of those stories had been sent to me by real people of the world. So often the things you read in my books are stories that people have told me. There was a terrific story from a young woman who had an internship at a movie studio – I think it was Warner Bros – but her job was to stamp ‘Return to Sender’ on all of Mel Gibson’s hate mail. And every day she was faced with a mountain of people just hating Mel Gibson. She had to look at the letters and send them all back. It was her full time job.

Allan: My lord, someone’s full time 40+ hours a week employment? What a wonderful world we live in, Chuck.

Chuck: And because she was an intern, I don’t think she was even getting paid for it.

Allan: Phenomenal. People are great material. You wouldn’t believe it; if you wrote that into a book or script people would say ‘Great material! Hilarious idea!’ but you wouldn’t think it would actually happen.

Chuck: Well, the sad wonderful evolution of her job continued; there were letters to – what are the Olsen twins’ names again? That’s right… – Ashley and Mary-Kate and she started answering these fan’s letters to small girls in, say, Singapore and she would answer them as the celebrity and would go out of her way to make them happy. And she ended up embroiled in all these long distance relationships with these small girls and she couldn’t bring her herself to break their hearts. It ruined her life.

Allan: Such a noble undertaking but at the heart of it all ultimately deceptive so it’s only gonna have one tragic conclusion.

Chuck: Exactly!

Allan: And your style of writing is so open and brimming with ideas I think you naturally attract such people; you’re like a Mecca for ideas. People would feel comfortable sharing their stories with you because you’ve explored so many crazy avenues of human life that people think ‘Hey, you think that’s crazy, check this shit out!’

Chuck: Exactly, and people have to tell their stories as a part of adjusting or accepting their lives, and I think I present as a safe person to tell stories to.

Allan: Are you happy to accept the mantel as a person people unload on?

Chuck: Yeah, y’know, when I was little I wanted to be a priest because the idea of sitting in the dark and having people tell me their worst secrets was so appealing.

Allan: <at this point I say I understand his thinking as I was working on a TV series with a priest as a man character who heard everyone else’s secrets. Chuck then started interviewing me about it before I managed to steer him back to talking about himself. Lovely guy>

Allan: Now, back to you and Damned… 13-year-old, trapped in hell; cracking subject matter. Where did that come from? I’m assuming that wasn’t in someone’s fan letter or else people really do have problems.

Chuck: On one level I recognised, with my father dead in 1999 and my mother about to die, I was going to end up without my parents and I felt this huge grief about losing them both and I couldn’t write about that grief directly because I couldn’t make that funny. But if I wrote from the perspective of a dead girl and the parents in this instance were both still on Earth and then she wasn’t really accepting the drama of being dead or the drama of being in hell, then I could make that funny. And I could still have her miss her parents because they’re alive, but they’re alive on Earth. That was my way of making sad things funny.

Allan: Nice switch; did you have a lightbulb moment for that perspective?

Chuck: I couldn’t say. I don’t remember one ‘A-ha!’ moment but I was very aware that there was this kind of form of story, like the famous book Are You There God? It’s Me Margaret and also, are you familiar with the movie The Shawshank Redemption from the Stephen King story?

Allan: Very much so; one of my favourite endings in storytelling that one.

Chuck: And so, there’s a form of story where the character ends up in horrible circumstances that are completely new or novel to him or her, and they don’t really fully understand how they ended up there but they have to adjust and have to make the best of the new circumstances. So I’ve always loved those stories, and this was my chance to do one of these stories.

Allan: And being that the whole book is set in hell, were you tempted to throw all manner of things in there? IKEA, for example?

Chuck: <Laughs> No, I think me and IKEA, we’ve crossed swords already. I’ll never go there again. But in a way there’s that bean-counting theology in there like how many times you can say ‘Fuck’ before you’re condemned to hell, and who gets condemned and who doesn’t and why.

Allan: They got me worried; and it’s great because it sets you thinking, ‘O no, I have honked my horn in anger 566 times and I have said ‘fuck’ too many times.

Chuck: <hearty laughter> I loved being able to make up something that sounds so serious.

Allan: And it’s completely plausible; I could believe that the 351^st time I’ve said ‘fuck’ means I’m automatically condemned.

Chuck: It was like ultimate factual bean counting stuff. People seem to, especially male readers, love that sort of sports page stats stuff.

Allan: I think everyone’s a statistics whore – some more ravenous than others – but everyone loves a good stat.

For me, this is a very enjoyable book; the end of the first chapter had a great hook – this bright young girl far from perfect as far the measure of human worth is meant to be; you learn about her parents who are these rich emotionally distant A-listers; and I loved the bit where the mother can control the various different shutters and doorlocks of their remote houses and villas via the keyboard, which starts as gaudy excess before becoming poignant in that she creates a shrine from all Maddy’s various bedrooms after her death using it. Funny, interesting, but with a serious side to it.

Chuck: The Breakfast Club was a real inspiration. While I was taking care of my mother I found myself watching The Breakfast Club over and over. John Hughes died at that time also, so that was a kind of poignant little event. But The Breakfast Club really was an inspiration.

Allan: You can definitely see it, it courses throughout the book. I think a lot of people will attach their own A-listers to Maddy’s parents. Not wanting you to name and shame, but were there any particular A-listers that you had in mind when writing?

Chuck: There so totally is! But I’m not about to say who they are.

Allan: Yep. Thought so. We’ll gleefully skip on from there my dear Chuck; I’m not here to get you in trouble.

Chuck: I thank you. <laughs>

Allan: Now, this is another book that weighs in at around the 250 page mark; all your books seem to be about the same size. For me it’s a great size for a novel; small enough that forces you to be economical with your storytelling, but long enough to be a proper novel and explore ideas in depth. Is this something you deliberately set out to do? Or is that simply how long your stories take to tell?

Chuck: I find that if you’re going to weigh more towards comedy, then 250 is a really good length. It means you can get to drama in the third act, but if you try to extend comedy past the 300 to 350 page mark it just falls apart; you can’t do comedy that goes for 500 pages.

Allan: Or if people do, they tend to switch to drama before long. You see that in TV all the time – Weeds immediately springs to mind. Weeds started as an out and out comedy; witty dialogue, wacky characters. But as it went on, it became more and more serious. If you’re doing comedy, if you’ve got to nip in and out. That’s the nature of a joke after all. Build up, punch line, leave.

Chuck: Exactly, and Six Feet Under. It started out so much funnier, but then became extremely dark.

Allan: Absolutely; the pilot episode had those mock ads for funeral home products. “Embalming fluid! Get yours now; buy 2 and get 3.”

Chuck: The early X Files were really funny, they had really funny elements in them and all of those were dropped once they went onto those continuous plot episodes, where it became so dramatic.

Allan: Very true; good to see Vince Gilligan doing well. Ex X Files, now doing Breaking Bad.

Chuck: Yeah definitely.

Allan: On a sidenote; there was some commentary from various wags in the media that a lot of your books – like Fight Club, Survivor, Invisible Monsters – had a similar voice whereas lately – Pygmy, Tell All and now indeed Damned – it seems like you’ve made a deliberate attempt to have a new voice or to mess with a different genre. Is this a direct reaction to previous commentary? Or is this something you’ve done to keep yourself interested?

Chuck: Number one is me growing up and out of that voice, and also the ‘keeping myself interested’ thing too. Recently I was asked to make a list of my 50 favourite books from one of my favourite local bookstores.

Allan: How long did you agonise over that?

Chuck: Awwww! It took forever! But once I was done, I recognised that almost all of the books had a very similar narrative voice to them. So in a way, I’m not just copying myself, I’m copying the voice of Kurt Vonnegut [Cat’s Cradle (1963), Slaughterhouse-Five (1969), and Breakfast of Champions (1973)] and the voice of Denis Johnson [Jesus’ Son (1992)] and the voice of all these writers.

Allan: Everything’s postmodern; we’re all a blend of everything we love and hate. And of course, they’ll be plenty of Chuck Palahniuk-apers out there that will incorporate your voice with their own and create something new… It’s a beautiful system.

Chuck: Exactly.

Allan: What was your top three, can you remember?

Chuck: Ummm… You know what? I listed them alphabetically. I didn’t want to rank them.

Allan: That’s safe. Now, I wanted to ask, with the madness of what’s going on in London at the moment with the riots, is all this booze-fuelled late night boy violence somewhat peripheral to the cultural phenomenon that was Fight Club? A bogan/redneck interpretation of what was a far more deep and complicated message? Fight Club pretty much mirrors what happening in London; the idea of tearing it all down and starting afresh. I was wondering what do you think about that?

Chuck: My gut, my first reaction, was also along the lines of what happened with the Norway shooter, Anders. Initially he had said that this was a gender issue; this is about the lack of opportunity or expression for men, for young men in the culture. And very quickly, I noticed all the mass media dropped the gender angle of it. And so I’m always fascinated when it’s kind of a ‘young men’s gender issue’. For me, the media doesn’t really pick up or promote that aspect of it. Women’s issues are very easy and very fashionable to depict and promote, but young men’s issues are somehow tainted or forbidden; we’re not allowed to talk about them. And I think this rioting is, personally, a gender issue as well.

Allan: Completely agree; you look at the footage and it’s generally 90% young men. It all kicked off with a shooting and now it’s for the sake of rioting effectively.

Chuck: And what is being expressed here needs to be expressed. So I’m curious to see if it just dies away or if it actually leads to something.

Allan: It could be a zeitgeist shifter; it’s got everyone scratching their heads going, “Wow! I didn’t realise this was going on, at least I didn’t think it was this bad,” and will we see the usual political reaction of “double the police” or will they actually look at why everyone is so angry?

Chuck: Or it will just be dismissed as, “It’s summer, it’s August… It will pass with the weather.” Also, when you look at the pattern of young successful men committing suicide in the past year it’s really remarkable, when you see such people like David Foster Wallace, and Heath Ledger, and Alexander McQueen… These men should be the most accomplished men of their field, they shouldn’t be killing themselves. And nobody wants to talk about it.

Allan: There’s another book in that maybe.

Chuck: Ha! I’m just going to complain about it.

Allan: I had something I was hoping you could clear up… I heard ages ago there was to be a film adaptation of Survivor which was then stalled by the studios after 9/11 because it was too controversial to have a film about a civilian hijacking a plane. Is this true? If so, do you agree with that level of censorship? And is there scope, now we’re ten years on, for it to be made?

Chuck: Initially there was. David Fincher really encouraged 20^th Century Fox to option it and they had optioned it, it was in development and Jake Paltrow – Gwyneth Paltrow’s brother – had even written a screenplay for it, but with 9/11 it became untouchable. And then, the production team that made Constantine optioned it for similar use and they were able to put together a project and right now there’s even talk, there’s a request from Australia of all places, to produce the live stage version.

Allan: O, we have good taste down here, Chuck.

Chuck: My screen agent just mentioned it and that’s all I know about it.

Allan: I heard there was meant to be an adaptation directed by Francis Laurence?

Chuck: Exactly. That was the Constantine connection.

Allan: Good news!

Chuck: Well, that’s fizzled. It’s not happening right now.

Allan: Well, good to know something’s happening. Many people, including myself, rate Survivor as one of your best amongst a strong canon. It took a global tragedy to derail it.

Chuck: Do you think we would have ever seen Fight Club if it was due to be released later? With the buildings falling at the end? They couldn’t touch that.

Allan: No way, huh? And now you mention it, it’s strangely prophetic, eh?

Chuck: It really troubles me when I’ve watched it since then; I haven’t watched it in years because of that.

Allan: Fair enough. I’d heard also; I read an article that came out not long after the film about how you were so amazed at Fincher’s interpretation that you were embarrassed for your book. For me it’s a page for page remake. Did you actually have that reaction?

Chuck: I thought the film was better in the way the novel would have been better if I had written one more draft. I would have really been able to get the kinks out of it, I should have held onto it for just one more edit. Ahhhh!

Allan: That old chestnut. I think you’ve done alright Chuck; don’t beat yourself up about it.

Chuck: You don’t see these things.

Allan: As a writer, do you get sick of people asking about film adaptations of your work?

Chuck: <Pauses> I do, but only because from moment to moment, I’m not really up to date on them. I don’t really know the latest on some of the books. It changes so often.

Allan: Well, back to your work… Liminal time features in your work, have you experienced this in your own life? And has this indeed led to time travel?

Chuck: <Laughs> No… No experience of time travel. But I do love Slaughterhouse 5 which does that, jumps around in time, and I love being able to jump around temporally; it’s just so much fun to do. Non-linear books are so exciting for me.

Allan: Do you have to be careful when doing that? It would be easy to get confused and convoluted. Do you get out a big sheet of butcher’s paper and map out everything?

Chuck: As long as I create a device, a landmark device, where people are given a chorus or a ‘jump prompt’ so that we know we’re about to shift temporally, then I think you can go anywhere. But you have to establish those rules very early. 

Allan: Well that’s right. You can suspend disbelief, but then you can break that believe and then you’ve lost your audience.

Chuck: Exactly. If you go too long or become too confusing… All those things exhaust the reader.

Allan: Two more quick Qs before we part ways. The internet… It’s a wonderful thing, it says you’re often mistaken for a nihilist when in fact you’re a romantic. Would you give that the stamp of approval as far as truth goes?

Chuck: Definitely. All my books are romances; everyone’s falling in love in my books. It’s constant.

Allan: And wildly as well. Ferocious love.

Chuck: Like an ‘opera love’.

Allan: And finally, who would win in a fight between you and Bret Easton Ellis?

Chuck: <Laughs> O! I haven’t seen him in years, so I would say he has the weight advantage. I would give it to him.

Allan: That’s very humble of you Chuck.

At this point we make our goodbyes, Chuck (and after 35 minutes I can call him Chuck now, rather than a badly pronounced ‘Mr Palahniuk’) promises to try and come out for the Melbourne Writers Festival in 2013, or similar. Needless to say, we’ll be all over that like a rash should that come to pass.

In the meantime, his new book Damned, is out now through Random House Publishing.

Chuck Palahniuk

Chuck Palahniuk writes coruscating, devastating novels; punchy pieces of 250-page prose with paradigm shattering ideas and ideals. You know Survivor, Choke, Fight Club, right? Sure, you know Fight Club.

With the world’s great cities on fire and its financial system in ruin, we need the Chuckster more than ever. And despite often violent and sex-filled prose (Guts concerns innards sucked out anally by a filter whilst trying to have an asphyxiation-enhanced wank in a swimming pool… Y’know, that old chestnut) the man is a stand up gentleman; softly spoken and generous with answers. We wrestle with the heavyweight issues; his mother’s death and how it informed his new book Damned; how Fight Club’s core message is still being ignored; and who would win in a fight between him and Bret Easton Ellis.

But first, after grappling with the pronunciation of his last name (“we say Pall-uh-nick here”) we get to the core of what makes the man tick. “When I was little I wanted to be a priest. The idea of sitting in the dark and having people tell me their worst secrets was so appealing.”

Years on and Palahniuk has his wish, receiving mounts of mail from people across the world detailing their deepest, darkest thoughts. “People have to tell their stories as part of adjusting or accepting their lives and I think I present as a safe person to tell stories to,” Palahniuk says. “There are so many, and a lot I end up using. The Guts story was sent to me. Often the things you read in my books are stories people have told me. There was a terrific one from a young woman who had an internship at a movie studio and her job was to stamp ‘Return to Sender’ on all Mel Gibson’s hate mail. It was her Full. Time. Job.”

Palahniuk himself knows the need to tell a story. His latest two part book Damned, concerning 13-year-old Madison and her literal banishment to hell, acts as a form of catharsis for its author.

“Madison was a big book. It took two years because my mother was diagnosed with cancer. I was finishing up the previous book Tell All when she was diagnosed, then as she was being treated and they sent her home – essentially to die – I was working on the Madison book. It took me about a year after she had died to finish it.”

At this point, I offer my sincerest condolences.

“It sucked, but y’know, it kept my mind occupied, and I could be with her and it gave us a perfect time together. And I’m not the only person who has had to take care of their mother. Everyone dies, this is something we all have to deal with and it’s a shitty shitty thing…

“With my father dead in 1999 I felt this huge grief about losing them both and I couldn’t write about that grief directly. But if I wrote from the perspective of a dead girl and her parents were both still on Earth, and she wasn’t really accepting the drama of being in hell, then I could make that funny. And I could still have her miss her parents because they’re alive, but they’re alive on Earth. That was my way of making sad things funny.”

From micro tragedy to macro; at the time of interview, London’s inhabitants were tearing the place down to start afresh. Is this a redneck interpretation of what was a far more deep and complicated message in Palahniuk’s Fight Club?

“My first reaction was along the lines of what happened with the Norway shooter, Anders. Initially he had said that it was a gender issue; about the lack of opportunity or expression for young men. And very quickly, I noticed all the mass media dropped the gender angle. I’m always fascinated when it’s a ‘young men gender issue’. The media doesn’t pick up or promote that aspect. Women’s issues are very easy and fashionable to depict and promote, but young men’s issues are somehow tainted or forbidden. Also, when you look at the pattern of young successful men committing suicide in the past year it’s really remarkable – David Foster Wallace, Heath Ledger, Alexander McQueen… These men should be the most accomplished of their field, they shouldn’t be killing themselves. And nobody wants to talk about it.”

It’s now gone 40 minutes and we’ve conversed on many other subjects; why 250-ish pages for each book? (“Extend comedy past the 300 page mark and it just falls apart”); did he feel embarrassed about Fight Club the book after watching the film as I had read? (“The film was better in the way the novel would have been better if I had written one more draft”); did a film adaptation of Survivor get canned due to 9/11? (“David Fincher encouraged 20th Century Fox to option it, it was in development. Jake Paltrow­ – Gwyneth’s brother – had even written a screenplay but with 9/11 it became untouchable”); and how the voice of his books were once the same but no longer (“[I grew up] and out of that voice and had to keep myself interested too.”). But we finish with the big one; The Chuckster, or Bret Easton Ellis in a fight?

“O!” he laughs heartily. “I haven’t seen him in years… I would say he has the weight advantage so I would give it to him.”

Chuck Palahniuk’s Damned is out now through Random House Publishing. The full 4,000 word transcript of this interview is available by clicking here.

FROM FACEBOOK TO THE MOON

To some BEN MEZRICH’s name may be unfamiliar, but you’re likely to know his work. He is the author of The Accidental Billionaires, a book that was turned into a little film called THE SOCIAL NETWORK.

As exhibited by giving the world one of 2010’s best films, Mezrich has a knack for finding stories to be spun into Hollywood gold. Among his nine books is Bringing Down the House later turned into the Kevin Spacey-starring 21, and now comes Sex on the Moon, already snapped up for a film.

The story concerns gifted NASA intern Thad Roberts and his plan to steal moonrocks from the Johnson Space Centre in Houston; a substance so valuable it’s actually illegal to even own. This is not high-literature; the book is written in a broad thriller style with teeth-grinding clichés like “…[they] weren’t the only ones about to embark on a life-changing adventure”. But the man can snuffle out a story and has made a very tidy living out of it.

“Since The Social Network, I’ve become the go-to guy for crazy stories involving college kids; every time some kid pulls off a heist, I get a call… Literally 30 to 40 a week,” Mezrich tells. “…Moon came via mutual friends of the main character – he had just gotten out of jail, and his friends were fans of mine and pitched me the story. I met Thad and was blown away.”

Taking a year to write (“eight months of research, the rest writing”) Mezrich met with Roberts on many occasions. “He is one of the most complex and intriguing people I’ve ever written about,” Mezrich recalls. “Brilliant, but a little crazy. I was scared when I first met him, but he is very charismatic. He was guarded; it took a while to establish trust. Prison was a tough time for him, it broke him down but he’s doing his best to build himself back up.”

Mezrich can be commended for his bravery of telling stories about very powerful groups. “NASA and Facebook were similar in that neither wanted me to write these books, and both are scary billion dollar enterprises. But I stick to the truth and go through a very thorough legal edit. I tell these stories based on interviews and legal documents, although I do write in a cinematic style, the stories are as they were told to me. I think …Moon is a very positive look at NASA, and I think it will do good things for them. I love NASA, I’m a fan of what they do, and I wanted to show the genius and fun of the place. Likewise, I love Facebook, and use it every day. Zuckerberg is a genius and The Social Network was a very good thing for him and Facebook.”

Sex on the Moon is out now through Random House Publishing.

Locality

Hello all, and welcome to Part 2 of our report on New Venues in Canberra.

Now, let’s talk about Dionysus. I refer not to the Greek God of wine (and all that he entails) but to one of Canberra’s most exciting new venue prospects, and though it’s a ways off it looks to be worth the wait. There’re three main reasons for excitement – its operators, its scope and the venue policy. The operators are Dave Caffery (uniVibes founder) and Adrian “AJ” Threadgould (stand-up geezer). Many months ago, I sat down with AJ and he outlined their vision for the venue, which was spectacular to say the least; fully fitted interior, artspace, purpose built stage. Lease problems have seen them move from a potential venue at the ANU Exchange (y’know… The place where McGregor Hall used to reside) to the currently-being-built Nishi Apartments in New Acton (y’know… The place that had the big fire a few months ago). Summoning investors to the tune of a sizable sum, plus winning a $20,000 grant at the ACT Innovation Awards lends the project to something special.
As AJ tells us: “We’re on track to open the year after next (insert disclaimer re: accuracy).

It will be a purpose built live music and arts space fused with hospitality components. We’re integrating live entertainment, including theatre and live art as well as music, with a gallery and cafe/bar. The acoustically exceptional space and 350-500 capacity will attract major artists from around Australia and internationally, but our vision is to promote Canberran artists of all forms and this will be a platform on which Canberra will thrive.”

Like I said, exciting. We have to wait until 2013, but it should be worth it.

Zierholz! It’s the bar name you can shout with an overly-excited German accent. For years dear ol’ University of Canberra was one of only two (three at a stretch) universities without a bar, but only because they did away with their Vintage Dingy Pub that I enjoyed so often years ago as a student for hefty renovations to reinvigorate the space as purpose built micro-brewery/music venue Zierholz @ UC. As Anna Wallace, Queen Bee at UC Live! told us: “Punters can expect the same quality of brews and gourmet pub food currently offered at the Fyshwick brewery, and UC Live! will be presenting regular touring acts.” Speaking to Ms Wallace on the reg, she has been balling her cute little fist in frustration at all the touring acts we’ve missed due to the venue not being ready yet, so expect its opening to flood Canberra with many a notable night.

And finally there’s a new Italian style sports bar called the Peroni Bar within Rydges Lakeside in the city, which opened two weeks ago to coincide with all major Rugby World Cup games. Whilst not purveyors of live music, with their four big screens it does offer a handy alternate place in town to catch big screen sport.

Julia Winterflood’s back on Locality duties next issue. Yay! It’s been real, kids. I’ll still be talking my regular nonsense over at the Bossman column, so I’ll catch you there.

ALLAN SKO – allan@bmamag.com

From the Bossman

(This is the third and final part of this frankly ludicrous tale from a Street Press office; to read the previous sordid bits, jump onto www.bmamag.com and head to the From the Bossman section on the home page. I promise to write about something other than porn next issue. But hey, as the old adage of the craft goes, ‘write what you know’ eh?)

Our new, young, female writer was still there – bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, eager to absorb the sights, sounds and smells of a Street Press office – and the bulging pile of porn, some 100 + items or so you will recall, was making another break for it from its hastily stuffed place of cover and was slowly snaking its way into the middle of the office floor to shout “Hey! I belong to these massive perverts!”.

As I indulged in another round of banal yet necessarily distracting banter – “So how long left at uni?”/”You must be tired after all that study and need to go home and have some well earned rest…”/”Wow! Look at that enormously interesting thing behind you!” – Cole proceeded to feverishly foot-spasm the mags back into their reluctant hidey-hole with ankle-splintering gusto. “Shall I list what CDs I’ve taken?” enquired our eager-to-please first-dayer, referring to the computer dangerously close to the area where Cole was admirably footcrabbing our reputation back into place. “No, no, no!” I retorted through clenched teeth. “Tis your first day! No need for such professionalism,” so with a cheerful seeya and a gentle push out of the door later and we were finally in the clear. Fucking phew. We breathed a sigh of relief before, naturally, collapsing in a pile like two giggling schoolboys.

“OK, that was too close,” I barked, straightening up. “We’re getting rid of these things right now.”
We piled the offending articles back into the bin; a task that took some minutes. We were just about done, and I was about to close the lid and seal this dark chapter in BMA lore for good when I suddenly spied the sweetest plum, the diamond in the rough… Furniture Table Leg Porn. I am seriously not making this up. Somewhere in the world, this exists.

I held the magazine at arm’s length as a doctor would examine a brightly coloured beaker, and began gaudily leafing through. It was at about the halfway point when I was aware of a pair of eyes on me. Looking up from a section most likely entitled “Got Wood?” I saw, to my abject horror, the second new young female writer I had invited to the office that day. I might as well have been sans pants.

By this point, Cole and I had become the go-to experts in porn concealment for the East Australian sector, and we somehow covered our tracks again. Afterwards Cole’s foot was in need of an ice pack and my throat was in need of an ice cold beer. For months I lived with the uneasy thought that these two had seen all and had simply decided not to mention anything, choosing instead to silently judge, and not-so-silently tell everyone they know about the massive perverts over at BMA.

Fortunately, it seems we did a good job; many years later, when regaling this yarn to said writers at a work bash – safely schooled in the ways of BMA by then – they swore they knew and saw nothing of our fleshy faux pas. There’s a moral in all this somewhere – don’t look through bins, let sleeping porn lie, generally don’t be a twat – but in the end this was just another day at BMA HQ.

ALLAN SKO – allan@bmamag.com

Xzibit To Play Canberra

Our strong Aussie dollar continues to yield international musical dividends with the news that old time hip-hopper Xzibit will be taking a break from pimping people’s rides in order to rock the Australian Capital for the first time ever this November. The mighty Illusive and MTV are teaming up with stalwart local group Mudd Promotions to deliver Xzibit to Australia for the first time in almost five years with a whirlwind tour that sees him cover 11 venues in a just over a fortnight.

He will be playing at The Maram on Wednesday November 30, with special guests Young De and DJ Fingaz as well as locals D’Opus & Roshambo, Big Dave & KP Records, Raw City Rukus MCs feat. DJ Rush, Kodak and DJ Buick. The night will be hosted by MC Harlequin.

Called “one of the most respected rappers in the game” by Rolling Stone, Xzibit first came to public attention in 1996 with debut album At The Speed of Light (1996) swiftly followed by 40 Dayz & 40 Nightz in 1998. He enjoyed his first major success when he joined with Snoop Dogg for the Dr. Dre produced hit Bitch Please. The Dre association continued with the iconic What’s the Difference, Lolo and Some L.A. Niggaz on Dre’s seminal Chronic 2001 album, ensuring the man was cemented in the consciousness of hip-hop headz the world over.

Tickets are $65 + bf and are on sale from Tuesday September 20 and are available from Moshtix 1300 GET TIX (438 849) or www.moshtix.com.au .

Canberra New Year Eve’s Festival Line-Up Announced

If you’re one of those people who can’t hightail fast enough out of the Nation’s Capital come New Year’s Eve, then grab firm of those stirrups and hold your horses for a sec there, missy. The ground crew at Mission To Launch have finally announced their full line-up for their inaugural festival happening at Weston Park on, you guessed it, Saturday December 31.

Joining Sneaky Sound System, announced last month, comes the following glittering array of international and national musical talent:

The Living End

Sneaky Sound System

Ian Carey [USA]

Cloud Control (pictured)

The Beautiful Girls

The Herd

The Potbelleez

British India

Yacht Club DJs

Bag Raiders [DJ set]

Grafton Primary

Andy Murphy

The Novacaines

Naysayer & Gilsun

Softwar

plus local acts to be announced

This event is open to people 16 years and over. VIP, General Admission and Parking tickets are all available from http://missiontolaunch.com.au/ and General Admission tickets are $130 + bf available from Ticketek and Moshtix . Click here to sign up to the Mission To Launch Newsletter.

As the organisers tell us in their recent press release: “When the idea of Mission To Launch was hatched many moons ago, finding the right venue was a major consideration. We knew we had to find somewhere that was fresh and had never before been used for a large-scale music event. Being Canberra locals, it wasn’t long before thoughts focused on the peninsula. Tucked away in parkland on the shores of Lake Burley Griffin, we stumbled upon a beautiful part of Weston Park, perfectly hidden amongst the trees and lake – The Enchanted Forest.”

We shall be covering Mission To Launch and its many exciting acts in detail in the months leading up to the event, you stay tuned for that you cute little button you.

Locality

First of all, I’d like to kick off this column by once again apologising for not being Julia Winterflood. Although I do also have a sweet ass, so there’s that at least. Secondly, may I introduce you to a two part series on new venues because there’s not enough space to do it in one.

While the word ‘crisis’ is probably a tad strong, Canberra is undoubtedly experiencing a nadir in the venue cycle. We enjoy a wealth of well mixed venues covering most mainstream and fringe tastes and then, through a combination of a saturated market, lack of support, and questionable regulations, a number of them close. This continues for some months, sometimes a year or two, and then demand and gap dictates that some brave, admirable, handsome, beautiful souls will front up a terrifying amount of cash to give the populace what we so sorely deserve; somewhere to get a farkin’ drink and listen to some farkin’ music.* Fortunately, we’re at the beginning of the upward swing, with no less than five venues/bars set to open. We’ll look at two now, and three more next issue.

To get the bad news out of the way, it was set to be six venues. For months it looked like beloved erstwhile The Greenroom operator Garry Peadon had secured The Woden Tradies for all those interstate groups to play that we so often miss out on. It was all set to go but just before all the big renovations, set to make it one of the most jumpin’ joints in Canberra’s Southside, the plans were stopped. As the kids don’t say... Bummer. You can still catch Garry’s epic soundwork with his various UC and ANU gigs but still, what a shame.

Onto happier news, we’re set to have a new venue to support local music to fill the void left by McGregor Hall. Ben Drysdale tells us: “The brains behind Cardboard Charlie and Culturazi are teaming up to open a new 200+ capacity venue in the Dickson area that will also house an art gallery, independent music shop, and a recording studio some time in 2012.” It’s McGregor but in Dickson... Huzzah! Six months is a very hopeful opening time, but it’s on its way.

So often neglected, Garema Place in Civic has seen some attention of late. Skate in the City was a roaring success, and now comes new bar Honkytonks, nestled right behind the giant screen. Publican Laurence Kain, who is running the joint alongside Sasha from Hippo Bar and Tom Hertell reveals:

“We are bringing life to the square with a large outdoor garden and a lot of bi-fold windows. The front window will be prime location for beers this summer! The tunes will be a major focus; not big acts just great music.

“Opening early October 2011 the focus is on good quality wine and beer. We have a lot of local Aussie beer and wine, much of which we are sourcing from the local area as well as an extensive list of imported stuff. The place is getting fitted out using a lot of recycled materials and furniture; joiners and timber recycler Thor’s Hammer are playing a large part in the fit out. We have a super high quality sound system designed to create an even sound throughout the room and encourage conversation with some seriously funky tunes in the background.”

Lovely. Next ish we’ll look at a sports bar, a purpose built venue/art space and more. Toodles.

ALLAN SKO - allan@bmamag.com

*not too much to ask of a capital city, surely?

From the Bossman

This is the second part of this frankly ridiculous tale from a Street Press office; to read the first instalment flick your peepers to the bottom of this page

With the kind of alacrity reserved for 14-year-old boys hiding clandestine material, myself and Cole leapt into an instinctive, lurching ballet of movement to hide the burgeoning filth.
“Hi!” I bellowed in an overenthusiastic fashion, stumbling forward to block the new writer’s view, deftly flick-passing the offending jazz mag I was holding behind with one hand and extending a warm welcoming handshake with the other.

“You must be Melanie!* WONDERFUL to meet you, just wonderful, you must be here to look through our CDs, well of course you are, I invited you here after all HAHAHA! O what fun, anyway the CDs are right over here, NO! Not over there, over here,” I babbled, pointing into the far corner away from the mags where, by sheer beautiful, blushing fortuitous chance our review CDs lay.
In the meantime, swiftly responding to the situation, Cole set about like a frantic ginger typhoon, grabbing fistfuls of porn and attempting to cram them into the only sheltered space available to us on such short notice; a painfully small gap between the Accounts and Advertising desks.

I continued to entertain/distract our new writer with a parade of inane banter (“Nice weather we’re having, eh? What colour skirt is that, blue? Right-right. Soooo... You like stuff?”) while behind me Cole furiously stomped on the mountain of molestation with the ferocity of a man with his leg on fire.

Seemingly, the combination of my bizarre banter with the prospect of shiny new review CDs was enough to keep our writer’s head down despite the relentless WHOMP-WHOMP of Cole’s boot on porn.

I hazarded a quick glance around, and success! The mags lay quivering, largely out of sight, between the desks. My first impression to the writer may have been that of a person recently exposed to lead poisoning, but dammit we’d gotten away with it.

Unfortunately, so voluminous was this stockpile, and so hastily was it crammed into the desk alleyway, that it wasn’t long before it started slowly crawling, magma-like, into the middle of the floor. In plain view.

Aware that loudly stating, “O Cole, it appears our newly acquired porn stash is making a break for it,” was not an option, I instead resorted to the kind of grotesque facial expressions and violent head motions that wouldn’t look out of place in an Exorcist film.

The situation was getting dire; I was back to the vocal equivalent of a distracting jig and having to get our poor unsuspecting virgin writer out the door as quickly as possible without looking like I was rudely trying to get rid of them.

Little did we know that we were still some way from resolving this situation. In fact, we were precisely another column’s worth away, so tune in next ish for the third and final part of this sordid saga.

ALLAN SKO - allan@bmamag.com

*names have been changed to protect the innocent

All Ages

It’s been a wee quiet on the All Age gig front of late, but considering the whirlwind of exams, essays and assignments currently burdening the slender shoulders of the Future Hope of the Human Race (that’s you), it’s probably for the best.

But soon the albatross of education will be freed from your neck, and there are plenty of gigs waiting for you as a result. Most immediately, at the Tuggeranong Youth Centre on Saturday September 24, we have an impromptu band night headed by Melbourne-based indie/rock quartet Immersion. The centre promises there will be more local acts joining the bill. Doors open at 6pm and tickets will set you back ten of your Earth dollars.

Also at the Tuggers Youthie, but a little further down the track on Friday October 28 hardworking Brisbane alt-rock/screamo band For This Cause will be delivering their Journeys album. Forming in 2009, For This Cause have released two EPs, played over 100 shows and played alongside international acts such as Emery and Switchfoot, so they’re no slouches on the live front. This will be the last time Reuben, Luke, Damon and Rhys head out this year so get in while you can. Ticket price is unknown at this stage, but likely around $10. Confirmation to come in a future issue.

Rather excitingly, the sizable Liftoff Festival is on its way back, and along with it the Band Comp that gives you and your lovable bunch of musical scallywags the chance to play on a big stage. In the words of co-organiser Ben Trudinger – “Liftoff Festival is back again on Saturday November 5 as part of Woden Alive, this time running into the night as a stand alone event. The Liftoff Festival will feature cutting edge entertainment including rides, performance, as well as the Liftoff band competition finals showcasing youth culture at its best. Also, keep an eye out for a well known interstate band that will be released in the coming weeks. Watch this space for more info!”

Before then the heats for the Band Comp will run on the weekend of October 28/29 at the Woden Youth Centre. It’s open for youth bands aged 12-25 years, where you can compete for prize packs including two days recording time at Tru Sound Music studios which includes the services of Ian Pav (of PavMusic) in a Producer/Advisory role to the value of $2020, and a Press and Album Art Photography Package with Cole Bennetts of Cole Bennetts Photography to the value of $2000. Forms are available now direct from the Woden Youthie and registration closes 5pm Friday September 30. For more info contact Sindy Perason at sindy.pearson@wcs.org.au or 6282 3037.

Finally, Tuggeranong Youth Centre’s big BMX/Skate/Scooter comp will be back on Sunday November 27 from 9am-4pm at the Tuggeranong Skate Park. Details are scant at this stage, but there will be plenty more to report in following issues so stay tuned. The good news for now at least is that it’s on its way.

You’ll be pleased to hear that regular Naomi Frost will be returning from next issue onwards, so if you have any gig info, tip offs or just want to say g’day, send Naomi an email at allagescolumn@gmail.com .

Thanks gang. It’s been a pleasure. ALLAN SKO – allan@bmamag.com

Jay-Z & Kanye West ft Frank Ocean

I am not a religious man and I haven’t got much time for America. This is a very religious song that champions the USA. And yet I love it. While Ye ‘n’ Ze’s verses about overcoming adversity and making it big in America are perhaps ill-timed given the current economic circumstances, Frank Ocean delivers a beautiful chorus that feels like you’re shaking hands with Jesus.

Lady Gaga

Can someone please explain to me why we were up in arms when Madonna presented us with a black Jesus, but exposing our 12-year-olds to a gender ambivalent hussey who simulates oral sex on stage to a fudge euro disco beat is okey dokey?

DJ Fresh

Since his days with Bad Company in the early ‘90s, Fresh has been at the forefront of drum ‘n’ bass, always flaying and bullying the genre into weird and exciting new territory. Now he’s made the inevitable cross into the lucrative dubstep genre. “Hit of the Summer!” the wonderful Brit zine Popbitch espoused. Dull, standard dubstep fare for mine. I am very pleased for the man’s success but please… Back to the cutting edge stuff. We need that more than ever right now.

Gotye

Music lover that Gotye is, the man has put his eponymous tune online in editable format for any artist to musically interpret. Sydney hip-hopper Phatchance is one of the first to step up, and his rhyme-laden treatment delivers mixed results. The verses are strong; layering Gotye’s lovely arrangements with some good ol’ Aussie hip-hop swagger. Then the original chorus is crudely dropped in and kinda ruins the whole thing. A pat on the head for trying.

Four In-Season Movie Passes to The Guard

The Guard is about an unorthodox Irish policeman with a confrontational personality (Brendan Gleeson) who is teamed up with an uptight FBI agent (Don Cheadle) to investigate an international drug-smuggling ring. The film has already garnered many positive critical reviews, with SlashFilm declaring it’s “Hot Fuzz plus In Bruges… Funnier than both!” and FilmInk declaring it to be “Endlessly quotable and hysterically funny.” You can judge for yourself, as we have four in-season double passes to giveaway. To win, pitch us a film scenario along with which two mismatched stars you would cast together in it.

Four In-Season Movie Passes to Chalet Girl

I’ll be honest, I think Chalet Girl looks shite. But then again, I’m a 29-year-old male with an eight month old daughter; I don’t get to go out any more. I’m forever trapped in an endless sleepless cycle of crying, wailing and pooping, and then there’s my daughter to tend to as well.*

You, however, don’t quite look like all the hope has drained from your eyes, so this may very well be right up your alley. So see if this floats your boat…

Pretty tomboy Kim Matthews, 19, used to be a champion skateboarder, but now she’s stuck in a dead end job trying to support her Dad. Opportunity comes knocking in the form of a catering job in the one of the most exclusive chalets in the Alps. At first, Kim’s baffled by this bizarre new world of posh people, champagne and skiing, but then she discovers snowboarding, and the chance to win some much-needed prize money at the big end-of-season competition. But before she can become a champion again, Kim’s going to have to dig deep to overcome her fears. Hard enough, without the complicating factor of Jonny her handsome, though spoken for, boss...

So there you have. If that sounds like your bag, then we have one of four in-season double passes for you to win. To be in with a chance, tell us about a fear you’ve overcome.

*Disclaimer: I actually adore my life and situation, and I’m not just saying that before the wife is sitting over my shoulder as I type this.

triple j Nick Cave Tribute Show Comes to Canberra

After the rollicking success of the Paul Kelly tribute (and The Go-Betweens and AC/DC before that), the Js are at it again, this time turning their powerful glare upon national music treasure Nick Cave.

As part of triple j’s November Ausmusic Month, the event sees an impressive list of Aussie acts assembled to pay tribute to the prolific man who started with Boys Next Door and then The Birthday Party before going on to make 14 albums with The Bad Seeds and two more with Grinderman. Listed alphabetically the artists involved include:

Abbe May
Adalita
Alex Burnett 
Bertie Blackman
Dan Sultan
Jake Stone (bluejuice)
Johnny Mackay 
Kram
Lanie Lane
Lisa Mitchell
Muscles
Urthboy

Joining these singers will be a band lead by Cameron Bruce – a Sydney writer and musician who plays in both Paul Kelly and Washington’s bands. No stranger to big productions, Bruce was also the Musical Director for Cannot Buy My Soul, the acclaimed 2008/9 concerts celebrating the music of Kev Carmody.

Rather excitedly, this epic stage show will hit multiple places around the country, including a Canberra show at the Royal Theatre on Wednesday November 16. Tickets are $61.50 + bf and are on sale Friday September 2 at 9am from Ticketek. Click here for a quick link. We will be covering many of the acts from the bill to get their thoughts on Mr Cave, so stay tuned for that.

From the Bossman

Forming friendships with the people you work with is one of life’s most rewarding occasions, and so bringing on a new writer for BMA Magazine can be a giddy occasion. Who will they be? Like a sordid looking website banner, will you click? Will, indeed, you form a lasting friendship that echoes through the years as has happened so many times previous? O the giddy thrill of it all. As we know, first impressions are all important. With this firmly in mind, something definitely worth avoiding is unwittingly bombarding your new young female writers with hardcore pornography on their first day.

Allow me to explain.

Some years ago, operating out of the shoebox that used to be the BMA office, we were positioned conveniently, although in a somewhat odoriferous fashion, next to the arts centre bins. These bins were shared by the entirety of the Gorman House Arts Centre, making it a veritable hobo treasure trove; a possom’s paradise if you will (they would often congregate there splendidly regaled in monocles and the kind of garb that would see Mem Fox frantically reach for her pen). One trash day - “Has it been four months already?” - I was taking our heaving bins out to the recycle station. I’m no hobo, but in the same way tabloid journos would paw through celebrity bins in hope of unearthing some sordid forgotten minutiae of their poor victim (“By God, they DO use tampons! What a scoop!”) a quick scan of the bins would often throw up some delight. On this particular day, just as I was about to hoof in the paper, my eye spotted the most curious thing. Magazine flesh. Not just magazine flesh... Porn. And not just porn... Every type you could think of (and a lot you couldn’t).

Naturally, I grabbed a fistful and eagerly returned to show fellow office-dust-harbinger Cole Bennetts. “Check out what I just found in the recycle bin!” I eagerly crowed. “No way!” said he, his eyes alighting with mischief. “Looks like there’s loads more too,” I ventured.

Cole dashed out of the office as if someone had fired a starter’s pistol, and returned with the largest armfuls of porn I had seen since I was 14. “There’s even more!” he shouted, his voice both quivering with excitement and trailing away as he raced back to the recycle station. This time, the familiar rumble of recycle bin wheels over brick accompanied Cole’s returning step and lo and behold... Upon closer inspection the entire bin, from top to bottom, possibly some 100 + magazines, was chockers with filth, burgeoning with the power to slake any sordid desire, no matter how depraved or indeed weird. It was like walking into John Waters’* bedroom. Where it came from, so to speak, we have never found out.

So many were there, of such variety, that in a foolish bout of eagerness we went about spreading them across all available surfaces of what should be a professional workspace to get a better look at them all. Myself and Cole were pouring, eyes a-gog, through these meaty tomes when suddenly a movement caught the corner of my eye. I looked up and, to my horror, saw our new writer - a young girl barely scraping her 20s - standing doe-eyed at the entrance to the office, veritably trembling with the blushing expectation of first day nerves, whilst I was eagerly pouring scholar-like through a copy of Busty Babes Bare All.

Earlier that day I had invited this poor innocent to pop in and say g’day and paw through our CDs and DVDs for reviewage; the unexpected porn explosion had successfully wiped the memory of this rather important and extremely ill-timed meet. The floor was covered in clitoris. The desks were awash with wankbait. Myself and Cole were clutching fistfuls of filth and, until just this very moment, had been cackling like hyenas.

Should anyone else in the world - the groundskeeper, a neighbour, hell even an established writer - have come waltzing in, we could have easily passed off the incident with a hearty chuckle and a “Hey, look what we found!” These people know BMA, and know only too well this kind of thing is close to a daily occurrence.

But this was a new writer; a new female writer; a new young female writer. This would be like showing your knob to Mother Superior. This was not good, and we had to act fast.

Part Two to follow next issue.

Allan Sko – allan@bmamag.com

*that’s John Waters the shock auteur filmmaker of the ‘70s, not John Waters the beloved iconic Aussie actor. But you never know...

Locality

Ahhhhhhhh September! How I love thee. Without doubt my favourite month in the year. The weather’s warming, the footy finals are on, the cricket fires up again… There’s much to be content about.

September in Canberra, in particular, always stirs the cockles of the heart. There is nary a sidestreet left unblessed with blooming blossom trees. Every brilliant hue imaginable puckers from twisted branches that until recently were skeletal, and the whole city seems vibrant and alive. Juxtaposition is a powerful thing, and because Canberra delivers a proper winter (I’m looking at you Sydney, with your “Urrrrr! It’s so cold! It’s only 20 degrees! I think I’m going to die,” nancying… Come back to me when your tongue sticks to your cornflakes) it makes the return to warm weather all the more potent and welcoming. And we’re still a good couple of months away from that fetid, stinking heat that see us fellas awkwardly trying to detach our genitalia from the side of our legs mid conversation, and sees the ladies… Well, I can but unwisely speculate.

Everyone’s in a good mood during a Canberra September. The grimaced faces and clutched-clothing of winter are replaced by rosy smiles and a jaunty gait – cheeks aflame with emotion, loins aglow. As many of us choose to hibernate during the colder months (although the brilliant Skate in the City initiative did its level best to coax people away from their fireplaces) the warmer climes tend to swell the city’s population.

And with the warm weather comes a plethora of activity; between now and the end of the year we have the ability to see no less than 1027 international/interstate artists, 77 exhibitions, 32 performances… And counting. More exciting still, and in keeping with the relevance of this column, we have many opportunities to celebrate the rich local talent on offer. Beth n Beth are set to release a new EP; Super Best Friends will fire up another pop ‘n’ rock slab that would make Regurgitator smile; and a movement is in place to fire up the underground punk/metal/alternative scene so it resembles the glory days and sense of community of the ‘80s/’90s when the pollies and EPA didn’t ride us so hard for wanting to enjoy a drink and a bit o’ music. Details are scant at this stage because, well… Details are scant. But it’s on its way, you can be assured of that.

Exciting times lay ahead my friends; and if you’re passionate about supporting all things local by putting on gigs, exhibitions, or plays, you drop your Bossman Allan here a line at allan@bmamag.com and I may just have the ticket. With warm weather comes good times. Remember that you can have the most idyllic climes and perfect geography, but at the end of it all it’s the people that truly make the place, and here you are. The power is in your hands.

ALLAN SKO – allan@bmamag.com

*Locality Columnist and Editor to the Bars Julia Winterflood will return next issue, and with it will come a better standard of writing

All Ages

A very good day to you, you young whippersnappers. BMA Bossman Allan Sko here, taking over from the lovely Naomi Frost for two issues while she very wisely focuses on her studies (which I’m sure – judicious, hardworking and aspiring types that you all are – study will very much be your focus too). But worry not; you’re in good hands. I’m hip. I’m with it. I know what’s ‘happening in the hood’, as I believe you younglins say. So be prepared for one totally tubular column, filled with all the kinds of radness and awesome you kids so truly love. And yes, I promise to cut that out.

As those of you reading the print version of BMA Magazine can see on this page a few cms to the left, the Tuggeranong Youth Centre are on the hunt for acts to fill their ample stage and give the hardworking kids of Canberra like yourselves something to go to. If you’re between 12 and 25 and play in a band that’s just about any genre except hardcore (unfortunately, recent problems by said genre bands have ruled them out of the equation) then contact the alarmingly lovely Bec on rebecca@.james@commsatwork.org or give ‘em a bell on 6126 9059 and let’s get some gigs happening. The power is in your hands people. If you know of a band that wants a gig, get ‘em to give Bec a bell. Give Bec a bell. Give Bec a bell. It sticks in your head that way.

For those of you with a penchant for theatre, or who like throwing things at young children (NOTICE: BMA does not advocate throwing things at young children) Canberra Youth Theatre will be welcoming New Zealand Children’s Book author Nikki Slade-Robinson for a World Premiere production of her environmental story, That’s Not Junk! It’s about a family with a unique imagination who set off about the neighbourhood, looking for what other people throw out as junk, to make a very special creation for all the kids on the street (so kinda what the Tuggeranong Youth Centre is aiming for then). Directed by barb barnett, with a cast of 13 young actors aged 7 – 12yrs, it’s sure to be a chuckle. It’s a travelling performance through the grounds of Floriade on Saturday September 17, and Sunday September 18 @ 11am and Saturday September 24 and Sunday 25 September @ 11am. Who knew Floriade was more than flowerz ‘n’ shit, eh?
For those of a dance bent (stop giggling at the back, it’s a legitimate term) the Tap into Water Youth Dance Festival is in its 27th year, and will play out over three nights, from September 14 – 16  at Canberra Theatre Centre and feature students from Merici College, Gungahlin High School and Radford College as well as other highly commendable colleges and schools exactly like the one you’re in.

This year will see 1250 students from 30 high schools and colleges across the ACT displaying their interpretation of this year’s theme – Messages. For further information please contact Neil Roach, Director, Ausdance ACT on 6247 9103.

As always, if you have something to tout, tip us off about or just want to say g’day write to paper_weight_pigs@hotmail.com .

Eddie Izzard Comes to Canberra

Eddie Izzard is set to bring his Stripped stand up show to the Canberra Theatre Centre on Thursday November 24.

It’s been eight long years since Eddie last toured Australia selling out over 15 shows around the country including six Enmore Theatre jaunts in Sydney. Hailed as one of the foremost stand up comedians of his generation, Eddie has spent the past years crossing into the world of film, with roles alongside Brad Pitt and George Clooney in Ocean’s 12 & 13, Tom Cruise in Valkyrie and, errrr, Peewee Herman in Mystery Men.

Earning critical acclaim for his starring role in The Riches, an Emmy for Outstanding Individual Performance in a Variety or Music Program and Outstanding Writing for a Variety, Music or Comedy Program he returns to the stage once again with his distinctive style; extrapolating ideas into the bizarre, absurd and surreal. Tickets go on sale on Monday August 29 from the Canberra Theatre Centre Box Office on 6275 2700 or by logging on to www.canberratheatrecentre.com.au .

Great Southern Blues Festival Cancelled

The organisers of the annual Great Southern Blues Festival announce with great disappointment that the event scheduled for the Labour Day Long Weekend – Friday September 29 to Sunday October 2 – will regrettably be cancelled.

In this current economic climate, unsatisfactory ticket sales for the event have unfortunately made it impossible for us to proceed. We would like to thank all of the media partners, suppliers and loyal supporters for all of their hard work and commitment to this much-loved event.

All patrons are advised that all tickets will be fully refunded directly to the credit card with which they were purchased by Friday September 2. Any queries pertaining to ticket refunds should be directed to info@bluesfestival.tv

Great Southern Blues Festival upholds a firm belief in environment, great music and good times. The festival will return in 2012 in full swing with a stellar line-up and continuing energy to bring a super event to its fans.

Regards,

Great Southern Blues Festival HQ

The Pyramid Rock Festival Line-Up Announced

The Pyramid Rock Festival rolls out once again, and a well balanced group of acts has been assembled to see in the New Year at Victoria’s scenic Phillip Island. The four day fest, running from Thursday 29 December 2011 to Sunday 1 January 2012 will feature the following so-hot-right-now acts:

Scissor Sisters (pictured)

The Living End

Gotye

Grandmaster Flash

Boy & Bear

Drapht

Spiderbait

Cloud Control

Bluejuice

Muscles

Spank Rock

The Panics

Lyrics Born

The Herd

Dum Dum Girls

Illy

Salmonella Dub

Bertie Blackman

Jonathan Boulet

Ash Grunwald

Hanni El Khatib

The Bamboos

Calling All Cars

Grace Woodroofe

Graveyard Train

Tim & Jean

The Aston Shuffle (local boys doin’ good once again!)

Jim Ward

Thundamentals

Owl Eyes

Split Seconds

French Horn

Rebellion

Rockwiz Live

Tickets on sale 9am Wednesday 14 September available from www.thepyramidrockfestival.com .

Tha Dogg Pound to play The Maram Aug 31

Although we have to wait a fair while for Ice Cube to hit Canberra (April 2012, for those of you not paying attention) the hard working folk over at the delightfully named Koky Prik Records are rushing together an all hip-hop affair to keep your thirst for 80bpm boom-bap beats and ill lyricism slaked for the time being.

The original Tha Dogg Pound, AKA Daz Dillinger and Kurupt (who made their 1992 debut on Dr. Dre’s rap classic The Chronic) will be live in Canberra for the first time performing a tribute show to the late Nate Dogg. The duo will be supported by KP artists Big Dave, Grantwho, Kitty B and new gun Bishop. The night will be hosted by BRB with entertainment from Kodak. There will also be DJ Rush, Eitha, Icee and J.I. & Genisiz on the ones and twos.

It all happens at The Maram on Wednesday August 31. Tickets are $50 on sale at Footlocker in Woden from Tuesday August 23, or as always can be purchased on the door.

Ice Cube Tour Postponed Until April 2012

Due to those pesky “unforseen circumstances” the up coming Ice Cube I Am The West Australian tour will now take place in April 2012 instead of the previously announced September dates.

In an online statement made by Ice Cube he confirmed his planned Australian tour will indeed still be going ahead in April. The new Canberra date is scheduled for Thursday April 19, 2012.

Ticketek are honouring all tickets purchased, and will be valid for the new date. Full refunds are also being offered by the outlet.

Stonefest 2011 Line-up Announced

The Frontier Touring Company and University of Canberra’s UC Live! have teamed up once again to present this year’s Stonefest on Saturday October 29, and this year is a true-blue dinky-di all-Aussie affair.

Now in its epic 44^th year of activity, Stonefest will be spread across three stages for 2011 and will give punters the chance to check out the newly refurbished Zierholtz UC Bar. The ever popular Silent Disco makes a return, with the super lovely The Hump Day Project on the ones and twos.

THE SUPERSTAGE

Jebediah

The Grates

The Vines

Josh Pyke

Jonathan Boulet

Stonefield

Redcoats

Crash The Curb

triple j ‘Unearthed’ winner

Purple Sneakers DJs

UC REFECTORY STAGE

The Aston Shuffle

Illy

Tonite Only

Pez

360

Flight Facilities

Sampology (AV/DJ Set)

Diafrix

D’Opus and Roshambo

Dept of Defiance

Jemist

ZIERHOLZ STAGE

Ball Park Music

Owl Eyes

Lanie Lane

Hunting Grounds

Big Scary

The Snowdroppers

The Bedroom Philosopher

Velociraptor

Fun Machine

Vacant Field

SILENT PARTY

hosted by The Hump Day Project

feat. Strangeways DJs, Pang! DJs, Architect DJs, Party By Jake DJs,

Swim Team DJs, Mum DJs & M.I.T.

A student discount will apply for those with valid student identification, alongside General Admission and VIP tickets. Stonefest 2011 is an 18+ event and valid photo identification will be required. Frontier Members pre-sale via frontiertouring.com

from 2pm Mon 15 Aug to 2pm Tue 16 Aug. General public on sale from 9am Fri 19 Aug from ticketek.com.au – 132 849. For further venue information you can jump onto www.frontiertouring.com/stonefest

And of course, you can join Stonefest on facebook (www.facebook.com/stonefest) and Twitter (www.twitter.com/Stonefest_UC)!

Stay tuned over the following months, as we’ll be having a chinwag with many of this year’s Stonefest acts.

THE BEDROOM PHILOSOPHER

Justin Heazlewood, or The Bedroom Philosopher as he's more affectionately known, cut his teeth as a columnist in this 'ere rag, so it's a joy to see him making such bold strides onto the stages of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, Frankie and Mess + Noise. The man will soon return to the ol' stomping ground of Canberra for a special solo show, so we took the chance to ask him about such trivial things as how that magnificent brain of his works, his tie collection, and whether he’s ever been in a biffo with an Aussie muso. (…He has).

We hear you're working on some stuff about sex from a man's perspective. Tell us more about that.

I suddenly realised that there’s not a lot of legitimate representations of what sex is actually like to counter-act all the overblown raunch culture and commercial pop crap. Some days it feels like between Catholic guilt and porn, sex has been so confused that my generation is almost conservative about it. It seems a real challenge to display an overtly sexual side without it seeming dodgy or sleazy or laughable – so – I’m taking inspiration from Serge Gainsbourg and Jarvis Cocker and trying to show that Gen-Y indie boys can have a bit of a fire in their belly.

Writing anything – song, words – is basically the most laborious thing in the world. How do you do it? Do you put aside time, or just get really drunk and write as fast as possible?

I get drunk on emotion – my head is a rollercoaster pinball bouncy castle and fireworks language factory warehouse. At any one time there’s an octopus spinning eight plates and on those plates is a little railway system with eight trains of thought. If I don’t write, then all my thoughts go stale like vegetables and my head smells like a sharehouse fridge. It’s not often I consciously dictate what I’m going to write – ie let’s sit down and write a song about ice creams, rather, I’ll go to bed and be thinking about my first girlfriend in primary school and then it’s like being pregnant with an idea – and you carry the idea around for a while like a mother and it grows inside you, and then you need to give birth to it. Creativity is a force of nature – it’s not something we can conveniently delay until we’re ready to deal with it – it might be one am and you’ve got to get up early the next day – but all of a sudden you’re in your pyjamas with a guitar busting out an improvisation that will eventually become a complete song – and that’s a beautiful thing. You don’t mind being tired the next day, knowing that you have done your job as a carrier and vessel for this mysterious, cool ephemeral piece of art that didn’t exist yesterday and suddenly it does and shall last until the ends of time – or until all the hard drives disintegrate in the great silicon meltdown of 2077.

You’ve copped a bit of flack for your ‘Australia the high school’ segment in which you impersonate an Indigenous storyteller. Apart from writing your brilliant psychological analysis of this in LapTopping 83 and suspending certain places from your tours (Darwin, shame on you), how have you been dealing with it?

They’re pretty passive aggressive responses – I honestly wish people would write constructive emails to me saying what they didn’t like, rather that going straight onto an online forum to slander my name. Don’t get me wrong – I’m totally accepting of criticism, and I strongly believe that as an artist, if you release art into the world then your audience have every right to criticise and judge it. I just ask that any negative criticism is gone into some detail and backed up with evidence – not just ‘his bit about Aborigines was offensive’ – tell me why it’s offensive. Basically I’ve hit 30 and become politically aware and angry about some things – and I’m trying to counteract the fact I’ve had virtually nothing to do with Indigenous people in my life by writing some stand-up about it. My aim was to mostly make fun of white Australia, and especially Gen-Y, and point out how overly politically correct we are to the point where we just don’t want to talk about it for fear of upsetting someone (mainly ourselves). There comes a time when polite silence isn’t polite anymore, it’s just rude. I tried really hard to write it in a well crafted and thoughtful way – with plenty of actual jokes and twists of irony, etc. But if comedy is tragedy plus time then for a lot of people the whole thing is too fresh to laugh about – I mean Indigenous suffering is still going on right now! So for some people making jokes about it will be too much of a journey outside their comfort zones. And I respect that – but at the same time I’m really bored by the super-bleak stories in the media and I vow that a comedian’s job is to go where no man has gone before and find humour in any subject, even the deep reaches of the too hard basket. Even if you’re offended by it – if it gets you talking and adds something to the conversation then it’s a good thing.

Exactly how many ties do you have? Do you give them pet names? One of our mates once made a bong out of a tie. Have you ever customised a tie in such a way?

I haven’t counted them in a few years because I haven’t been that sad. I would estimate that I have 300, which is exactly 300 more ‘70s ties than any human will ever need. I’ve had ties customised into wrist bands, which are okay, in the same way that skateboards with wings were ok. I don’t like to see ties turned into skirts or pants. While most of the ties now disturb me from a fashion point of view, I’m still respectful of them as entities and believe they should survive intact. I’m thinking of opening up a tie massage place where you get a rubdown while staring at all 300 ties laid out. It would be a psychedelic and sickening experience. If you’re lucky you’ll get a ‘hippy ending’.

Tell us something about yourself no one else knows.

Last night I had my first wet dream in five years.

What's so appealing about brown and orange?

It’s not. I’ve gone off it completely. Orange has dropped to about third place on my favourite colours list (red and blue rule) and brown is in second last place behind light yellow. This is a result of exploiting my favourite colours and having them forever associated with a difficult second album that nearly cost me my career. Also, filming the Northcote clip made me catch the hipster virus which means that I can’t wear flares now and have a general disrespect for the ‘70s. Also, someone on Mess + Noise teased me for wearing flares on the tram, a wrath no man should have to face.

Are you a fan of the semicolon?

I’m much more likely to use a hyphen – like that. I tend to mash two or three sentences together – crazy, wild sentences – then do that with the hyphen. Now, I think you could do the same thing with a semicolon; like that, I think that’s one of its main roles – but honestly, no one ever taught me about it properly – maybe I was sick that day, but I reckon it’s an underutilised punctuation. The full stop and comma teaming up is a bit like Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder doing Ebony and Ivory… people liked them more separately.  

You seem to have collected a lot of famous friends over the years (Tripod, Harry Angus from The Cat Empire...). Are there any cool collabs for us Beddie Philosophites to look forward to in the future?

I reckon Amanda Palmer and I are going to bust out some kind of erotic megalomaniacal hipster power-musical at some stage. She liked Northcote and came to my Fringe Festival show in Adelaide. I was overwhelmed – she is a proper A-grade celebrity – she walks into things and ten people spring out from nowhere trying to catch her ear, it’s great.

Jens Lekman is now living in Melbourne and writing music about Melbourne too. Do you know him?

No, but Awkwardstra bassist Andy does. He had a house party last year and invited Jens to play. Jens has been out of the country for a while (Visa issues) and Andy’s last update was that he “hasn’t emailed back for a while”. Andy thinks he’s trying to lose him. It’s hard for men to make new friends sometimes.

Had any arguments with Aussie musos?

I cockpunched Ash Grunwald when he beat me at Yahtzee. I had a long, sexy argument with Patience from The Grates about which flavour of Lindt chocolate is best (dark almond) and it ended in a light wrestle. Wait, no, that was erotic fan fiction I read on Phrase’s blog.

Now, onto the serious stuff:

If you were a cake, what kind of cake would you be?

Sticky date pudding.

If you were an ‘80s icon?

Boney from Trapdoor.

If you were a cooking utensil?

Masher.

If you were an instrument?

Double necked acoustic.

What are you reading at the moment?

Slaughterhouse Five.

What are you doing for dinner?

Heating up old tofu stir fry while thinking about Lily from Letters & Numbers.  

BMA Presents The Bedroom Philosopher at Transit Bar on Sunday August 28, with CatBoy along for what will no doubt be a wild, crazy ride. Doors open 6pm, with the man set to hit the stage at 8pm. Tix are a mere $15 + bf from www.moshtix.com.au/event.aspx?id=49076#buy.

From the Bossman

Signs You Work In a Street Press Office #17: You turn up to work on a deadline Friday morning to discover a posh bottle of red wine inexplicably decanted into a Becks beer bottle; a discovery as amusing as it is confusing.

And as confusing as this might be, it is hardly surprising.

Working in a street press office throws up its fair share of the weird and the wonderful; a kind of environment that incites controlled madness. The surrounds themselves are not exactly what you’d call lush splendour. Put it this way, you don’t have to make a wide berth past a gushing waterfall supplied exclusively by virgin’s tears in the foyer to enter. In fact, replace ‘foyer’ with ‘entrance hole’ and you start to get the idea. Despite this, it’s a wonderful place to work, but on occasion little things tend to pop up to remind you that you don’t exactly reside in The Ritz.

The other day, the light over the Advertising Manager’s desk blew. But rather than plunging us into respectable and temporary darkness, the fluorescent light started blinking ominously. And nothing quite says CRACK DEN or SEEDY MOTEL like a blinking light. The man responsible for fixing such things was away for the week – enjoying a well-earned holiday – leaving us to contend with Ol’ Blinky, and its Crack Den associations, for the best part of a week (and it doesn’t exactly inspire your finance person to jump on the phone and bellow ‘Hi! Would you like to buy a full page ad?’ whilst Chuckles the Friendly Hobo squats in the corner asking to bum your last Durrie. So to speak.)

Such incidents are inherent to the charm and camaraderie that comes with close quarters, and this little blinking soul suddenly summoned an old memory.

As lovingly mocking as I may be of our dwellings, the BMA office of now is a veritable paradise compared to that of some five years ago. This magazine used to be run out of an office that would give a tissue box an ego, and was equipped with the same light fixtures. You know the type I’m talking about; a long luminescent strip with the bulky plastic shell that – despite having no conceivable entryway – manages to accumulate all manner of flies, moths and various other as-yet-undiscovered species. These airborne cretins, finally deciding that they’ve had their fill of aimlessly buzzing around, knocking amusingly into closed windows and pooing magnificently on all manner of human food, make their way inside the light fixture, buzz in an incessant death rattle for anything from five minutes to six months before finally fluttering off this mortal coil, leaving their shiny shelled thorax behind.

Concurrent to this, and despite the close quarters, some impossibly exuberant games of indoor cricket were held. I was the Editor at the time and I invited my then Advertising Manager Mark Russell to join in, but he was determined to actually bring in enough money to justify the printing of the next issue. So the mantel fell to Gig Guide Editor Peter Krbavac. Pete sent down a crafty in-swinger, which I thwacked with great gusto high into the air. At least, it would have been high into the air, had a very low hanging ceiling not been there. Instead, it smashed into the plastic shell of the light fixture, successfully dislodging it, and sending it crashing on top of the poor unsuspecting and extremely hard working Mark. Who was part way through making an important sales call.

The inconvenience of receiving a hard plastic shell to the head whilst in the midst of a revenue-generating telecommunique is bad enough; showering a graveyard of nasties upon him was the putrefied icing to the shit cake. Mark is one of the most fun-loving, easy-going people I know. But with the bodies of 137 odd flies now outlining his ample shoulders and smouldering head like fresh snow dotting The Brindabellas, he wasn’t happy.

Me and Pete were, though; uncontrollably howling with silent laughter lest the potential client hear us. Tears rivered down our cheeks; Mark made the sale. How we got that issue out I don’t know.

So you can keep your virgin-teared waterfalls. The BMA office may not be The Ritz but it’s home, dammit, and I wouldn’t swap it, or the wonderful people within its wacky walls, for anything.

ALLAN SKO - allan@bmamag.com

Fabriclive 58

Despite being one of the pioneers of the D&B scene and overseer of the mighty Metalheadz label, Clifford “Goldie” Price – now 44 (turning 45 on September 19) – has been relatively quiet on the release front. It could be due to the recent birth of his second child. Perhaps it’s preparation for his imminent Aussie tour. Or it may be due to preventing ravenous rioters from pilfering his tasty beats. With a new album on the horizon and this, a new mix for the formidable Fabriclive series, the gold-teethed D&B baron is very much back. In June he told London’s Time Out magazine that he wants “to move ahead, to celebrate that I don’t need to be dark, I don’t need to be light, I just wanna do something with the energy that I feel right now – and I feel good.”

This philosophy radiates throughout this excellent mix, and much though I despise the term ‘journey’ (thanks largely to reality TV) that’s exactly what this is – starting with insistent strings, squelchy D&B-esque techno and earnest vocal of Rido’s Twisted; moving into pure Metalheadz territory with Lensman and Need for Mirrors; seeing old school beats meet sinister synth with DJ Fresh and Hazard; guiding it into vocal/lighter territory with A Sides and dBridge; taking a brief detour into bass territory right at the end before ending with J Majik plus well known favourites from Commix (Be True) and the classic Timeless from the man himself. At 70 mins it’s not a moment too long and provides a wonderful exploration of what D&B has to offer – an excellent intro to the initiated, or a timely reminder to the veteran.

Dance Festival All Our Friends At Night Announced

Dance festival All Our Friends makes a triumphant return on Friday September 23 by lovingly stripping the best of Parklife and sexing the line-up further with the cream of the Canberra DJing crop. Voted runner-up for Best Event in 2010’s inthemix poll, the brand returns as All Our Friends At Night and features crossover disco-house-come-dubstep-pop wonder Example, the big electro beats of America’s Wolfgang Gartner, the smashing dubstep of UK duo Nero (pictured) and the glitchy house/breaks stomp of Canada’s MSTRKRFT, as well as locals Offtapia, Peking Duk and Cheese. First release tickets are on sale Monday August 22 from Moshtix and cost $69.95 + bf. Second release will cost $79.95 + bf.

The Drones Kickstart New Tour in Canberra

The Drones will be kicking off their A Thousand Mistakes National Tour with jolly old Canberra on Friday October 7 at the ANU Bar. In support of their new Live DVD, Australia’s swampy rock ‘n’ roll quartet are cranking up the touring juice even further with the addition of the ever lovely Adalita.

A Thousand Mistakes has been recorded in 5.1 surround sound for DVD and will be released with an accompanying limited edition of vinyl for collectors, released September 16. It features an intimate live session of rarely played songs from their career that spans over 13 years and five studio albums, including tracks Stop Dreaming, The Best You Can Believe In, Work For Me and Cold and Sober. It also includes a full live show at iconic Melbourne venues, East Brunswick Club, filmed in 2010, and a bonus disc full of live footage filmed all over the world between 2005-2010. Much for ‘Drones fans to dribble over it seems.

Tickets for the Friday October 7 ANU Bar gig are $28 + bf from www.ticketek.com.au and are available from August 11. Doors open 8pm.

From the Bossman

Ladies and gentlemen, this issue I am dedicating my column space to the seemingly humble, well used, yet potentially dangerous piece of modern bastardised punctuation... The Smiley Winky Face ;). Or SWF for those short on time.

The SWF’s construct is a simple one, bringing together two well used pieces of classic punctuation for potent effect. These pieces on their own are harmless enough. The simple semicolon is a wonderful grammatical tool; allowing you to break up a sentence, build on a point, and simultaneously jackknife away from it. And without a closed parenthesis... ) ...writers would never be able to end their rambling asides (a fact that wouldn’t bother erstwhile And Another Thing columnist Scott Adams one bit having said that; a man who loves a big rambling aside almost as much as he enjoys $4 pints of Stella Artois but, of course, I digress...) But their illicit, across-the-state-border marriage by some unknown digital gadabout some 15 odd years ago has created a simple emoticon that has likely drummed up more sex, sackings, and divorce than any other form of punctuation in human history.

In the various daily personal and professional missives that make up life one likes to inject and project a certain enthusiasm and verve to keep things interesting. Nothing achieves this better than the exclamation mark or the standard smiley face. That said, I judiciously restrict myself to one exclamation mark and/or one smiley face per missive, because let’s face it! Any more than that! And you look a bit mental!!!! :) :) I very rarely use the SWF. And I’ll tell you for why.

The Smiley Winky Face is the most suggestive emoticon ever put to digital paper. I put forward for your observation and musing the following two sentences; the kind most likely being feverishly tapped out by people the world over as we speak:

Be a bit late, just grabbing some milk :)

Be a bit late, just grabbing some milk ;)

The first suggests a standard everyday occurrence, the kind of rushed text a man may send to his beloved wife on the way home from work to alert her to a late arrival home due to lovingly and thoughtfully restocking the fridge with one of life’s essentials. The second suggests anything from a euphemism for male self pleasure to some sort of code for scoring cocaine or even a sordid suggestion that the milk will play an insidious part in some sort of pseudo German fetish game (this is Canberra after all). The difference? You guessed it.

The SWF is the duke of double-entendre, the lighter of lawsuits, the summoner of sexual innuendo. By latching itself onto the end of a sentence, the SWF can warp the meaning of just about anything - I’m just going to powder my nose, Do you know what I mean?, How are you?, Would you like to come over?... The list goes on. Hell, pop a ;) on the end of ‘I’m just going to the toilet’ and you might as well just come out and say ‘I’m just going to have a wank.’

Many of us know its potency. I don’t think there’s an adult human alive in 2011 that hasn’t used the ol’ ;) for sly, suggestive purposes. In fact, I would bet dollars to donuts that many of you are in relationships thanks in part to a well executed SWF somewhere along the way. But a lot of people use the SWF in an innocent fashion, often not realising the potent suggestive gunpowder they’re stuffing into their missive. And being only a keystroke away from each other, a lot of poor folk accidentally place a sordid ;) instead of an innocent smiley face. ‘I’ll stay back late and get that work done. ;)’ to your boss is a law suit waiting to happen.

If you’re ever tempted to slap in a SWF - and I’m not suggesting you ban them from your repertoire - try this out first. Say the sentence out loud, and physically wink afterwards. Creepy? I thought so.

So type carefully my well-meaning scribes, and wield your SMF with due care lest you end up in a situation you’d rather not be in. Know what I mean? ;)

ALLAN “WINK-WINK” SKO

Com Truise

My wife once knew a man who lived with his Mum – probably still does – and had an obsession with keyboards (of the musical variety, you understand). He filled every available and unavailable nook and cranny of his long-suffering mother’s house with keyboards from across the ages until the word ‘home’ could have been more accurately replaced with the word ‘museum’. A synth museum, if you will. If I was to discover that my troubled wife’s friend was, in fact, New Jersey electronic chameleon Com Truise I would not be surprised. The man loves synths. I mean loves synths. And his fabulously titled Galactic Melt could indeed be described as a synth museum. The world is a much richer place for it.

Describing himself as producing “mid-fi synth-wave, slow motion funk”, Seth “Truise” Haley has at the very least created something truly mesmerising, music that paradoxically uses all the hallmarks of the ‘80s – synths, 808 drums, more synths – to create something futuristic. This is mind music, akin to spinning through 2001: A Space Odyssey’s psychedelic ‘through the infinite’. Haley’s sound smacks of Boards of Canada – with its cloudy synths, scrapes, blips and bleeps; VHS Sex sounds like a forgotten BoC B-side – and as a rabid fan, praise doesn’t come higher than that. But he has crafted his own synthy beast that’s both an affectionate nod to the past and a bold step into the future. Take one listen to Flightwave and be converted.

Child of Eden

Child of Eden

Developer: Q Entertainment

Platform: 360, PS3

Length: 5 – 50 hours (depending on your drug of choice)

Rating: Rather than good-not-great, it’s great-not-brilliant

Ten long years ago, Japanese developer Tetsuya Mizuguchi unleashed Rez on an unsuspecting gaming world, an artsy romp that took the dull concept of a rail-based shooter and spiced the hell out of it by making it an interactive music ping fest that kept gamers, and their neighbours, up past 2am for many a month. Objects fly at you, you shoot them before they wear down your power bar, and every time you hit them a cymbal/hand clap/synth/snare is introduced to the backing track. By the end of the level, you’re bathed in a fist-pumping club cacophony. It was wonderful. It still is wonderful. Ten years on and we finally have the follow up… Child of Eden.

Rather hilariously Wikipedia describes Child of Eden as “a rhythm action game”, a perfect description for a lonely fanboy Friday night. By this they mean the game utilises the Kinect, throwing you into the psychedelic environment that is part internet part outer space where you use your left hand for rapid-fire gun play and right hand for lock on missile action*, zapping nasties in order to save Lumi, who apparently holds all knowledge about the Earth… Or some crap. The “storyline” is unimportant. It’s the same game, but vastly jazzed up.

Now I’m going to put my head on the chopping block of public opinion and boldly claim – as a game, I prefer Rez, despite the brilliant movement interaction and vastly improved visuals. Needless to say, Child of Eden is spectacular in the visuals department; there’s a section towards Level 1’s end where you shoot orange squares out of a transparent tower, with each one introducing a vocal snippet over a pumping trance soundtrack… Euphoric, emotional, awesome. But it’s all pumping trance. Every level. Brilliant for those 2am fleet-of-foot and wide-of-pupil trance soldiers, but not so much for everyone else. Rez switched it up, ending fabulously with Adam Freeland’s Fear (check out the Rez 10 minute mix on YouTube). And the game is paradoxically short in overall length but long per level, taking between 10-15 minutes per “world”. Fail right at the end, it’s all the way back to the start for you, which is a drain.

So it’s crap? Absolutely not. Provided you live in the same dwelling as ten years ago, this will still annoy the same neighbours all over again, with added “Ow! You smacked me in the face!” interjections that the Kinect provides. But with a varied soundtrack and a bit more longevity injected into the overall game structure, this would have been perfect. But don’t listen to me; try it out for yourself. ALLAN SKO

*yes, it’s as hot as it sounds, ladies.

Com Truise

My wife once knew a man who lived with his Mum – probably still does – and had an obsession with keyboards (of the musical variety, you understand). He filled every available and unavailable nook and cranny of his long-suffering mother’s house with keyboards from across the ages until the word “home” could have been more accurately replaced with the word “museum”. A synth museum, if you will. If I was to discover that my troubled wife’s friend was, in fact, New Jersey electronic chameleon Com Truise I would not be surprised. The man loves synths. I mean loves synths. And his fabulously titled Galactic Melt could indeed be described as a synth museum. The world is a much richer place for it.

Describing himself as producing “mid-fi synth-wave, slow motion funk”, Seth “Truise” Haley has at the very least created something truly mesmerising, music that paradoxically uses all the hallmarks of the‘80s – synths, 808 drums, more synths – to create something futuristic. This is mind music, akin to spinning through 2001 A Space Odyssey’s psychedelic ‘through the infinite’. Haley’s sound smacks of Boards of Canada – with its cloudy synths, scrapes, blips and bleeps; VHS Sex sounds like a forgotten BoC B-side – and as a rabid fan, praise doesn’t come higher than that. But he has crafted his own synthy beast that’s both an affectionate nod to the past and a bold step into the future. Take one listen to Flightwave and be converted.

ALLAN SKO

Jimmy Barnes Taken Ill

Jimmy Barnes' relentless touring schedule may have finally caught up with the great man, after being taken ill around lunchtime yesterday (Tues July 26) and forced to visit doctors. Initial concerns that his problems may relate to his heart and may require hospitalisation thankfully proved unfounded.

However, doctors have advised that he must have four weeks of total rest and recuperation.

As the press release from Ferris Davies PR states:

"Unfortunately this has necessitated cancellation and postponement of some solo engagements planned between now and the end of August. 

Jimmy recently completed a gruelling European tour and returned to Australia just in time for the launch of Cold Chisel's tour last week. He had been battling a lingering viral flu for some time.

He is expected to make a full recovery in plenty of time to begin rehearsals with Cold Chisel in September for their October tour [hitting Canberra's AIS Arena on November 17 - for the ticket pre-order list, click here].

"I hate to cancel shows and over the years I've very rarely done it", says Jimmy. "Sorry to anyone who's been let down by this but I'll be back on deck in a few weeks time.""

We wish Mr Barnes a full and speedy recovery.

There really is an app for everything...

It's amazing what the iPhone can do these days...

Push It! Foreshore 2011 Line-Up Announced

The Foreshore 2011 line-up has finally been announced and what a crazy, eclectic one it is too. With six distinctly non-dance acts included, it’s fair to say the Foreshore folk are continuing their smart shift from an all-dance event into a more varied affair (a move signaled by last year’s decision to have The Temper Trap as headliner). In the current uncertain climate for dance – the failure of We Love Sounds festival, the closure of beloved dance street press 3D World – this comes across as a shrewd move. And who could argue with the chance to hear Wally De Backer (Gotye) belt out song of the year Somebody I Used to Know? Not to mention Salt N Frickin’ Pepa.

What do you think of this year’s line-up? Let us know in the Comments section below.

Foreshore 2011

Armin Van Buuren

LMFAO

PNAU

Ladyhawke

Afrojack

Gotye

Architecture in Helsinki

Boy & Bear

Gypsy & The Cat

Avicii

Salt N Pepa

Annie Mac

Datsik

Stafford Brothers & Timmy Trumpet

Kid Kenobi

Bombs Away

ShockOne

Glovecats

+ more to be announced

Tix are on sale midday Monday July 25 by subscribing to KicksEntertainment.com.au which allows access to member tickets and gives you the jump on the GP (that’s general public to you non acronymical types).

Otherwise, general tix are on sale at 9am Thursday July 28 from foreshorefestival.com.au, moshtix.com.au, Parliament Clothing, Landspeed Records, kicksentertainment.com.au and ticketek.com.au.

Homebake Makes a Mighty Return With The Classic Edition

Wowee… What a difference a year makes. When Homebake announced that they were skipping 2010, the nation groaned. After all, we know what a “year off” in the festival world really means… It ain’t coming back again. Ever.

It’s never felt so good to be wrong. Homebake is not only making a triumphant return to The Domain at Royal Botanic Gardens in Sydney on Saturday December 3, but they’re bringing a mighty-mighty line-up to boot. “Check this shit out", as I believe the kids say:

Grinderman (Featuring Nick Cave, Warren Ellis, Martyn Casey & Jim Sclavunos pictured)

Pnau

Gotye

Rockwiz Live

Gurrumul

Cut Copy

Icehouse plays Flowers

Ladyhawke

Drapht

Daniel Merriweather

The Triffids

Eskimo Joe

Architecture In Helsinki

The Church

The Vines

Illy

The Jezabels

Kimbra

CW Stoneking

Kids Of 88

Unknown Mortal Orchestra

Papa Vs Pretty

Hungry Kids Of Hungary

Passenger

Killaqueenz

Avalanche City

Vents

Noah Taylor & The Sloppy Boys

Plus more to be announced (including triple j Unearthed Winner)

Tickets are $95 + bf and are on sale Monday August 15 at 9.00am from www.ticketek.com.au, www.homebake.com.au or http://www.oztix.com.au/ . I’ll see you up the front for Grinderman. Or at the bar. Probably at the bar.

Glenn Richards (Augie March) and Dan Luscombe (The Drones) to play Canberra

Glenn Richards of Augie March and Dan Luscombe of The Drones have been great friends and collaborators for many years, ever since meeting backstage at the first of The Church’s famed Last Ever gigs having supported in their respective outfits at the time, Augie March and The Black-Eyed Susans.

Late last year they finally recorded a full length together after many late nights talking about it, and with Chris Richards, Ben Bourke and Mike Noga, delivered the raw, ambitious, destined to be cult album Glimjack, in a cold warehouse in the outer Melbourne suburb of Fairfield.

Of late the pair have been spotted playing shows in venues as disparate as a Perth lawn bowls club and the Mona gallery opening in Berriedale, Hobart. The shows have been extremely well received for their improvisational clout and inspired delivery. 

Having accidentally hit on a formula for rehearsing which amounts to just not rehearsing, they play whatever they feel like, or whatever the crowd asks for (within reason) from the very large catalogue of Augie March and GR solo releases. Audience interaction is frequent and the wit is alternately razor sharp and dull as a Young Liberal comedy revue, but at all times entertaining – if that makes any sense. Like free verse, this is tennis without a net.

In a time when even the most indie of indie acts has a schtick and a walk through, these two talented men bravely, perhaps naively, take the stage armed only with strings and ivories, seasoned voices, candour, and quite a lot of those pesky old things called songs. Come and see when they play at Transit Bar on Sunday September 18. Tix from www.moshtix.com.au .

From the Bossman

This Winter has been a cracker. It’s been proper cold (the mercury could beat Barbados Slim in a limbo contest); a vast grey canopy has perpetually stretched above us; and the air has a sharpness to it that makes everyone walk around with a face like a slapped arse. In short, it’s been the kind of Winter that actually justifies the use of a capital W.

A lot of people don’t like the cold, and to be fair there’s a lot to dislike. Any serious injury you’ve ever received in your life suddenly makes itself keenly known once again, as if it were only yesterday that Uncle Ron’s perfectly middled square cut of a cricket ball gleefully introduced itself to your left testicle. Mornings are hard, having to begrudgingly peel yourself from the serene warmth of your bed into the icy crypt that is the rest of your house, only to embrace the crushingly inevitable kiss of wrinkled feet flesh with icy bathroom tiles. And not to mention that during these months one tends to be more mucus than man.

But we need the cold to appreciate the warmth, to make mulled wine and hot toddys mean something. Juxtaposition after all is the driving force of life; without sadness we wouldn’t know happiness, without illness we wouldn’t know good health and without death blah blah blah art philo-wank you get the idea. In short, all you need to do is approach the cold with a foolhardy Spirit of Adventure, because it makes simple everyday mundane acts into feats of daring, heroic achievement.

I was reclining late one eve with the dear lady wife, when the thought suddenly snapped into my head – as important yet half-remembered thoughts are wont to do at the most inopportune moments – that we had no milk for the morrow’s breakfasting. It was a cold, dark, tempestuous eve, with an icy gale lashing a thin layer of frost over anything it touched. It was enough to make a grown man groan, but fortunately I am not one of those, not mentally at least (massive balls, though… Ladies).

This was an opportunity to rug up as if preparing to battle the South Pole and boldly stride into the cold climes of Canberra to forage some vital milk supplies, and possibly some booze, for the good of the family. I wasn’t Scott of the Antarctic, I was Allan of the Scant Tar Pit (the roads near our house aren’t that great). In summertime this would amount to a simple and, when we factor in the booze, somewhat selfish endeavour. In Winter, it’s god damn heroic. “I’m just going outside,” I said gravely to my wife. “I may be some time.”

I was six minutes.

But what a six minutes it was. People at Skate in the City seem to be embracing this policy. Despite wily winds whipping wickedly at the extremities (occasioning 60kph with a -5 wind chill factor) the rink arena in Garema has been selling like ice cakes. I would argue those who embraced those Armageddon-y* climes can attest to two things – a) the excitement and 2) how awesome it was to get warm again, and feel the fiery embrace of a mulled wine in the belly.

So go forth, my little Biggie Shackletons of Canberra. Take the power back, embrace the chill, if only to appreciate how lovely it will be to feel your fucking toes once again.

*it’s a word, look it up… Actually no, please don’t look it up just take my word for it.

Ice Cube Plays Canberra

Rap legend Ice Cube, member of the notorious West Coast N.W.A crew and Hollywood dabbler (he was in Three Kings, remember?), will be touring Australia this September, and Canberra has landed a Friday gig to boot. The tour is being brought over by Hip Hop TV, MTV Classic and the amusingly named Kokyprik Records, the same folk responsible for the very-well-attended Canberra Bone, Thugs N Harmony gig mid 2010. The Cube will also have fellow Westside Connection member WC by his side and there are unconfirmed rumours that DJ Crazy Toones and one of his sons will also perform (no doubt he’ll be a chip off the old block a yuk yuk yuk). It all plays out at the AIS Arena on Friday September 16. Tickets are on sale now from Ticketek and will set you back 88 ducats + bf. Click here for the ticket sale page.

L.A. Noire

L.A. Noire

Developer: Bondi Games

Platform: 360, PS3

Length: 18 hours

Rating: Try it, be disappointed

O, I wanted to love this game. How I wanted to love this game. And for what it’s worth, it seems everyone else out there loves this game.

When the previews for L.A. Noire came out months back – a hard-boiled detective piece utilising ultra-slick facial capture technology – excitement was high. Start as a beat cop, chase down perps, interrogate them, solve crimes, move up the ranks, and all the while spit-balling with a variety of partners, seemingly played by every actor from Mad Men minus Jon Hamm, across multiple departments. It was going to be a Monkey Island slash Broken Sword slash Day of the Tentacle but with a Grand Theft Auto style free-roaming environment with violence to boot. I mean shit, what’s not to love?

I tell you what’s not to love. Free-roaming environment? Pffft, that’s a laugh. On the surface – and what a shiny, realistic surface it is – you have the vast expanse of 1940s LA to explore, replete with all the cars, stores and people of the era. But scratch away just an insy bit and you have one of the most linear games I’ve played in years. From the start L.A Noire firmly takes you by the hand and leads you directly where you need to go – pick up this piece of evidence, talk to that man, go to this location, repeat ad nauseam. Yes, there are side missions (street crimes) and trophies to be awarded (speeding without crashing, tackling a perp on asphalt) but these are vanilla compared to the bounty of treasures in the GTA series.

Collecting evidence is so skull-fuckingly dull and time-consuming, and music cues tell you when you’ve nabbed everything, thereby removing all challenge. The key feature of the game – the interrogations – is undoubtedly the highlight, and some of the facial capturing is indeed startling to behold (they’ve done a particularly good job with Micky Cohen). But even here a confusing system lets it down. After hearing an answer, you can choose Truth, Doubt or Lie and you’re meant to read the character’s facial cues to decide which it is. So often, a truthful character’s face will spazz out as if a bee has suddenly entered their private area, and it’s so hard to distinguish between Truth and Doubt that you often get it wrong – “I may or may not have once maybe kinda been near or not near the vicinity of the crime” – Truth, Doubt or Lie? I choose Doubt – wrong, asshole, it was Truth, now you’ve scared the witness. Doesn’t matter though; you’ll still progress through the game.

And this is the main problem; you’re led so sternly from one scenario to the next that if you fail, you’re hardly punished, and if you succeed, it’s because you’ve been gifted the progress on a platter thus utterly removing any sense of achievement for the player (which, last time I checked, was one of the kickers of playing games).

I’m being so harsh because this could have been so good, one of the great games of the decade. And while there is much here for future developers to build upon – the acting and facial tracking for instance – years in development hell has turned out a very disappointing release. Give me Monkey Island any day.

ALLAN SKO

Balance 19 - Mixed by Henry Saiz - [530db]

Balance is a force to be reckoned with; consistently brilliant and mesmerising even as we start to eye off the mighty two-oh in the mix series. Much like the equally revered Fabric compilations, the series’ strength is self-perpetuating, with each excellent release adding further pressure on the incumbent artist to not simply avoid fucking the whole thing up, but to actually create something soaring, effervescent and better than the last. But unlike Fabric, which draws in pioneers from every dance music genre under the sun, Balance remains firmly in the prog-house pantheon, tightening the vice even further for the hapless starlets of the sub-genre to deliver. Sheesh.

If Spain’s Henry Saiz was nervous at the prospect, he certainly hasn’t shown it, stepping up by delivering two mixes of sublime beauty and purpose. With a modus operandi of “exploring how music has the power to contain and store personal emotional experiences”, Saiz has created a modern yet lo-fi sound through varying analogue, 303 mixes and edits that is both unique and otherworldly.

The blending is seamless and long, the pacing perfect, and with such effort put into the whole it seems unfair to track select. But the stirring closers encapsulate each respective mix perfectly – CD1’s Uroboros by Saiz & Pional and CD2’s Nodo 6 by Sistema (Saiz Balance Rework)… If the sound of a computer game in medieval times excites you, you’re in luck (and just wait for those drums). The brilliance is continued on this excellent series; I feel sorry for whoever is lined up for Balance 20… But I sure as shit am looking forward to it. ALLAN SKO

Godskitchen 2011 Double Pass

Godskitchen – the historic, internationally renowned trance festival – is back to soundtrack more feet-shuffling and shapes-throwing than ever before, playing out from 10pm to 6am at Sydney Hordern Pavilion on Sunday October 2. For the last 14 years, the juggernaut has been travelling to Australian shores and delivering unforgettable arena parties. Featuring massive line-ups sparkling with the world’s biggest DJ stars, and boasting awe-inspiring décor, world-class lighting/laser racks and state-of-the-art effects; ‘GK’ events (as they’re affectionately known) have become a deliciously regular and highly-anticipated fixture on the clubbing calendar.

This year Godskitchen and Future Entertainment are teaming up and getting back to basics with the halcyon nights of GK’s past. No White theme, no Boombox, no 3D … just four of the most meteoric Trance DJs in the Milky Way – Marco V, Richard Durand, John Askew and Ben Gold.

Tickets are $55 + bf on sale 9am Wednesday July 13 through www.ticketek.com.au

but you can beat the queue and save some cash by winning a double pass. To win, email editorial@bmamag.com and tell us your go-to dance move. For updates, head to www.futureentertainment.com.au .

Three Double Passes to Skipping Girl Vinegar at The Street Theatre

Up-and-coming indie darlings Skipping Girl Vinegar will be gracing the stage of The Street Theatre on Friday July 8 in support of their highly anticipated sophomore album Keep Calm, Carry the Monkey. Keep Calm, Carry the Monkey is a darker, full swing of moods that breaks wide open the hobo pop revelation the band hinted at on their critically acclaimed debut and features a special guest performance from legendary singer/songwriter Ron Sexsmith (Canada). Rich with sonic landscapes, melodies, and lyrical turns along with the band’s undeniably classic sing-along choruses these must see shows are more than a musical experience. Tickets are available for the all ages show from thestreet.org.au or on 02 6247 1223, but we have three doubles to throw your way, beloved readers. All you need do is email editorial@bmamag.com, and tell us what the origin of the band’s name is.

Five Copies of Blue Valentine on DVD

Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams come together in Blue Valentine, a romantic drama that follows the intense relationship between a couple who fall passionately in love in their early twenties, and then face challenges to their marriage six years later. Dean (Gosling) and Cindy (Williams) are parents of a beloved child but their relationship has seen better days as they struggle with the demands and expectations of work and family life. At breaking point, but flooded with romantic memories of their courtship, the couple steals away to a hotel; they have one night to try to rekindle their passion, and save their marriage. If that sounds like your bag, baby, then you’re in luck as we have five copies on DVD to win. For your chance to nab one, email editorial@bmamag.com and tell us an amusing story of failed romance.

To see a trailer for the film, head here - http://www.madman.com.au/catalogue/view/15002

Three Double Passes to Regurgitator @ ANU Bar

Long-time, much-loved Aussie music chameleons Regurgitator are back once again on their Annual Sailor tour, lighting up the ANU on Sunday August 14 with special guests from New Zealand Disasteradio, as well as local heroes Super Best Friends. With the amount of performance energy each group brings to the stage, this is sure to be a fist-pumper of an eve. Tix are $30.95 + bf from Ticketek (www.ticketek.com.au) or Oztix (regurgitator.oztix.com.au) but we have three double passes for the show to giveaway. To win, email editorial@bmamag.com and tell us what your fave Gurge track is and why.

In the meantime, remind yourself why Regurgitator are so great with this step back in time.

Steve Mason & Dennis Bovell - Ghosts Outside - [Domino]

Former Beta Band-er Steve Mason dished up one of the best albums of 2010 with Boys Outside, delighting us all with ten songs brimming with emotional honesty and melodic beauty. Here, we are delivered a rather curious offering in the form of a complete album overhaul, with Barbados born Matumbi member Dennis Bovell giving all the tracks a dub rerub. With Ghosts Outside Bovell keeps Mason’s melodies largely intact, extends the running time and infuses the echoes, horns and 80bpm bump synonymous with the genre. The result is a largely enjoyable affair, with an ‘if’ caveat. Letter Dub and Yesterday Dub have the effortless cool that made The Good, The Bad and The Queen so enjoyable but, and this sounds obvious, you need to really love the dub genre to enjoy this. The strip back denies some of the original magic of Boys Outside, with Mason’s beautiful vocals taking a bit of a backseat and many of the beloved emotional peaks and troughs somewhat flattened out into the rolling dub style; Dub Position whilst certainly not bad does come across as a bit flat, whereas opener Lost And Dub pushes a little too far, with the drop veritably screaming “Look! It’s a dub remix!” with its abundance of echoes and horns. But this said, this is a worthy addition to the canon, so if you like yer dub, then rub your nub on this bub. (What does that even mean!? – Ed.) 

From the Bossman

“Poets claim that we recapture for a moment the self that we were long ago when we enter some house or garden in which we used to live in our youth. But these are most hazardous pilgrimages, which end as often in disappointment as in success. It is in ourselves that we should rather seek to find those fixed places, contemporaneous with different years...” - Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time.

Jeez, these lit-er-rare-ee types can get heavy, eh? Although Prousty there does have a bit of a point. As daring and exhilarating as it seems to cross the far reaches of the globe with your family to start another life, when my ten year old frame was dragged howling lupine-like across the Pacific all those years ago, I was devastated to be leaving behind the friends I had awkwardly accumulated in my own little Tatooine-like dustbowl of Kambah*. Now, with Lady Hindsight coyly winking at me, I couldn’t be happier I spent time abroad, for now I had a place of Past to step back in to, a gleeful gaggle of friends to reconnect with, and my very own family to drag howling across the ocean to show off.

You may recall last issue I was in England for the purpose of a mate’s wedding. Much of the trip was indeed hazardous. Needing to obtain an overseas mobile, or “burner” to use the argot of Baltimore drug pushers, saw me search like some alabaster Stringer Bell for a temp phone. Fortunately, the British Museum was kind enough to give me lend of Britain’s Oldest Working Phone, the next model up from the Nokia Two-Tin-Cans-And-A-Piece-Of-String. Add to this, being in England makes you feel young. Spending so much time in Australia - a country that contextually is not even out of its nappies - it’s easy to forget just how terribly old everything is in England. Everything is made of stone. Even the wood is made of stone. Whereas here we proudly boast that something “Was Established in 1973” with the kind of hushed, revered tone that suggests even Jesus Christ himself could have been at the grand opening, in England something made in 1600 is still considered fresh out of the box. I could go on, but at risk of boring you with an extensive travelogue, here’s an abridged version of the trip highlights:

The Plane Trip There - 25 hours with a six month old. Brilliant

Wedding - great, although I nearly blurted out “He’s a massive bummer!” when the priest asked “If you know any reason why these two should not be wed...”, prevented only by a well placed shin kick by the dear lady wife

Bristol - lots of stone

Oxford - more stone

Stonehenge - stones in a field

Best Bit - my daughter becoming so excited by penguin feeding time at London Zoo that onlookers started watching her instead of the feast

Worst Bit - having my lunch stolen by a penguin

The Plane Trip Back - five children decided they’d pass the time by indulging in a good ol’ fashioned game of ‘Who Can Scream The Loudest’. In the end, I won.

So was returning to the grounds of memory a disappointing pilgrimage, as the wise Marcel-Balls suggested it may be? Well... No. Just in the same way returning to the bitter cold of Canberra is not disappointing. Because, damn it, people are our fixed places, and my people in England and my people here in Canberra make me feel joyfully contemporaneous. Whatever the hell that means. ALLAN SKO - allan@bmamag.com

*And I really did know how to bullseye womp rats, but you don’t want to know what that means in a Kambah context. Really. You don’t.

The Best in Bass Music July 2011

Here are some mo' tune recommendations for you lovely people to help bop away the winter chill:

Darq E Freaker - Cherryade - monster carnival grime tune. The Sinden edit with Wakka Flokka Flame accapella on top is also massive - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5XJelTZ73tA

Bosstone - Carlton Banks - duttty rave bizness that I can't wait to play out at the right moment - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1GjEeghQ2u4

Brenmar - So High - juke house - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s_0OqlyirHo

Dexter - Space Booty - big old school electro banger, not the Aussie dexter, the Danish one - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hI2bI3ZMXdM

Arkist - Trapped In Trivoli - fifty kinds of dope with a choppy dubstep guitar riff, did major damage on the dancefloor when I played it, kids had their horns up haha - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXePEX-lhD4

Bass Clef - Rollercoaster Of The Heart - pure bliss outta Bristol - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ke-evY-PBIU&feature=related

Beaumont - Tokyo - slow mo psychedelia - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ukhpSzh4oCA

Jon Convex - Falling Again - one half of Instra:Mental on the solo flex - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wb0Ux9Ygwf4

Instra:Mental - User - dirty old school analog electro sonics - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KeWuRO7RF6c

Blawan - Getting Me Down - tune of the year? - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2RJy2-F2irA

Jacques Greene - Another Girl - my other tune of the year haha - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=79J58LlPiAg

Midland - Through Motion - beauaaaaautiful - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y-omxiOL5YQ

SCB - Loss - even more beaaaaautiful - best proper house tune I've heard this year - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=haktFVAuyXU

Photek - Cecconi - MASSSSSSIVE slow mo punch a fool in the face ish - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wCcwcUOte3o

Teeth - Shawty - I don't even know what to call this but by jove it's good http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lSOV3LnL_0k

Tha Realness July

The next releases to get local distro through Obese Records is from Adelaide’s Mase N Mattic.  Their album is due on 15 July and comes to the people with a fresh Suffa co-sign.  The fellas are joined by DJ Adfu on the wheels of steel and have held down support slots for the ‘Hoods, Drapht, Funkoars, Urthboy and Phrase as well as joining M-Phazes on his ‘Good Gracious’ tour.  Their LP ‘Sound The Horns’ was recorded in Byron Bay and features production from Trials, Debate and Mattic.  Check it out on ‘pon its release on 15^th.  Big things on the horizon for Mase N Mattic I’m sure.

Former Canberrean Dekoda has just dropped a new EP of his original hip-hop style.  Now relocated to Melbourne, Dekoda continues his obsession of all things grimey, dirty and downtrodden with this latest release.  He is a gentleman however, and is giving the release away to the people for the price of nil.  Grab a copy and support at http://dekodacrodent.bandcamp.com.
Debonaire P from Low Budget has also just released a vinyl LP of remixes he’s put together.  Limited to 150 copies at $20 + postage you better get cracking before these limited edition wax nuggets are all snapped up.  For non vinyl heads, free download details and audio previews are up at http://gentlemansrelief.blogspot.com/2011/06/debonair-p-remixes-lp-limited-vinyl.html.
There’s some long awaited and dope o/s hip-hop touching down at the moment from some of the game’s true legends.  Pete Rock has teamed up with Smif-N-Wessun for the ‘Monumental’ LP.  Entirely produced by Pete Rock, the album has dropped on Duck Down (one of the most on-form hip-hop labels still doing it) and features a dream line-up of Raekwon, Styles P, Sean Price, Memphis Bleek, Rock, Bun B, Freeway, Jahdan Blakkamore, Buckshot, Black Rob and more.  The preview snippets sound dope and can’t wait to peep the full LP.  Also just released on Duck Down is the highly anticipated from your favourite producer’s fave producer Black Milk.  Milk has teamed up with Sean Price and Guilty Simpson under the Random Axe moniker for a full length of heavy Detroit-style boom-bap.  The album features all the usual Black Milk affiliates in Fat Ray, Melanie Rutherford, Danny Brown, Fatt Father, Rock and Trick Trick.  Destined to be one of the years top hip-hop releases.
Sandboxautomatic has made available a number of previously ‘hard to find’ classic releases on CD reissue for those younger heads who missed out on these slices of hip-hop legend.  Nice & Smooth’s 1994 self titled album, D-Nice’s 1990 classic ‘Call Me D-Nice’ and King Sun’s impossible to find ‘XL’ album, previously released in 1989.  The releases have all been remastered and have been repackaged.  Dope.  Get on these peoples.
Over to more bass heavy stylings now and the news that Juke pioneer DJ Diamond is the next on Planet Mu to showcase his 160bpm flex after DJ Nate and DJ Roc.  His ‘Flight Muzik’ LP is due out in August.  Modeselektor are preppin’ the debut full length release of Cosmin TRG on their 50 Weapons imprint for late August.  Cosmin has moved away from his dubstep trappings of late with a series of excellent deeper house and techno explorations.  His LP ‘Simulat’ will continue this trend and explore intricately programmed 4/4 tempos over warm the warm beds of bass that have become so indicative of his productions.
London bad bwoy Distance is the next don of bass lined up to mix the Dubstep Allstars Series.  His Vol. 8 mix will showcase his passion for deep dark bass music and feature the likes of Cyrus, Vivek, J:Kenzo, Lx One, Kryptic Minds, Tunnige, Distance himself and much more.  And finally this month, is the news that Shlohmo is returning with his first LP proper with ‘Bad Vibes’ on Friends Of Friends.  Following on from his excellent ‘Shlomoshun Deluxe’ EPs, ‘Bad Vibes’ will further showcase his beautifully melancholic take on downbeat instrumental hip-hop and experimental electronica.  Word is that dude dropped out of college to make this LP so make sure you support him when it drops.  Keep an eye out for his free remix EP that he just dropped too features reworks of Kelis, Gucci Mane and Wakka Flokka Flame. It’s amazing, trust me.  Until next fortnight, be good now ya hear.
To hear music from all these artists, releases and much more, tune to The Antidote every Tues night from 9:30 – 11pm or stream at www.2xxfm.org.au

Roshambo

roshambizzle@yahoo.com.au

Champ! Champ!

Scoops Callahan - a 1920s style reporter - turns up to sports interviews and dazzles the poor unsuspecting talent.

From the Bossman

I have wrested the golden fleece from the Hydra, thrown the One True Ring into the fires of Mount Doom, and have returned - via the treacherous path of international air travel - home once more.

By that I mean I have just got back from a month long jaunt around England with my wife and daughter, and ooo-my-my what an epic journey that was. People labouring under the misapprehension that life loses all excitement when you have children should try ratcheting up the thrill levels to 11 by indulging in a 30 hour plane trip with a six month old. WILD. You can keep your alcopops and party drugs; that’s real all night action, baby.

I am a proud (yes, proud) Canberran born and raised (on the playground is where I spent most of my days), but due to my Dad’s stoic stint in the world of international film preservation and insatiable lust to further the career, our family’s path found me soaking up the thrills, spills and teeth of Ol’ Blightey between the ages of ten and 18. And so, with my dear English mate Dilds’ wedding as the catalyst, I keenly uprooted the family, stuffed them into a tiny plane cabin and exposed them to the kind of food a hobo would disdainfully scrape from their well-worn boots, all so I could show them off to my old friends and check out the hallowed grounds where wee-Allan eventually became not-so-wee-but-still-quite-wee Allan. And considering Dilds came all the way out for our wedding last year, I owed the toadying bastard one.

It’s been eight long years since I’ve been back and, as alluded to last issue, a lot has changed. The country doesn’t have much money any more, a fact evidenced by friends being out of work, and an unnerving event where our hotel of residence went into administration on the second day of our stay. Perhaps the ruinous nature of the country’s beautiful-to-the-touch yet easy to destroy paper money has finally caught up to them, or it could be the ploughing of all the sovereign funds into their cricket team. But in the wake of The Ashes, every poverty stricken cricket lover of England would argue - over a pint, and to the death - that it’s worth it.

But a lot hasn’t changed. There’s a wonderfully strange surreality summoned by returning to a place so crucial in one’s childhood. Where once a place of past perched in the penumbra of memory - greyed by absence and compounded by the march of time - retreading old steps speared the mind with experiences as diaphanous and real as the day they were first rendered. That, and everything looks smaller. My ever-patient wife was treated to a personalised guided tour of my sleepy little town, delivered with possibly a tad too much enthusiasm, and way too much detail.

“Ooo! I bought my first book there!”

“That’s nice dear.”

“Wow! There’s the spot where my parents had to pick up my tequila bloated corpse one night!”

“That’s nice dear.”

“Gosh! There’s the football field where I was first given a...”

“That’s nice, dear.”

And the people haven’t changed, those lovable players in the unwitting guiding, nurturing and often poisoning of the man I am today. Yes we are all fatter, we are all beginning to cultivate strange tufts of hair from our ears, and where once stretched the taut and quivering flesh of youth now hangs the spavined pockmarked skinmap of experience. “Wow! You look exactly like you did at school!” is boldly exchanged whilst trying to not stare at the pedestrian crossing of crows’ feet by the corner of the eyes, not to mention the strange growth on the upper cheek that looks like the sinful discharge of an illicit night of shame between a hairball and a boil. But in essence we’re still the same lovely people; some of us still goofballs, some of us still ne’er do wells, some of us still sexually ambivalent. It had been between eight and 11 years between these people, but it was like I had just popped back from getting the milk… And returned with a baby.

Having just recently lost a dear friend in an overseas tragedy, this early stage of the journey reemphasised to me the importance of friends old and new, the value of taking time out from a work schedule - no matter how busy - to see how they’re going. We’re not here forever after all, and it’s people that make our giddy journey on this spinning ball of wonder called Earth worthwhile.

ALLAN SKO – (Allan’s adventures overseas continue next issue… You poor bastards)

From the Bossman

Well butter my crumpets and call me Roger… A very warm ‘Pip pip’ from Ol’ Blightey my dear readers, where I am currently holidaying with the fam for the purposes of attending an old friend’s wedding. As such, this is an ickle fun-size holiday edition of From the Bossman, with a full, sordid tour diary to come next issue.

Although a proud Canberran born and bred (and you don’t get many of those), I spent my formative years in England and it’s been eight long years since I’ve been back. A lot has changed – there’s now only 37 quid knocking about in the entire country; there’s a national air of smugness about the cricket; and all my old teachers are… well… old. And a lot hasn’t – pubs still have wonderfully ridiculous names (The Ox and Teacup, The Pent Up Aggression, The Bum-swizzler); the English brand drizzly rain covers everything in a light film; and people’s teeth look like one of those wooden sign posts pointing you to 17 different locations in opposite directions.

More next ish you lovely people you, where we will see me grappling with the joys of a 24 hour plane trip with a five-month old child (all the while trying to get responsibly pissed on the complimentary booze), narrowly avoid falling into a canal and at least seven other things. Until then stay well, stay warm and stay awesome.

ALLAN SKO - allan@bmamag.com

From the Bossman

My dear lady wife has improved my life immeasurably in many ways since she snuggled her way into my purview. These colourful things called vegetables now sit aside my usual oil-soaked portion of chips. I no longer smoke (she never nagged me to quit, she just gave me the sad panda eyes enough times… That there’s some powerful shit). I now also possess the semblance of a fashion sense.

During my teen years, I didn’t have much luck with the ladies and, like so many horny emotionally forlorn dribbly poetry-writing teenage boys before me, I could never figure out why. O sure, I had women queuing up to be my bestie, but as soon as the prospect of something further was awkwardly hinted at, I was met with a cartoon-style dust silhouette of their frame.

Hindsight is a magnificent thing, and looking back has highlighted to me one of the major components missing from any self-respecting young buck’s sexual arsenal. The fact I had teeth that could open pickle jars, huge National Health Service glasses that looked as though they could pick up TV channels on Mars and (during one particularly dark chapter of the Sko Visage) a bowl haircut certainly didn’t help, but all this was second to my fashion sense, or complete lack thereof. The seeds were sown early on, when my brother (who will hate me for revealing this) and I used to dress exactly the same. I mean exactly the same. Mum thought it was cute (it was, which was precisely the problem) and our friends at the time were too polite to give us the jolly good thrashing we deserved.

This set up a ‘clothes for functionality, not for aesthetics’ mindset where the rules of colour matching, layering, or indeed simply having more than one item of clothing were gaily cast out of the closet, and replaced with an increasingly moth-eaten off-green jumper, just enough underpants to get through the week without having to turn them inside out and… No, actually that was about all. If it kept me warm, it was a good piece of fashion, which needless to say to you fashionistas reading this is a dangerous mindset. Regardless of how funny, charming and downright lovely you are, no one wants to date someone who looks like Worzel Gummidge. I wasn’t strutting the catwalk, I was lurching along the crapwalk. I was dressed less like a sartorialist and more like a terrorist. I was… Well you get the idea.

Now, thanks to the apple of my eye, I have a bulging suitcase of finery that would put The Mighty Boosh’s Vince Noir to shame. Accessories and belts are no longer things that only gay people wear. Now people are happy to be seen out with me, rather than adopting that ‘I’ve farted and may have just followed through’ scrunched up face of embarrassment that they used to wear. And overall, the confidence levels are up.

So I implore you kids, and indeed wayward adults, to either get yourself a fashion sense, or find a partner who will get one for you. Your friends will hang out with you in public places more often, you’ll feel better, and you might get laid before the age of 35.

ALLAN “JACOBIAN RUFF” SKO

From the Bossman

If social media has taught us anything, it’s that we’re an opinionated race. You won’t catch monkeys whiling away on comment-driven sites (although Chimp facebook* WOULD possibly be the greatest invention ever – OOK haz banana! <BUBBLES likes this>. That does it, I’m sending an email to Zuckerberg).

Back in my day (that is, three weeks ago) we’d just plod through a crappy day, suffer the indiscretions of our boss, be annoyed at our co-workers spoiling the results of the football match we’d taped the previous night, and be perturbed at the old lady counting out her penny jar at the bank thus ruining our precious lunch hour. “How was your day?” your wife/partner/flat mate/gay Pilipino lover would ask at the end of such a day. “Shithouse,” you’d reply. Then you’d get on with the joy of an evening of relaxation.

Now, we’re happy to let fly with the most mundane of personal observations (Allan is having a piece of toast//Allan has finished toast//Allan is experiencing bowel movements) but equally we’re happy to pump the oxygen of publicity to such vacuous commentary. (LOL Did u have with vegemite?//LOL! Totes!) And don’t get me started on the spelling.

I have recently found myself at one of life’s opinion-laden crossroads, being both a father of a four month old who does not make sleep her bedfellow (Dad Joke #4,334) as well as entering the winter flu season. If there are two things in this world that people have an opinion on, it’s getting a child to sleep and how to deal with a cold…

“Oooo, that’s easy! Put your baby down at 6pm on the dot and you’ll be fine, they’ll sleep through the night//Feed them til they vomit just before you put them down, they’ll be apples//Whatever you do don’t feed them before you put them to bed, starve them proper, and they’ll be pearly//Cuddle them close for 57 minutes then bathe the room in a pool of amber light, clap thrice, cite the Lord’s Prayer backwards and you’re set//Add a dab of lavender to milk, run a bath and put an orange in it…”

Ill are you?

“Try echinacea//Try garlic//Eat three//Eat four//For fuck’s sake drink lots of water//Don’t drink excessive water, you ape!//Stand on your head and sip orange juice from a silly straw, the sillier the better//Set yourself on fire and consume the ashes of the clothes you were wearing… It stings a bit, but you’ll forget all about your cold.”

Yup, we all have an opinion, some helpful, some useless, some just ridiculous and social media allows us to eagerly spray our advice like a 12 year old with a super soaker. Our need for validation courses through our veins on a daily basis. But just remember the true purpose of advice my friends; to help others. Whilst many of us can fall into the narcissistic need to be right all the time, the true informational gift bearers are the ones with a genuine desire to give selflessly of their time to help others. Good luck sussing them out. I’m off to map out Chimp facebook; opinions welcomed.

*many would argue this describes the current facebook

Hugh Laurie - Let Them Talk - [Warner]

Hugh Laurie has released a CD? Hugh Laurie? Great, just what this world needs... More House music. (Boom-boom! To be honest, I haven't heard a single note of this album but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to waste a perfectly good CD review column for the sake of a half-baked gag. Professional? Not in the slightest. Funny? O come now, admit it Chuckles. Normal service next issue.

From the Bossman

Last issue I kicked off a new series called Spare a Thought, focusing on the plight of misunderstood folk in our industry (last week it was the Graphic Designer). It was a series I said would be ‘occasionally appearing’ but after the warm support of last issue’s column (read by up to as many as 12 people), two in a row it is. So this issue, we shine our Spare a Thought spotlight on… The Photographer.

‘A picture is worth 1000 words’ is a well worn axiom that typifies the importance of a visual image. We are shocked and stunned by photographic prizes. We gleefully wet our knickers at cats that look like Hitler. A picture is a powerful thing, no doubt. And yet while we are moved by them, we oft treat the art of photography, and the hardworking photographer behind it, with disdain.

Photography done well takes large effort and looks largely effortless. This leads people to the assumption that it’s easy. But the time it took to write this column is less than the amount of time it took to set up, shoot and edit that rather handsome pic of yours truly atop this column.

One of the biggest backhanded compliments you can give a photographer is “Woooooo! Nice picture! You must have a pretty sweet camera”. Unless you have a futuristic Japanese self-taking Nikkei 37000 MP 9-over-20 model (release date 2077) it actually takes a human person, with human person skills acquired over many years, to take a good shot. You don’t hear people whistle impressively at an article or book and go “Woooooo! Nice article! You must have a pretty sweet keyboard.”

We also tend to deeply undervalue photography. Whilst ripping off text from the web and passing it off as your own will amount to just cries of plagiarism and could likely earn you the leading story on Media Watch, many of us plunder a pic for our own purposes with nary a thought. We pay royalties to use a song, but we’ll gleefully reproduce someone else’s image 1000s of times over to promote a show.

A part of the misunderstanding is that the art of photography has shifted over the decades. Lord Ottombottom of the early 1900s was armed with a flashpouch and a camera the size of a steam engine, meaning he only had one chance to get the shot of Lord Muck in his finest pantaloons (yes, I know nothing of history). In the mid 1900s pictures of lightning would oft nab prizes from such publications such as National Geographic, so hard was it to pick that brief half second when it flashes an electric arc in the sky. Now, even your gran’s iphone has a fast-shutter-lightning-capture app (right next to the do-you-smell-of-cat-piss app). This has led to people assuming photography is easy nowadays. And yes it is, but good photography… Well, that’s another matter. Hours in the dark room have been swapped for hours in front of the computer. A single shoot can generate 100s of potential usable shots, of which a few are honed down in a frantic, often alcohol-fuelled, photography equivalent of The Bachelor before hours of deft digital touch up are applied. Do you know how to saturate a skin tone by running a baffle spiget over the semi-loaded whoop-bop backdrop? I thought as much.

Long suffering photographer friend Cole Bennetts once regaled me a tale that summed up people’s disregard neatly. He was relaxing at one of Civic’s finest drinking establishments after an arduous day of shooting, his extensive camera gear dangling medallion like around his neck. A super-starched-shirt fella took the opportunity to approach him. “Hey mate, take my picture.”//“Sorry mate,” Cole politely replied. “I’m just here to relax.” Unperturbed, our friend pushed on. “Nah c’mon mate, take my picture, it won’t take long.”//“Seriously mate, no thanks,” said Cole once again. Unwavered by bags that said ‘international luggage’ under Cole’s eyes, Starched Shirt foolishly pressed for a third time. On this occasion, Cole retorted “What do you do for a living then?”//“Me?” replied our gentleman caller. “I’m an accountant.”

“THEN DO MY TAX RETURN! DO MY TAX RETURN! GO ON, DO MY FUCKING TAX RETURN!” Cole barked, in a voice loud enough to silence the pub in a scene reminiscent of a Western. Mr Number Balls duly slunk off. Our man Cole sure knows how to put the f in f-stop.

So spare a thought for our photographic friends. They’re beautiful, talented, hard-working, and strangely delicate creatures. Unless, of course, they’re paparazzi. Then they’re just scum.

From the Bossman

This issue I have decided to break away from my usual self-deprecating shenanigans and instead dive into a newly-created and occasionally-appearing series called Spare a Thought, where I will shine a light on some oft-overlooked and misunderstood roles in our industry. To kick things off, I give you… the Graphic Designer.

The Graphic Designer (or GD, for people with no time to pronounce words properly) plays a crucial role in both the music industry and the world as a whole, and yet they are perennially plagued by gaudy expectations and unrealistic deadlines. Without GDs logos wouldn’t exist, colours would lay in abandoned puddles on the ground, shows would go unpromoted, and magazines would cease to be. To dumb it down a shade, you wouldn’t be seein’ shit. Now many of you will well know that the art of graphic design requires many a talent – there’s the artistic flair needed (a sense of form and function, space and colouring, and a knowledge of when to let an alcohol soaked editor sleep it off rather than ask for feedback); 100s nay 1000s of hours of software skills on Photoshop, Illustrator, Maxi-Pad, Jingle-Splat and various other digital creative tools; and, of course, time. Lots and lots of time. However, there seems there are many people who don’t realise this.

Many regard graphic design as both quick and easy. These are usually the same people that phone up a computer help line only to discover they haven’t plugged it in yet. The reason for this phenomenon is that when graphic design is done well, it looks effortless, like it has always existed, and someone has merely come across it. A writer is a luckier creature in this regards. The Great Unwashed tend to have a rule of thumb with the creative process – the amount of time it takes to ‘read’ a work equates to the amount of time taken to create it. A 1000 word article? “Oooooo farkin’ ‘ell. Look at all dem fancy wordz ‘n’ shit… Musta taken a goddam genius to come up with that,” they’ll spit, before using said article as toilet paper. And a piece of graphic design that takes a few seconds to absorb? “Well shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit… I coulda done that. That ain’t nuffin’ but colours. ‘N’ shit.”

The greatest sufferance is thus: while not everyone is a GD, everyone thinks they are, to the point that they expect GDs to possess telekinetic powers. “Do you want anything in particular for your artwork?” a wide-eyed GD will ask of their client. “A certain colour theme? Logos? A main image?” // “No, no… Go for your life,” the client will say. Which wouldn’t be so bad, right? Creative license… How wonderful! Except that this usually (read: always) happens… After spending many an hour lovingly lacing together a beautiful piece of design – ploughing the fertile depths of a seasoned mind to conjure colour and shapes to craft a masterly piece of wizard-like wonder, cycling through proof after proof until it’s just right – the usual client reaction is along the lines of, “No, no, NO! Not in blue! I wanted Lurid Orange! And where are the logos I didn’t send you? And it doesn’t have nearly enough text; we have a whole 1/32 of a page to play with, let’s fill it with as many words as possible to let people know what we’re about. And make it Comic Sans, that’s a jazzy font that should really pop off the page.”

But it doesn’t end there. The long-suffering GD goes away, painstakingly makes all the new ludicrous changes and returns the artwork only to hear, “Actually nah… I prefer it in blue after all. And can you add these logos I didn’t give you before? And make the text Arial instead. Much jazzier. Get it to me within the hour. Ta.” A govvie piece has multiple layers of approvals like this, and all you need is some git in upper-middle-lower-upper management to decide he wants the Aqua Blue to be more of a Melancholy Grape to add another 10 hours to proceedings. Add to this the fact that a lot of these fine folk are spending hours on pieces for the equivalent of a New England Ha’Penny doesn’t soften matters.

So next time you need to render the services of a Graphic Designer, remember this simple mantra… You’re not one. So show some respect.

From the Bossman

Meal times are a sacred and important occasion. Atop a steaming plate of culinary delight many a romance has been sparked, many a business deal struck, and many a peal of laughter enjoyed. Food with friends is usually a wonderful cause for celebration and mirth, a time to relax, unwind and recharge and a much looked forward to highlight in many people’s day. However, as with many things in my life, they are sometimes cause to send me into a paroxysm of panic.

“ What could possibly cause panic during humble meal time, you infernal ape?” I hear you bellow at the screen. Well settle down and I’ll tell you.

Y’see, I have been blessed/cursed with an astronomically tiny stomach. While this has proved vital in keeping my taught and trim figure (despite having the kind of drinking habit that makes Charlie Sheen look like Larry Lightweight) this can prove problematic come the grand social occasion of meal time. Again, I can see you there, scrunching up an aluminium can in frustration like it was a piece of tissue and chorusing “If you can’t finish the damn meal, just leave it, you infuriating git!”

Well yes, this may be the case for most right thinking people, but my thoroughly wonderful mother instilled into me from a very early age the importance of not wasting food (the “think of the starving children in Africa” mantra was wheeled out on any occasion I dared to cast a piece of food aside uneaten). And so, it is with near blind panic that I attempt to finish everything on my plate, such is my undying love for my dear Mama. This is fine when serving out your own food, but when at a restaurant or pub (especially ones where the idea of a burger is lumping half a cow between a bun) the panic kicks in. Because I’m not some limp-wristed leaf munching Earth Child, dammit, I want meat. I just don’t want all of it.

As well as a desire to adhere to my dear Mama’s sage-like humanitarian advice, I am always riddled with deep-set guilt when the hired help come to take my offending plate away. For me, a piece of leftover food on a white plate is like a glistening pimple of humiliation, stoutly mocking my puny appetite. The worst of it is imagining a trembling little Luigi-style chef character in the kitchen, staring at my unfinished meal, his eyes glassing over and his bottom lip swelling in size, trembling ever more violently as he blubs, “He… He no like it? But I slave! I slave for a so long using Mama’s recipe! That’s it. I quit. There is nothing for me here any more…” before shooting himself.

So strong is the case of my unnecessary unease and general catastrophic sensitivity to such matters that when the inevitable time comes at the end of our feasting – with belly bursting and meal far from finished – I indulge in the sad practice of placing my napkin over the offending food with the same sombre pall of a person drawing a blanket over a corpse. Except in my case, the death is of my macho dignity (which, to be fair, had been lagging for some time).

There are tactics for soothing my unnecessary panic whilst keeping my fictional Luigi – my self-created symbolic character of culinary patheticness – in the land of the living . Bringing along someone in possession of a proper manly appetite, ie a person who can finish what you can’t, works well. Like a food wingman. My brother is a veritable human waste disposal, and for that I love him.

So should we ever find ourselves in the position of breaking bread together, please ensure my meal is small, and my napkin large. And bring your appetite.

From the Bossman

Hard though it may be to believe, there are many similarities between being a newly minted father and following Iron Maiden on tour. One such shared axiom is thus: absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder.

Back in 2008, it had been some 15 years (die-hards will no-doubt chastise me for not knowing the exact number of days) since metal’s scintillating sextet broke the touring drought in our sunburnt country, and didn’t we show our pent up enthusiasm as a result. At every city’s show, a rainbow of black swirled and roared and cheered in an outpouring of love and enthusiasm I had ne’er seen before, and thought I would never see again.

Fortunately, it wasn’t to be as long between Stellas this time, with 2011 offering up yet another visit from the aging rockers. And so it is that I found myself once again gallivanting across the country with bearded black-swathed older gentlemen, including the poster manchild for such a group, my partner-in-time Mr Scott Adams. Having only recently returned from said jaunt, it is safe to say that the piss-stained y-fronts of rock ‘n’ roll are hanging particularly low this week.

With my little daughter Isla Sophia now two and a half months old, Maiden saw the first time I was allowed out of the house for a significant period of time since her birth. The advent of a Maiden tour – or indeed any old school metal act where the core fanbase are now safely ensconced in family life – is a chance for family men and women the world over to reach a joyful accord. As soon as tour time is announced, men start to curry favour with their dearly beloved – a mother-in-law’s 70 ^th birthday instead of a boozy night with the lads at the rugby here, swapping the pub for junior’s cricket practice there – so that when the time comes, one can cash in and skip largely guilt free into a maelstrom of metal ‘n’ mirth, booze ‘n’ kebabs.

As those with kidlets will well know the early stages of babydom, undeniably miraculous though they may be, can lead to one occasionally feeling a little stircrazy around the house. So whilst I love my family more than life itself, Maiden presented a welcome chance to don the black strides, the grotesque tour t-shirt (both in design and smell), and hit the trail once again. Looking somewhat like the Unabomber after my many weeks of seclusion (and thus blending in nicely), off we eagerly set.

Needless to say, mirth was had, and Maiden fans’ thirst was greedily slaked by the giddy alacrity of Messrs Dickinson, Smith, Harris, Murray, Gers and McBrain. But I found despite my enjoyment, a deeper absence for home increasingly crept into the splendours of tour life, despite the always amusing moments that inevitably occur such as leaving such alarming chili sauce stains on the pristine white hotel sheets during a 2am kebab session that it looked as though an animal sacrifice had taken place; being hit on by a chin-shifting gay air steward (yes, they have gay ones now) during the flight from Melbourne to Sydney, a man with eyebrows that had been stitched on that morning and a repertoire of flirty high-larity that included “Ooo! You can’t go in there! That’s the Ladies!” about the unisex toilets, and “Ooo! You’re on the wrong flight!” after you’d buckled in… Seriously, it was enough to make your toes curl into question marks; having a fruity Pakistani takeaway worker pile half a constituted cow into Scott’s kebab, making it so tumescent with meat that not only could he not finish it (a world first) he was seen later lovingly spooning it on his way to sleep…

Stains, vomiting, not getting to bed until 3am, unholy screaming – there’s a lot of similarities between a Maiden tour and having a newborn, but returning home with the equivalent enthusiasm of 3000 screaming Maiden fans is undeniably the best. So while it is safe to say that the piss-stained y-fronts of rock ‘n’ roll are hanging low, it doesn’t beat the drool-encrusted milky shoulder from my baby daughter.

*And after those booze ‘n’ kebab filled few days, ‘an abscess makes the heart grow fatter’ my doctor tells me. Obviously a Bublé fan. Git.

Funny British Voices Over Wildlife

Warning: Contains beatboxing squirrel.

Q&A with Darren Hanlon

It was another busy deadline week when the latest presser from that lovabale Aussie minstrel Darren Hanlon came through. “Ah ha!” we cried, as we so often do. “Marvellous. Another visit from that plucky plucker of heart and guitar strings.” (Yes, we really do talk that way at BMA HQ). He was striking out on his Butterfly Bones single tour, you see, with the lovely Carry Nation in tow. But a quick scan of the press release was to reveal a terrifying fact; no Canberra show! Hanlon’s usual beloved venue of Tilley’s was unavailable, so the ACT was to miss out it seems. “Balls to that!” we cried. So in collaboration with The Street Theatre, we decided to put our money where our mouth is - determine it didn’t taste that good - and decided to book the man a Canberra date for Wednesday March 2 instead.

So here he is. In lieu of a ‘proper’ interview - and knowing Darren is a man with a sense of humour - we decided on a somewhat more, shall we say, loose approach to the interview process. We hope you enjoy, and see you at the gig. ALLAN SKO

Q: If you were a cake, what kind of cake would you be?

A: Neapolitan cake: red blooded, pale skinned and brown haired.

Q: If you were an animal, what animal would you be?

A: I think my Chinese horoscope animal is pretty apt. Ox: slow but dependable. It might take a year but I’ll get the job done.

Q: If you were a car?

A: A Delorean: rust proof and discontinued.

Q: If you were a television show?

A: Letters and Numbers (SBS): light-hearted, nerdy but educational.

Q: If you were a cooking utensil?

A: A colander: my story is full of holes.

Q: If you were a herb? Or spice?

A: Something the colonel wouldn’t be interested in.

Q: If you were an ‘80s icon?

A: Michael J Fox’s haircut.

Q: If you were an instrument?

A: An Astrolabe: clumsily navigating through this world by way of stars.

Q: If you were a cold beverage?

A: Islay Whiskey with a drop of water (sipped in a Scottish winter, for the coldness). For no other reason than it’s what I like.

Q: If you were a type of tea?

A: Loose leaf black with a dash of rice milk: mostly old fashioned and a fraction new age.

Q: Do you wish you were a little bit taller, perhaps a baller?

A: No, I’m built for public transport, which is where I spend most my life.

Q: Do wish you had a girl on the phone so you could call her?

A: Even though this was a good attempt, questions shouldn’t rhyme. Plus if she was on the phone I would have already called her.

Q: What are you reading at the moment?

A: Bob Ellis’ Suddenly Last Winter, Zhu Wen’s I Love Dollars, a book of Mary Oliver poems and a friend’s manuscript.

Q: What are you doing for dinner?

A: Being stood up.

Giving A Fuck

Ahoy there gentle BMA readers of the metal community. A small break in your regular programming, so that we may keep you black swathed purveyors of fine music abreast of some recent developments here at BMA HQ.

Firm fans of metal that we are, when we heard the news that beloved brewdle online magazine METAL AS FUCK (MaF) and its creator/editor Leticia Supple was going to shut its operations in order to take a break, BMA Another Thing Columnist (and runner up in the Drunken Gandalf convention) Scott Adams leapt on the case. Long story short, we now own and run Metal as Fuck, and we intend to maintain the awesomeness instilled by Miss Supple, as well as enact some exciting plans we have for the magazine as the year progresses.

Launched in 2009, Leticia has been the driving force behind MaF since its inception. In its first year, with a global team of writers and photographers, the mag covered the major European festivals and continued in its second year to expand its reach. Leticia commented that she was excited to be passing the magazine on to Radar Media (BMA). “Scott Adams has taken over MaF just as it is on the cusp of great things,” says Supple.

“It is great to know that they will take it even further. It was a big decision to sell but as my life has changed, it’s turned out to be the best one. They will continue in the spirit in which it was established, and I know that they will do amazing things.”

Indeed Scott Adams – with over 30 years metal experience under his studded belt as critic and performer, as well as avid fanboy – has been hard at work already as the site’s new editor/operator, ensuring there’ll be much to enjoy at MaF.

“I have secured Lee Barrett – the man who discovered Opeth and Emperor – as a columnist/reviewer,” he says, spitting chips all over my face in the process. “His column will run in the form of a monthly ‘tip sheet’, letting the kids know what’s going to be cool in the upcoming months. I have sorted out a supply deal with Razamataz, which gives MaF a line on ‘classic designs’ from the likes of Bathory and Venom. Despite wanting to make the webstore a place that underground Aus bands can sell their wares, a few ‘big guns’ on the page will get people looking around. And the big guns will be extreme bands – no AC/DC or stuff you can get anywhere else.”

As well as eager punters, this is good news for local Canberra groups too, presenting a direct and helpful line to merch opportunities. And adding a touch of local ed flavor will be beloved BMA Metalise columnist and page-sharer Mr Josh Nixon, pitching in a monthly column on his vast knowledge base to entertain all and sundry on the joys of esoteric metal.

Much to enjoy. So if you haven’t already, you can check out the site at www.metalasfuck.net . For more information about content and merch, you can email Scott Adams at scott@metalasfuck.net .

From the Bossman

You will, by now, be au fait with Part 1 of my Practical Joke Fail yarn that ran last issue – concerning my ill-fated troika of trickery on long suffering friend Cole Bennetts. Here is Part 2.*

It had been a good while since my last ‘vapour bomb’ – the wholesome practise of emptying the best part of a can of aerosol (or deodorant, or air freshener… remember, kids, pungency is king) into a confined space that someone is about to enter. Such as a toilet. And as far as toilets go, they don’t get much smaller or confined than the one at BMA HQ.

After going so long without suitable air freshener, one nasal offending day I’d had enough and dispatched an underling to get some. Later that afternoon, after a much needed round of coffee, mine and Cole’s piss cycle – like that of so many men in pubs before us – synced. We both motioned to the pisoir at the same time and Mr B, in his infinite kindness and profound foolishness, proffered me to go first.

Once in the loo, I spied our new fragrant can of joy and let fly a celebratory spray. My joy at the air freshener, exacerbated by its long absence and magnified by my mindset for mischief, saw me depressing the button for a full 30 seconds until the air glistened with chemical lavender dew. Giggling maniacally, I left the smell chamber, stifling titters as I passed a Bennetts keen to show the cistern what his barista of a bowel had to offer.

I waited for what I thought was going to be a gentle yelp, maybe a small cough or two, and a mild expletive to tie things off nicely. Chuckles all round. Instead, I was greeted to a gurgling sound effect not out of place in a war film, followed by brutal hacking and spluttering and the sound of the toilet door being violently flung open. Out staggered an alarmed looking Cole; hands affixed around his throat, tears streaming down his hot red face.

“Jesus!” I gasped. “You alright?” // “Did you… spray… something in the bathroom?” he managed to rasp. // “Ummmmm… Yeah.” // “I’m <HACK!> allergic to lavender.” // “I, I see. Call the doctor shall I?”// “gurglegurgleblaaaaaaaaargh”// “OK, just lie down.”

Having nearly fatally poisoned my good friend on two separate occasions now, I thought it best to steer clear of practical jokes for the time being, and wait until I’d brushed up on them to a point where they’re not so lethal. Determined to sweep my track record all away I came across a delightful video courtesy of the lively weekly e-zine Popbitch, which concerned a gaggle of baby otters at Chester Zoo in England jumping up and down and squeaking in the cutest fashion imaginable. It was enough to put The Mighty Boosh’s Kittens In a Barrel soother to shame. Bearing in mind my recent unmitigated parade of terror towards Cole, and the fact the man was on a heart stopping deadline that had him chain-smoking in a manner that would put Phillip Marlowe to shame, I sent it through to him by ways of an apologetic appeaser. “Feeling a bit stressed?” I wrote in the body of the email, suggesting this would soothe his wrinkled brow. Cute baby jumping squeaking otters. What could posi-bligh go wrong?

I received this email back - “I AM feeling a bit stressed!!!!! It brought back memories of being in the small clawed-otter enclosure during my zoo days, where I got my foot stuck in the pond laying in a bush that was conducting electricity from the electric wire, sending pulses of electricity coursing though my body as the otters went into pack mentality to eat me alive!!!! AAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!”

“Right. I see… doctor?” // “Yep.”

ALLAN SKO - allan@bmamag.com

Robo Rainbow

Someone has built the world's first gay robot.

Damn You George Lucas

As bad as this is, it's still better than the prequels.

Struggling with Photoshop?

Get yo'self educated, fool!

DJ MARKY Fabriclive 55 [Fabriclive]

Like a ne-er do well club owner’s thinly veiled ‘Free champagne for the ladies before 11pm’ ploy, Brazilian D&B longtimer DJ Marky understands the concept: ‘entertain the women, and the men will follow’.

Alongside other exponents of musical (or, dare I say it, liquid) drum ‘n’ bass like Suv and Patiffe, Marky’s musical modus operandi has been the uplifting, vocal side to the genre that’s more at home on breezy sparkling-sipping rooftops than in the dank dungeons of D&B sporting clubs.

Indeed, the vocal slices on offer in this excellent mix provide the highlights, with Makoto & Deeizm’s Untold, Calibre’s Even If and the wonderful Die & Interface feat. William Cartwright’s Bright Lights (Rollers Mix).

But that is not to say the beats aren’t fat and the basslines bopping. O no; this is drum ‘n’ bass after all. Nor does Marky shy away from the more dub/neuro funk side of the genre, choosing the middle stages to explore a more stripped back sound that will have rudeboys reaching for their hoodies.

But ending his deft blend with his own soothing Mystic Sunset, Marky proves once again he can make soul nourishing tunes, blend them together expertly, and have the feet shuffling of both men and women. A true party starter with musicality to match.

Allan Sko

From the Bossman

Alright, you poor bastards, I have chewed your ears veritably to the nub over the past months with the antics of my bub and dear lady wife (who has more Patience than The Grates… nice little esoteric musical pun for you there to kick things off), so it’s back to a rich source of content for this column; my general failings.For there are many complicated things in life that I’m actually rather good at (just ask the wife). There are also an equal number of very simple things that I’m not very good at. Playing practical jokes seems to be one of them.

A good practical joke is an art form. Any chuckle-enthusiast can stick a firework in some poor octogenarian’s letterbox, or scrawl the word TWAT in permanent marker in an insensible-to-drink mate’s bald spot (the latter being undeniably funny). But a truly great gag strikes a deft balance of humiliation and inclusion that allows the prankee to enjoy the trick as much as the prankster. Directing a classmate’s gaze into the purview of a teacher’s bent over arse is comedy gold all round. Wiring up a shotgun to fire at face level once someone depresses a door handle doesn’t quite cut it. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s homicide, Dad.

So if practical jokes are an art form, then when it comes to playing them on my dear friend and fellow office dweller Cole Bennetts, I’m a veritable crap artist. On no less than three occasions have my perceived simple, harmless and chucklesome gags been perverted into a Trio of Trauma.

The first concerned a punnet of strawberries. No ordinary punnet, you understand, but one unearthed from the bowels of the oft-neglected BMA fridge where it had been lurking, undetected, behind a miscellaneous bowl of green for some while. Time had gifted the strawberries a rank, but admittedly very impressive, coat of fungus; a thick, wiry tangle of furry filth so impressive it could rock up as the fifth member of The Beards (more musical comedy for you there).

Fortunately the lid was on, keeping most of the harmful spores somewhat safely in the container. Gingerly, and with a pair of forceps, I extracted the item. I was about to insert it into one of the yellow Biohazard bags we have around for just such occasions when a wicked thought sparked between my ears. Cole had popped out for the afternoon, y’see – no doubt to freshen up the porn collection. What a delightful jape it would be, thought I, to go into his office, take off the lid, place a comical spoon into the strawberries suggesting in a ‘hilarious’ fashion that this pulsating punnet was ready to eat, and be ready for the ‘delicious’ reaction upon the man’s return. After all, he was only out for an hour or so. O what jolly harmless fun.

Harmless it would have been if Cole had in fact come back within an hour. He didn’t come back within an hour. He didn’t come back at all that day. In fact, being Friday and a long weekend, Cole didn’t end up returning to his enclosed office space until a good 100 hours later. During summer. Rank, hot, festering summer.

Upon finally setting foot in his office, the simple ‘got strawberries?’ gag had escalated into miniaturised germ warfare, the air thick with a belch of poisonous spores that covered all his expensive computer and camera equipment. If the punnet was ready to be the fifth member of The Beards on Friday, come Tuesday it was ready to go solo by consuming all four members in a scene reminiscent of Doctor Who and The Plant of Doom. I offered to call the Biohazard specialist, swiftly followed by a doctor.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t to be my only poisoning effort of the long suffering Mr Bennetts. As you shall discover next issue...

Dance: The Drop

The dance music industry can be compared to a primary school playground. Firstly you have your big fish, who was always the first to get Reebok Pumps, owned the monkey bars and slippery slide and dated your sister. Then there are the mid-level feeders who make a decent, if not spectacular, living by being neutral and impassive towards their bigger rivals. These guys can be usually be found playing handball over near the bike racks or chasing the tomboys around the oval. Then there are the low level dwellers; this group usually consists of a combination of outcasts from the top two tiers – these are the guys who inhabit the shadows, only revealing themselves to steal your lunch money and buy cigarettes from the kids across the street.

The one redeeming factor in this circuitous society is the willingness of people to come together in a crisis and, working with each other instead of against each other, achieve amazing things. None more so than the wave of incredible fundraisers which our local music community has put together for the QLD flood victims, and for these I commend you all.

One of these events is Beauty and the Bass, which kicks off on Friday February 18at the Hellenic Clubin Woden. This massive event is headlined by Goodwill(MOS), Beni, “the world’s longest running resident DJ” Nik Fishand Sesame Street antichrist Elmo is Dead, alongside an impressive list of local acts across two rooms. Your entry fee also includes free wine and tap beer between 7 and midnight and all proceeds are being donated to the QLD flood appeal.

I think it’s official that the Effigygang own the first few weeks of February. First up they have theMerkabaalbum launch party featuring Israeli tech star Fataliand Black Samurai(Melb) at Transit Baron Sunday February 6, followed by progressive god Charlie May, who makes a rare Canberra appearance at Hippo Baron Friday February 11. For those of you who weren’t allowed into clubs in the early noughties, May was instrumental in Sasha’s early production career, credited as the main man behind albumsAirDrawnDaggerand Involverand the best record of all time (in my opinion) Xpander

Fans of the beat genres have enjoyed a rousing start to the year, with acts like Sub Focus,Nero,Chase and Status, the Stanton Warriors, the Freestylersand the Plump DJs all touring Australia in January. If that hasn’t been enough to satisfy your hunger for rumble, a new night titled Redonkis being launched at The Clubhouseon Saturday February 19. This is being billed as a ‘UV Party’ so I would imagine it’s like being inside a massive solarium full of dubstep and alco-pops. Acts on the night include Shifty Business,Dred,Riskeand D.Wils

Producer watch: two beatmakers who have featured heavily in my sets lately include recent Mau5trapsigning Feed Meand house specialist 123XYZ. Download away kiddies!

This is sure to tinkle the ivories.

One of the cuter bits of strange you'll see. I bet Laurel and Hardy are responsible (that gag will probably go over the head of anyone under 75)

From the Bossman

 Hey everyone! How’re you doing! Did you have a good Christmas break! Crazy about these floods, eh!

Phew… I must apologise about that outburst of exclamation marks. I am on a potent cocktail of adrenaline, no sleep and cute overload. You see, me and the dear lady wife got ourselves a Smooch-o-matic 5000 over the festive season. That is to say that we (or more accurately the wife) gave birth to our beautiful bouncing baby girl, Isla Sophia Sko. And there’s just something about a newborn that fills your life with superfluous exclamation marks!!!!!! And as a regular editorial assassinator of superfluous exclamation marks, this is saying something.

Over the past month Isla has filled our days with laughter, joy, and various bodily fluids, teaching us that there are in fact many, many colours in the brown rainbow. I am pleased to report that many of the major milestones for newly minted parents have been reached – I have been violently farted on. I have completed numerous night changes and gleefully pranced through the day only to discover – usually in the middle of a meeting with an important client – there is a small amount of congealed poo on my arm that was previously concealed by the cover of darkness. I have baggage underneath my eyes that reads International Luggage.

Human babies are generally considered to be among the most helpless in the animal kingdom. Certainly when you compare our parenting to that of, say, the giant turtle (dig hole in sand, shit eggs in hole, cover hole, down to the turtle equivalent of the pub) that seems to be the case. However, I am here to gleefully beg to differ. The skill set of an infant is nothing short of remarkable. She can spear a foot in daddy’s groin with the alacrity and accuracy of an overweight British darts player. Despite a minimal understanding of military tactical warfare (and, frankly speaking, an inability to properly control her arms), with a Patton-esque precision she can lay the perfect trap with her toys, ensuring that the softest part of Daddy’s naked foot is forcibly introduced to a toy’s sharpest point (usually when Daddy is juggling two plates of hot food and a drink wedged under the armpit). She could also hold her own in a pub setting. Many a time have I stared lovingly into her angelic face, with little Isla staring back – doe-eyed, as pure as the driven snow – before unleashing the kind of loud, extended bottom noise that would make a French sailor blush. Indeed, the gay abandon of babies is a joy to behold. Let’s take the aforementioned act. Where many an adult in a public setting (although not all) would choose to send any offending gas on a destructive 180 swathe through the internal organs, a newborn takes to the pristine nature of a new nappy with the same exuberance and enthusiasm that a spray-can-wielding teenager does to a big white wall.

The first month of looking after a baby leaves you sleepy, battered, forgetful, delirious, bruised, confused, tired, coated, caked, not to mention forgetful. The wife recently changed her Facebook status to: “You know you’re a Mum when you spend the morning scraping crumbs from the congealed amalgam of milk and spew from under your breast”.

Which of course is all a precursor to the inevitable statement – “It is all completely, utterly, 200% worth it.” Yes, new parents go on about their bubs ad nauseum, often drooling more than their bubbling progeny. But it’s not without reason, and furthermore Yyvysvuysqbuiwdfikd

Huh, what? O sorry, must have drifted off onto the keyboard there. That happens. Worth it.

ALLAN SKO

Ricky Gervais Lets 'Em Have It

The Brit funnyman didn't pull his punches during his Golden Globes monologue.

Denny Digit

Switched over to digital television yet? Don't let Denny Digit know - WARNING Contains LOTS of swearing.

Allan Sko's Top 10 Albums of 2010

10. El-P – Weareallgonnaburninhellmegamixxx3 [Gold Dust]

Not just a startlingly brilliant MC, El-P once again proves his production chops too. Typified by his truculent beats, El-P’s epic production is like the soundtrack to a zombie apocalypse. Foreboding, awesome.

9. Anjunadeep Vol 2 – Mixed by Jaytech & James Grant [Sony]

Smooth, deep, emotional… and co-pioneered by Canberra’s very own James “Jaytech” Cayzer! Jaytech & James Grant’s gorgeous Moth begins a beautiful two-disc journey. Vertiginous 4-4 electronica.

8. The Ruby Suns – Fight Softly [Sub Pop]

Ever wondered what would happen if Animal Collective and Discovery had a love child? Well a) aren’t you a weirdy then, and b) probably this. Check out Closet Astrologer; one of the year’s loveliest tracks.

7. Mount Kimbie – Crooks & Lovers [Hot Flush]

No Boards of Canada release this year, but ol’ MK came to the fore with a downtempo electronic number equally fascinating, forward-thinking and mesmeric. Weird and wonderful.

6. The Roots – How I Got Over [Def Jam]

The Roots are the sober, soothing yin to Kanye West’s raging grandiose yang, once again sliding in with a seemingly effortless piece of measured cool; if the group had more heart, they’d be a cardiac unit. Unsurprisingly surprising.

5. Noisia – Split The Atom [Vision]

Those three freaky-deaky Dutchmen once again prove their musical pioneer status, turning a gym into a recording studio (capturing gunshots, flying karate kicks etc) and meticulously constructing nuclear-grade tunes. The cover art tells you all you need to know.

4. Kanye West – My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy [Roc-A-Fella]

I mean shit, you try to dislike the man, then he comes up with something like this. Yeezy uses his money, fame and connects to pull out a pompous, overblown and utterly brilliant piece of maximalist hip-hop. If you can call it hip-hop. “Let’s have a toast to the douchebags” indeed.

3. Gold Panda – Lucky Shiner [Rough Trade]

“It’s the old meets new, East meets West… one of 2010’s most intriguing, beautiful and enchanting albums. Lucky Shiner is largely undefinable. One listen to the roborant Same Dream China will have you mesmerised.” Well said, me

2. Gorillaz – Plastic Beach [EMI]

We knew it was going to be a bubbling melting pot of styles. We knew it would have inspired collaborations. We knew it was going to be fantastic. And it was. On all counts. Damn you bastards for touring just as we’re having our first kid!

1. Steve Mason – Boys Outside [Domino]

Where so many albums this year had four or five great songs then a bunch of filler, Beta Band ex-pat Mr Mason whipped up ten of the most emotionally honest and melodically beautiful tracks of the year. Simply brilliant.

14 Blades

14 Blades certainly shapes up to be a rollicking good film. It’s a kung fu thriller set during the Ming Dynasty centred on a secret service agent – the keeper of the protective 14 blades – who must capture and return the royal seal by making alliances with questionable characters along the way. It has the magnificent Donnie Yen as the main star; the thinking man’s arse-kicker. And it throws everything into its action sequences; kung fu, swords, whips, even teleportation.

But director-writer Daniel Lee lets himself down in the execution. CGI (and not particularly good CGI at that) is used heavily in many of the fight scenes, greatly diminishing their impact. The action seems to push from one plot point to the next without flowing smoothly (“I have done this, I will now do that HAHA!”) and, most crucially, the relationship between the core characters falls short from having the chemistry to make them truly believable and affecting. There are glimmers of character interaction that hint at a greater film – most notably between Yen and love interest Wei Zhou – but oft-clunky dialogue dampers any real emotional connection. Which is a shame, because 14 Blades could have been a very entertaining and affecting flick, which the not-too-bad ending suggests. If you need a well-crafted martial arts flick with a story, try the Yen-sporting Ip Man or Hero first. 

From the Bossman

Ahhhhhhhh… The end of another year! And because we’re so fed up of each other by now, it’s time to crack out all the typical twee bollocks we love roistering in lieu of meaningful conversation. “Ooooooo… End of the year already! My, doesn’t time fly!”/ “I swear it was only January last month!”/ “O no, quiet with you! It’s NOT December! You’ll be the death of me with your talk, I haven’t done ANY fucking Christmas shopping yet.”* It’s same every year. Parrots look disdainfully at us and think we’re repetitive.

Except – damn it – I actually enjoy the repetitive rhetoric, because I’ve succumbed to the other kind of head-slapping repetition so prevalent in many of our lives. The Dad Joke. Allow me to explain. Or don’t, I’m sure you’re terribly busy.

By the time you read this, I will likely be striding boldly into the realm of Dad-dom, spending the break getting to know the latest slobbering addition to the Sko dynasty. Which is an unnecessarily fruity way of saying I shall be a father. I have been called many things beginning with the letter F over the years, and now ‘Father’ can join the rich canon.

It has a wonderfully softening effect becoming a father, and not just on the stools. As regular readers will know, I have witnessed many strange personality transformations over the past nine months including, but not limited to, travelling over the other side of the globe to buy a rug, sobbing at the prospect of Andy finally parting ways with Woody in Toy Story 3 (“they grow up so fast!”), and an increasingly disturbing fascination with lamps. I may not have written about this last one, but it still exists I’m afraid.

Another inevitable change is the transition from comedy comprising of erudite observations, acerbic wit and pinpoint timing… to Dad Jokes. Pallid puns and lavender comedy has been my bedfellow this past month. I have been the Padawan to my Father-in-law’s Jedi Master when it comes to the art. The man wields a pun like Yoda wields a lightsabre. He even managed to pull out this admirable number during his speech at my wedding: “It’s been a very emotional day. Even the cake is in tiers.” Boom-tish.

Nowadays, any food caught in the beard after eating is not to be immediately removed, “it’s for Ron.”** A cemetery is no longer a hallowed and sombre piece of real estate, but “the dead centre of town!” Any time someone dares say “I feel like a… <sandwich/pie/drink>” I draw blood biting my tongue in lieu of loudly and proudly barking “Funny! You don’t look like one! HA!” A recent BMA Twitter update penned by yours truly read: “Just put some heavy rock on the CD player. Unfortunately it has crushed it beyond repair and we now have no music. Damn granite.” Not only should there be a “No Tweeting when you’re drunk” rule, but a “No Tweeting when expecting” too.

And I’m also bidding a fond farewell to accuracy, as the inevitable “getting modern things slightly wrong” trait so prevalent with parents kicks in. Facebook becomes Facetome. iPhone, iFace. Television, Pictocube. “Are you Facepaging your friends, Cecil? Or do you prefer Twitting them these days?”/”Jesus, Dad, it’s Facebook and Tweeting. And my name’s Doug.”

Repetitive rhetoric, Dad Jokes; this is our language as a people, and it’s as soft, delicate and loving as the human heart can be. It may be twee, repetitive, dull or just hair-tearingly unfunny, but it’s ours damn it, and it’s symbolises the love and warmth we have for one another – the need to make each other smile and groan, neatly summed up in head-slapping pun form. So enjoy it. Relish it. And for God’s sake, whatever you do, be sure to… Pull my finger (“ave it”).

* my grandmother can be a handful at times

** Ron, as in Later on. I know, I know.

Wild Target

Britain’s top hitman (Bill Nighy), set to inherit the killing business from his droll ‘n’ delightful octogenarian mother (Eileen Aitkins), is hired to off a sexy art blagger (Emily Blunt). Instead of making the kill he becomes inexplicably intrigued with the lovable minx, picking up a random ginger (Rupert “Ron Weasly” Grint) during the fray who simultaneously challenges his sexuality and summons feelings of mentorship. His actions incur the wrath of a wronged art mafia don (Rupert Everett) who employs the country’s #2 hitman (Martin Freeman) to track him down. High-larity and thrills aplenty ensue, right?

Well no, not as such.

This opinion seems to put me among an elite few in the world, as most critics and punters are lapping up this luvvie assassin affair. Undoubtedly Bill Nighy takes the phrase “aging gracefully” and once again stomps younglins firmly in the nuts with his prowess; all swoon and facial ticks and character nuance. He positively carries this film with his matured smoulder. But the film’s plot has been done and done again (most obviously in the original French version Cible émouvante), Grint and Freeman’s characters beg for substance but are underdeveloped, and a potentially interesting cross-gender love triangle is quickly, and safely, snuffed out. In the end, despite great acting and some sparse yet genuinely funny moments, I just didn’t care for the characters, which means I just didn’t care for this film.

From the Bossman

The Social Network – a film about the rise and rise and apparent social retardation of Facebook founder and zeitgeist manipulator Mark Zuckerberg – is one of the best films of 2010, for many reasons. Amongst the sloshing barrel of greatness bobs this quote: “The internet isn’t written in pencil; it’s written in ink. And you called me a bitch.” Writer Aaron Sorkin (The West Wing, A Few Good Men scribe) knows his way around soundbites and societal mores, and he’s perfectly summed up something we should all keep an eye on.

At the age of 28 (and I’ll allow regular readers, who haven’t yet stalked me on Facebook, to pick their jaw off the floor upon realising that I am not, in fact, 112) I have straddled the boundaries of the internet’s iron clad grip on society. I am not so young that I have grown up ignorant of the world without internet, I am not so old that I think the term ‘internet’ means the inner lining of your swimming knickerbockers. It is like having a foot each planted in two very separate worlds, and it’s a very privileged position.

Back in my day* – aside from trenching 20 miles to school each day in the snow sans shoes, riddled with dysentery and all that bollocks – if you had a problem with someone, you’d size them up, exchange a few comments pointing out curious facial features or a person’s inability to admirably fill a pair of trousers and pelted a few tanbark pieces at each other’s head until you grew tired/bored and retired for a good old knees up and a double malt milk from Doris the dinner lady (or tuck shop lady, to use the parlance of our country). Problem solved.

A good old fashioned tête-à-tête was like a bucket of water over a fiery situation. We now have the bellows of social media. If we have a problem with someone and we’re not smart, the whole damn world – including your exes from high school, that guy you met in the pub that one time and, heaven forfend, your mother – now knows all about it.

We all remember that well-worn stat about human fear; death ranks #2, public speaking #1 so theoretically at a funeral we’d rather be the corpse than the person giving the eulogy. Let’s apply that concept to the social networking age. Picture your favourite club, pub or watering whole. Now picture all of your Facebook friends sitting in there. Now imagine going up on stage, getting on the microphone, and announcing your latest status update. Because effectively, if you haven’t figured it out already, that’s exactly what we’re doing online. I’m sure many of you would rather die.

We love social sites like Facebook because they allow us to voice opinions we otherwise wouldn’t have the gumption to extol in public. Hell, I hide behind writing like the rest of us. But we do need to remember having an online argument is akin to being one of those loud wankers that ruin your café experience. Airing your dirty laundry in public is never a good idea.

A Facebook Psychiatrist would help; the study of the last ten status updates of a person leading to a psychological assessment. There’s the Gonna, always touting “I need this…”, “I need that…”, substituting a lack of drive/fear of failure with empty promises. There’s The Constant Updater, changing status every 15 minutes to things of startling interest such as “Warming up a muffin”/“Eating a muffin”/“Muffin eaten. Yum”. It doesn’t take Freud to identify a desperate attention seeker, filling the void of inadequacy with vacuous nonsense. Then there are the Genuine Sharers, purveyors of internet awesome, sharing tunes, shows, their own work, or videos of chimps riding on segues. These people are content and want to share their joy with others.

Then there’s Shameless Self-Promoters. Like me. My recent Facebook updates reveal a hopeless narcissist desperately wanting people to think he’s funny and in possession of an unusually large male appendage. The fact I am also writing about this in a self-deprecating way means I want you to think I’m vulnerable and easy going. Which I am. With an enormous schlong. And those who rarely update at all? Well, they’re too busy being someone in the “real world” and settling their differences in person. Ha! The very idea.

ALLAN SKO

* Christ, I can’t believe I used that sentence without irony. And so begins the descent I’ve heard all too much about.

The Social Network

The Social Network is a beautiful example of the core elements of filmmaking, expertly wielded by their respective gurus, coming together to be greater than the sum of its parts.

The story of facebook creator Mark Zuckerberg has been spun expertly by West Wing/A Few Good Men writer Aaron Sorkin, with his trademark fast paced verbal tradeoffs proudly stamped on the film ensuring we’re never shy of quips, rips, and intelligence. Director David Fincher handles Sorkin’s material with aplomb, matching the dialogue with fast cuts and sublime editing, and injecting a moody tone through sets, angles and lighting throughout. Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’s soundscape is brooding and heightens the tension superbly. And the acting is uniformly excellent, Arnie Hammer playing both twins, Andrew Garfield injecting much needed heart as former best friend Eduardo Saverin and Jesse Eisenberg as Zuckerberg in particular shine through, Eisenberg following up his excellent turn in Zombieland with a perfectly pitched portrayal of this genius sociopath.

What makes the film truly great is how these elements blend together so well throughout the entire film. Scenes that could otherwise have been flaccid and dull – the opening scene, the hacking and setting up of Facemash, the boat race – are elevated to moments of aesthetic beauty and tingling emotional power. The film meanders slightly towards the end (the only reason it misses out on top marks) but this is easily one of the year’s best.

ALBUM OF THE ISSUE Gold Panda - Lucky Shiner [Notown / Rough Trade]

Lucky Shiner’s opening seconds perfectly capture what’s to come; a tape deck sounds, a melody comprising Indonesian-sounding singing cut into super tight loops blooms and is introduced to four-four percussion. It’s the old meets new, East meets West. It’s also one of 2010’s most intriguing, beautiful and enchanting albums.

The magnificently named 29 year-old Derwin Panda, hailing from Chelmsford, Essex, spent his early years on the remixing tip, amassing over 100 tracks including mixes for Telepathe, Bloc Party and Simian Mobile Disco. After three critically acclaimed EPs we arrive at this, his debut album.

Slavering genre hounds eager to classify may struggle; we have the percussion-less downtempo acoustic guitar of Parents; the slow stomp, Moby-esque strings, and Boards of Canada chimes of gentile closer You; and ebullient nods to Booka Shade in highlights Vanilla Minus and Marriage.

But Lucky Shiner is largely indefinable. Whilst it becomes slightly directionless in the final quarter (bar closer You), one listen to the roborant Same Dream China with its looming chimes, clashing percussion and deep driving bass, will have you mesmerised.

From the Bossman

With the ceaseless march of time comes the inevitable end of another year. With the brakeless certainly of the end of another year comes the sweat-inducing prospect of another Australian summer. With the Christmas-is-coming panic of another Australian summer comes the giddy anticipation of another summer festival season. And with the trembling anticipation of another summer festival season comes the soul crushing certainty of the re-emergence of mankind’s most perplexing contribution to the world; the Festival Bogan.

The Festival Bogan, or Roidus Flurasis to use the non-existent Latin, is a curious creature to say the least. Anthropological greats such as David Attenborough and Charles Darwin would struggle to define the exact purpose and worth of this baffling oddity. Often seen wearing minimal clothing, many times replete with pants or skirt riding low enough to show off their ‘sick plumage’ and ultra-orange spray tan, the Festival Bogan will attempt to infiltrate its body with as many poisons in the quickest amount of time possible in order to get themselves into “the zone” for attracting the opposite sex/general attention.

FBs have an impressive vocal range, with cries of “Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaate!” and “You sick c*nt!” often heard as far as three blocks away. A bastardised form of Greco Roman wrestling – which is in no ways gay, they will be quick to point out – often serves as a greeting between two males, and in the Guinness Book of Records under the category Loudest Sound in the Universe, you will find listed “the vocal greeting made by two FB females seeing each other for the first time”. The potent combination of high FB libido and low standards of education have seen their numbers swell dramatically over the years. What was once a quaint pimple on the face of a festival has now erupted into an outbreak of acne that would see the Elephant Man himself recoil in horror. And as their numbers go up, the enjoyment of a festival for everyone who isn’t a Festival Bogan goes down. I personally don’t enjoy festivals as much as I used to. This may be because my back isn’t what it was, I have none of my original teeth and there hasn’t really been anything good after Queen (read: I’m getting older), but the Festival Bogan plays a large part in this.

I’m not alone in this sentiment. So infuriated was a countenance-of-a-kitten photographer friend of mine after a festival – where he was subjected to roided up knuckle-scrapers demanding pictures be taken, attempted head butts for greetings and, no word of a lie, a man twirling his appendage like Gene Kelly with an umbrella and inviting ladies to have a go – that he was courting the idea of rounding them all up in a tent and setting it ablaze. For a man who doesn’t say a bad word about anyone, it speaks volumes.

I realise for some people my words are enough to induce overpriced alcopops to be angrily spat in my direction, followed by a charming invitation to shove a dagwood dog in a place on my personage that it wouldn’t normally occupy, before launching into sentiments to the effect of, “Cram it poindexter, you’re just some speccy, bitter condescending egghead twat talking down with yer fancy werds to people you consider to be your inferiors, hiding behind a veil of writing because you’re too scared to man up in person.”

Well, I have two responses to that hypothetical statement; the first is yes, spot on. I don’t want to find myself throwing down with an orange gorilla with the IQ of a child, a bicep as big as my head and enough chemicals in the system to be classified as a pharmacy, as I feel my well worded pleas for clemency will fall on deaf cauliflower ears.

The second, is that despite how my previous words could be perceived, I’m not here to stereotype or judge or talk down to. You want to wear your pants super low to show off the tireless hours you spent at the gym? Go for it. Like a drink? There but for the grace of God go we. You’d prefer a spray tan to conform to modern day ideals of attractiveness whilst avoiding the damaging affects sunbeds? Go nuts. Think the sickly colour of fluoro is the new black? You have my sympathies.

But for love of God people; get some fucking manners*. Everyone loves a festival, but nobody likes a dick. So this summer festival season, just remember: Cut the ‘tude, dood. And for the love of weeping baby Jesus, put it away.

ALLAN SKO

*Yes, I am aware of the irony of that statement.

From the Bossman

Me and the dear lady wife – a full eight months preggers and more beautiful than she has ever looked – attended the joys of an all day birthing class recently and I can tell you this dear readers: I now know all about vaginal tears, mucal plugs, and have witnessed things that will stay with me until I shuffle off this mortal coil.

For the seven of you still with me, it’s a funny dichotomy this whole giving birth palaver. It is the single most natural thing in the world; a force so powerful it can bring atheists and religious people together on its beauty and importance. It is also just plain fucking weird.

It’s strange that something so inherently natural also seems so alien, and this is an emotion shared by perplexed men and terrified women alike. There’s not a woman alive, locked in the throes of pregnancy, that hasn’t felt like their body has been invaded by an extra terrestrial with an insatiable appetite, a restless penchant to alter the feng shui of their internal organs, and the insistent grabbing of 40 winks on your already-stressed bladder. And when it gets to the point that you can see the distinct shape of a little foot, a little elbow or – heart a flutter – a little bottom poke itself up from the belly, you half expect Sigourney Weaver to burst into the room replete with flamethrower, torch the whole area, and bark something about getting to the ship.

Having written all this, I feel I haven’t been completely honest with you dear readers. Y’see, I don’t get squeamish about the whole birthing process, but I gleefully recognise that about 80-90% of all men do. So when the utterly delightful Calvary midwife Jane tentatively and sensitively asked whether our class would like to see a birthing video – and my equally vivacious wife immediately shot her hand up in affirmation before she’d even finished the question – I could immediately sense a pall of unease descend upon the room. With a certain malevolent glee, I awaited their reaction as the tape rolled…

I wasn’t disappointed. The gentleman in front of me, who had been largely quiet throughout the class, started thrashing and squirming in his seat as if a large bowl of live eels had been poured down his trousers; and behind me, a younger gentleman’s contribution was simply to whisper under his breath:

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiit.”

It’s a perfectly understandable reaction; we love our women, and as natural as childbirth is, it’s undeniably distressing to see our favourite people torn asunder by the fruit of our loins. But the madness, my friends, is very much worth it, as elicited by the final video of the day.

After enduring an extremely useful but largely tortuous day comprising what can go wrong, places you didn’t think could possibly rip but really can, and the splendour and colour of mucal plugs, the joy of watching the Bringing Your Baby Home video uncoiled a deep emotion in my breast. Seeing footage of a teeny tiny baby lovingly cradled, staring wide-eyed and curious up at Mum before cracking a pure-as-the-driven-snow smile was enough to summon a reaction avid readers will already recognise as threatening my stature as a man. It’s messy, arduous, alien, painful, crazy and surreal, but it is also exciting, life-affirming, beautiful, fun and very real. Bring it on, I say, warts ‘n’ all.

Besides, if anything comes up about mucal plugs or vaginal tears at the next trivia night, I’ll be all over that shit.

NB: The person in charge of the medication section of the day – that is, the person in charge of attempting to take the pain away – is called Joy. No kidding. Isn’t that just smashing?

Locality

Greetings handsome and loyal readers. It is I, your fearless Bossman Allan here. I have lovingly hijacked the Locality column for this issue to inform you of an important development in the region’s musical landscape. Normal transmission with the much-more-good-looking Julia will resume next issue. So, without further ado...
Over the past few months, a group by the name of ALMA has been taking shape. ALMA stands for ACT Live Music Association, and its mandate is the “promotion and advocacy of live music in the ACT”. 

So what does that mean exactly? Glad you asked. Whilst the rules and laws that govern live music and entertainment have oft proved to be problematic and detrimental to live music – from sound regulations to liquor licensing laws – over the past 12 months the ACT Government has put into motion a number of pleasing initiatives that you yourself may very well have been involved in, including the Review of the Arts in Canberra, the interdepartmental committee into live music, and the live music stakeholder forums facilitated by artsACT.

ALMA has been created as a direct result of these processes and aims to fulfil the role of an ongoing need for a consolidated voice for contemporary live music in the ACT.  The group’s broad membership incorporates significant figures representing live music at all levels – venues, musicians, music organisations, educators, retailers, music industry businesses and professionals, and of course those handsome tykes in the media – with a goal of lifting the profile of live music in the ACT.

ALMA’s main role and function is two fold: to lobby the government and to support live music from the grassroots level by pooling together local resources and groups to be greater than the sum of its parts. ALMA’s first showing as a representative group came recently with a submission to the recent Loxton Report into the arts in Canberra. In time, ALMA will serve as a message board to break down these cumbersome reports into simple, concise language where you can read, understand, and comment accordingly.

At a grassroots level, the exact services ALMA will provide to members is still taking shape, but the broader goal is to offer musicians access to all-important public liability insurance, invoicing services to keep accounting affairs in order (an oft overlooked aspect in the music world you will admit), access to venue and rehearsal spaces, a database of contacts, promotion through publications, and help with entertainment and contract law amongst others. Venues/Promoters will also have access to a rich pool of talent to fill their nights and bring people together.

In short, ALMA is both a conduit and a voice, linking together musicians to venues/promoters, and the general public to the parliament (and vice-versa), so live music in the ACT can finally get the recognition and representation it deserves. Over the ensuing weeks and months more details will be made available about what ALMA can provide and where you can sign up, so keep your eyes peeled to this page. In the meantime, if you wish to learn more, please feel free to drop me a line at allan@bmamag.com

Go forth and strum my pretties.

Escape Syndrome

Formed four years ago with a fist-pumping sound the band themselves describe as “groove based alternative/rock/punk/metal with a pinch of funk,” ESCAPE SYNDROME can safely be heralded as one of Canberra’s finest exports.

A recent testament to this is Syndrome’s selection by interstate promoters Axxis Management to grace the Capital Rock Festival. With a long-awaited EP Daydreams in the wings, it seemed high time for a good ol’ fashioned BMA knees up.

“Ah yes, that damn EP!” laughs drummer and lovable scallywag Matt Tennant. “It’s been way too long in the making, but we are proud and relieved to say that it will be released in time for Capital Rock. We started Daydreams two years ago and it has been a frustrating battle of different studios and recording challenges.”

Proudly wearing the axiom ‘Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ on their black ‘n’ tattered sleeve, Tennant is positive the toil has been worthwhile – “We’re loving the new material, and the direction our music is taking us! Our sound has definitely matured. We started this band in our teens whilst trying to find our identities. Listening back, you can definitely hear us mimicking our influences. Like ‘Oh yeah, that’s our Sevendust song!’ or ‘That’s our odd time Karnivool-ish song!’ Our sound is a lot more personal and refined now. We’re still writing with those same influences, but are able to express them in a more interesting way.”

Canberra music’s incestuous nature sees Escape Syndrome’s members play for other bands; a practise that hones their sound and introduces new influences into their work.

“I am also the drummer in Spoil and singer Matt (Faulkner) has recently started a project with a few of the guys from Using Three Words, called The London Circuit. For me it’s a completely different musical approach playing in Spoil, which is a great thing to have for any player! It keeps you on your toes and stops you from essentially becoming a one trick pony. The trickiest thing is that Spoil and ES both get put on many of the same bills, so sometimes playing twice in a row can get a bit tiring.”

With Capital Rock yet another in a seemingly endless run of bigger shows coming to Canberra, do the fellas think this is a sign of our beloved ‘Berra growing up?

“Canberra has a ridiculous amount of awesome musical talent, and I think these bigger festivals are just proof that other states are catching on to how great Canberra music really is. We get managers from smaller interstate bands coming up after the show saying ‘Wow, why don’t more bands come through Canberra?!’ That’s a really cool thing to hear.”

Indeed it is, and with more material promised in January 2011, you and you alone can continue the love with the ES boys this November.

Escape Syndrome play at the Capital Rock Music Festival at The Maram on Saturday November 20 alongside Sydonia, Jericco, The Blaqk Year and many others. Tix $25 + bf from Moshtix, $30 at the door, or $35 for both Friday and Saturday.

Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga’Hoole

Budding wide-eyed fantasy authors dreaming of having their yet-to-be-penned masterpiece come to life on the big screen would have exactly this in mind. Put simply, Animal Logic’s CGI in Legend of the Guardians is nothing short of breathtaking, and is worth the price of admission alone.

The story, based on the first of Kathryn Lasky’s trilogy of original children’s books, concerns a brood of owls cruelly plucked from their home and forced to work in labour camps overseen by the myth-like Iron Beak and the sinisterly named The Pure Ones (socio-political commentary much?). Our heroes Soren and Gylfie must find a way to escape and contact the equally mystical Champion of the Guardians and stop the evil regime before it’s too late, collecting weird and wonderful characters along the way.

This is a kids flick, so it’s a tad moralising in places and sets up a very clear good versus bad scenario that doesn’t leave too many grey areas. But this film has a lot to offer. The voice acting – including turns from Geoffrey Rush, Hugo Weaving, Joel Edgerton and Sam Neil among many others – is uniformly excellent, bringing the owls to life. The ‘good’ characters, whilst slightly two-dimensional in places, are given just enough screen time to develop their quirks, peculiarities, flaws and motivations (the ‘bad’ characters less so). And it’s refreshingly dark.

In a world where 90% of films need at least 10 minutes cut, Owls could have benefitted from a longer running time to fully flesh out the characters. But the CGI breathes so much life and awe into this piece that adults should be able to sit equally goggle eyed alongside their offspring.

From the Bossman

Penny for your thoughts?

Cute phrase that, although this week I’d prefer to turn your attention to thoughts on your pennies.

Some time ago – when crow’s feet didn’t fleck a path across my eyeline and the price of milk was the same as Telstra shares – I wrote a wee piece of industry observation entitled The Ole Fumbling Wallet Trick; the art of feigning to buy a round you simply could not afford to save financial face. To recap, for the purposes of those penniless alcoholics attempting to read this… In this industry, like many other, you come across wealthy tycoons that can put on a $4 million festival with a nonchalant flick of a cheque book pen. You also come across very, very un-wealthy people, flicking from one odd job to the next, hoping beyond hope that the $7.80 payment for their 15,000 word article on Underground Russian Techno and Its Ramifications on Imperialist Society will jumpstart the bank account soon. And while the notion of ‘the struggling writer’ can be perceived as a romantic one, it is imperative not to lose financial face in front of one’s peers when embroiled in a drinking establishment.

Desperate times call for wily measures, and an old favourite – probably being practised in a pub as you read this – is the fumbling wallet trick. The scene is thus: A round has been placed on the bench by (for the purposes of imagery) a busty bar wench, and the time has come for money to exchange hands. “I’ll get it!” you chime, hoping to GOD someone says, “No, this one’s on me.”

They do, and you’re away. Your fingers slide past your rope belt, into your trouser pocket, and gingerly around your wallet. But would you Adam & Eve it! The damn thing seems to be stuck! Despite being able to grasp a pen with the kind of dexterous fingers usually reserved for bomb disposal technicians, you find your digits suddenly sausage-like, unable to jamb your slender tools of the trade into the button-and-lint festival of your inner pocket. Arching your elbow into a violent angle for dramatic effect – as if you really, really want to be the one to pay – you finally wrestle your reluctant money pouch from the warm safety of its home.

You look up and – thank Christ – your mate is in the process of handing over a crisp twenty to aforementioned wench. Et voila. Drink paid for, face saved.

Ahhhh those were the days. Financial wares have improved somewhat since then I’m happy to report, to the point that I can afford some proper indoor drinkin’. When ensconced in one of Canberra’s favourite drinking holes recently (hey, a man gets thirsty) more peculiar behaviour surrounding money made itself evident. Mid chat, the unmistakable clatter of a two dollar coin popping and bouncing into an unexplored cave was heard, followed swiftly by the scrape and shuffle of its owner desperately spelunking for the missing money. After a few seconds of neck-craning the man looked up at our table and proffered, almost by means of apology, “I wouldn’t normally bother, but it’s two dollars!”

Ten short minutes later a group of younger men leaving same hearty establishment of ill repute also dropped coinage on the floor. The youth stooped to pick it up, spied it was in fact a mere 5c piece, immediately regained his vertical posture and briskly continued on his way out, hoping no-one had noticed, leaving the coin to shimmer unloved on the pub floor.

Remarkable, I thought, that in a place where drunkenness and lechery were the main export, and even the smallest denomination of coin could go some significant way to the purchasing of more of such, we as humans have such a deep-seated fear of being judged that we daren’t pick up our own money. Dropped $2? Acceptable. That’s a third of a pint after all (or a poofteenth of a pint, if you live in Sydney). 5c? Keep walkin’, buddy, there’s people watching… Touching that would be like touching a leper; people would point and scream ‘Unclean! Unclean!’ and recoil in horror as if your arm had erupted into a plague of puss-filled boils and glowing scabs so favoured by the lower class.

It’s a sign of the times. Money is now our ‘Survival of the Fittest’. It’s the benchmark of success that reduces us to bumbling wallet fumblers rather than simply saying “I’m skint, can you get this one?” It’s not about being stronger and faster any more (a mere 30 minutes down the shops can provide ‘the tribe’ with all their edibles for the month) it’s about makin’ de moolah and that, in turn, has bred a society of people terrified of picking up their own money for fear of looking poor. Perhaps we should settle down some and treat our abused small coins with the respect they deserve. I haven’t ever see people pointing and laughing, or even whispering and giggling, but it seems in our heads we attempt to impose an upper class ‘modus operanti’ of ‘I couldn’t possibly arch my back for anything less than $2. Too common.’ The pennies look after the pounds after all kids, to use another cute phrase; some of the world’s richest started with this mantra. And riddle me this; how many times have you cast away coin only to discover yourself agonisingly short for the bus/a beer/porn later on? Why just the other day I went to impress one of the gallery bigwigs by pur-chasing them a beverage, only to remember… I was 5c short; I had dashed said coin along the pavement a mere few hours ago in an act of gaudy stupidity.

“Ooooo! I’ll get this one… Mmmm, let’s see, I’m sure I have my wallet in one of these pockets…”

“Don’t worry, I’ve already got it…”

Thank yoooooou Ole Fumbling Wallet Trick.

NB: Of course, this theory crumbles to pieces in Garema Place, where a dropped 5c coin often starts a hobo riot.

Good Hair [Madman]

Comedian Chris Rock has made a fine living for himself through his incendiary stand-up. While a significant portion of his humour comprises the prerequisite sex, drugs and race relations much like compatriot funster Dave Chappelle, Rock has also proven himself to be a deeply intelligent and socially conscious person over the years through talking head appearances in documentaries such as Michael Moore’s Bowling for Columbine.

Good Hair is an excellent example of this. Spurned to action when his daughter asked him “Daddy, how come I don’t have good hair?” Rock takes what could have simply been a knee-slapping jaunt into the comedy of the ghetto and instead provides us with a fascinating and eye-opening documentary about cultural pressure for black women to have “white woman hair”, and the roaring hair trade that goes with it. Anchored by a focus on the Bronner Brothers’ annual hair convention in Atlanta and the colourful characters therein, Rock takes us on a journey from the barbershops of the slums to the spiritual heartland of India; the main supply line for hair. Through scores of interviews – including hair trade contestants, vox pops, plus notables such as Ice T, Eve, Salt N Pepa and the utterly wonderful Maya Angelou – Rocks discovers the dangerous and poisonous lengths people will go to for their image, the enormous financial strain this imbues, and the roaring international hair trade where religion and commerce unite. What makes this documentary truly successful is Rock allows his subject to do the talking, sliding in enough comedy to maintain the interest without becoming try-hard funny. As a result, we have an enjoyable and educational documentary well worth your time.

Despicable Me

It’s feels a tad cruel – despicable, if you will – to give this bright ‘n’ breezy film a mere three stars, for it is not without its charm, sentiment and humour. Suburbia dwelling supervillain Gru (Steve Carell) is dogged by feelings of inadequacy, instilled by his never-proud mother (Julie Andrews) and exacerbated by new-kid-on-the-block Vector (Jason Segal). With the aid of his squishy yellow minions and the aging Dr Nefarious (Russell Brand), Gru plans to win back respect by stealing the moon, but to implement his plan he must adopt three young girls who threaten to derail his dastardly plans with possibly the greatest evil of all: love.

Yes, it sounds toe-curling but for the large part the film steers away from twee sentimentality, largely thanks to your friend and mine, slapstick violence. Where the film falls slightly flat is in the writing. Unlike Pixar animations which are adult films for children, Despicable Me is very much aimed at just the kidlets and thus lacks the same razor sharp wit and twist-and-turn plotting of, say, The Incredibles. While you can see a lot of the jokes coming, the film is not without its laughs – Brand’s Nefarious is a highlight, and two toilet gags had me chuckling – and there’s an overall gentleness to the film that has to be admired. Carell also does well, using Gru’s accent and his own trademark vocal pacing to good comic effect.

So no, it’s not the thigh-slapping gagfest you may have come to expect from other animated fare but it’s not without its charms, and your little nippers will lap it up.

From the Bossman

At a towering 5’ 8’’, I have never been what you would call a tall person. If you’re a smug git, you might even go as far as to classify me as short. At my first school (the now defunct Mount Neighbour Primary… big up the Kambah Massive) I was given the charming and incredibly inventive nickname of Shrimp. And with good cause. Trips to the seaside at that time saw me steering well clear of any boat decks in case I was ‘thrown back’. “Not to worry,” the young version of me thought at the time. “I still have that growth spurt Mum keeps telling me about to come,” and happily went back to playing with my balls*.

Upon moving to England at the age of ten, I was eventually helped along by the prophesised, very welcome, but largely short lived growth spurt; a marginal boost in height that was enough to steer me away from the past echoes of Shrimp but not quite far enough to deserve the moniker of Beanpole. At around the age of 19 I watched in slow grinding, year-by-year stupefaction as my younger brother Torben – three years my junior and up till then ever my shorter – surpassed my chin, had the audacity to equal eye level a few short months later, and then continued on to be so much taller than me that people mistake me for his son. The fact I often wear a bib as a hipster fashion statement probably doesn’t help matters.

Throughout my life I have gone through cycles of caring of about height, from the giddying highs of ‘Short? You BET I am, and proud of it baby!’, past general apathy, and down to knee-trembling despair, usually brought on from being unable to reach something… like a foot stool. Fresh Prince of Belair was normally a good gauge at where I was on the cycle. Will Smith’s relentless battology of short jokes aimed at cousin Carlton could set me whooping and slapping my tiny thigh one week, then driving a quivering dagger of self-knowledge right into the heart the next.

So why give so much of a toss? Is it because 20% of supermarket produce is off limits? Or the fact every time I wish to buy a suit or jacket they never have my size, inducing scenes where I fall to my knees in the middle of a Hugo Boss, thumping my chest, and screaming “I am not an animal! I AM NOT AN ANIMAL!”? Or is it simply because I can’t see shit at rock concerts?

Hell, even French president Nicolas Sarkozy worries himself about it. The size-challenged surrender monkey is often photographed standing on a box at lecterns, or poised on tiptoes for photo opportunities.

I can’t speak for Sarkozy (I don’t know French, for starters) but what weighed heaviest on my mind growing up, particularly in those crucial mind-bending formative teen years, was a simple conviction that height = sex. All the tall chaps in my year seemed to be doing alright. Myself? Not so good, dear readers, not so good. Of course this probably had more to do with my appalling dress sense and a set of teeth that could eat an apple through a tennis racquet, but that’s another story for another column.

This left me with only one option; kill myself. After one failed attempt (I couldn’t reach the noose) I decided on a much more life-affirming path; grow a personality.

Like most short-statured folk, I had a choice; be violent, or be funny. With the inability to punch my way out of a wet paper bag with scissors in each hand, I chose the latter. And you know what? It’s worked out OK.

A towering personality becomes a more valuable commodity as you move out of the fickle awkwardness of the teens and into the 20s and beyond. It’s like shares. Whilst ‘The Men Who Peaked At High School’ (as the VB ad marvellously puts it) have spent all their ‘wealth’ and now lay bare their vacuousness for all to see, others’ personalities gained in value, gleefully paying richer and richer dividends to those lovely enough to stick around. With a face like this, I’ve managed to get laid literally an amount of times. And I have a beautiful wife. Result! Of course if you’re tall, handsome and have a sense of humour, you make me sick. I’m looking at you Russell Brand. And you, BMA film editor Mark Russell.

So chin up, my ugly, short statured chums; personality becomes a winning trait as age increases. Unless you’re dull as well, in which case you’re screwed. For now, I’m off to send Sarkozy a forward of one of those de-motivational posters doing the rounds that sees the man himself, wife Carla Bruni and the Obamas in a photo op, with Sarkozy on tip-toes to match his taller snapped chums. The caption? “Dude, you’re the president of France and your wife is smoking hot… Really, it’s OK.”

*no, not those kinds of balls, you perv. I was referring to the ones under my penis.

Tomorrow, When the War Began

I know I’ll be pissing on a lot of people’s chips (to use a charming English expression) with this review, but this adaptation of the beloved John Marsden series is just. Not. Any. Good.

Fans of the books will know there’s nothing wrong with the Marsden story; a group of plucky young teens from all walks of life head into the outback of Australia for their first big camping adventure, only to return to find war has broken out and their parents have been enslaved by invaders who, I’m told, are unnamed in the book, but clearly Chinese in the film. Which begs the first question; do we really want to piss off China right now?

Where the film falls flat is in the big three; writing, directing, acting. The dialogue is expositional and clunky throughout. The acting is wooden in some places, over the top in others, and the film is filled with so many head-smacking moments it’s hard to bear (“Ooo! A helicopter! Spread out from this hiding place and stand in a window, they won’t see us that way.”/”I’m amazed my make up is so perfect throughout, even though this is a war film”) I know this is meant to be young adult fiction, but films like the Pixar catalogue and E.T at least treat their young audience as having a modicum of intelligence. Final disclaimer: I haven’t read the series, and thus found this horrible. Those who have read the books find the film to be bad but enjoyable. Go figure (to use a not-so-charming American expression).

From the Bossman

Ahhhh ‘segueway’. My old nemesis.

In between running this ‘ere rag, night work at McDonalds and my, ahem, other night work to make end’s meet, I have the odd dabble as a scribe. As a result, I regard the English language with certain warmth and fondness, as one would a best friend. And like a best friend, I feel a certain duty to treat it with respect, as well as a certain pressure not to give it a black eye after an ill-advised Absinth session.

Aspiring to be a Wordsmith puts the discerning ink jockey under due pressure in every day life, and silly slip ups are waiting like banana skins on Mario Kart tracks. For instance, I used to spell – alarmingly often, I’m afraid to say – the thoroughly  useful word ‘segue’ as ‘segueway’, hearing its phonetics as a yoof and foolishly mistaking the ‘gue’ as a hard G in need of adjoining ‘way’. Chuckle-worthy enough on its own you’ll no doubt agree with slow patronising shake of the head, but for a budding writer it’s akin to slapping a fat Texan on the arse and calling him Susan.

The pressure is there as a writer to get it right, all the time, in every conceivable piece of correspondence. I realise even now that dedicating 700 odd words to the subject will incite many a Toff McWordy to scour and scrutinise this column* to catch some ironic error.

“Ha, you ape! You’ve incorrectly reconciled your double negative adjunct in the past participle, therefore creating a grammatical wormhole!” (Yes, we do have some laughs at the monthly Saucy Writers Club.)

The pressure is also there to be a proud torchbearer of the English language, for She increasingly needs people to champion Her cause. Segueway is but a mere drop in the ocean in a world where language is increasingly being treated like Monica Bellucci in Irreversible. As such, with the pressure comes a certain duty of preservation.

We haven’t all quite descended to the level of knuckle-scraping roflcopter pilots quite yet, but with the rapid rise of social media comes the fall of the English language, mercilessly cut and bastardised daily to the point where it resembles the Orwellian Newspeak of modern texting.

“Alz, Tez here. U up 4 a beer?!?”

“Terrence, you jackalent knave! A most sagacious suggestion. I will gleefully partake in a yeasty gargle with great expediency, and cherish the pub for sequestering us within its warm bosom so we may converse and engage in merry banter.”

“Lolz. Bosom. C U soon.”

This inevitably makes me one of those people who insist on spelling out all words in text and Facebook missives, always attempting the correct spelling, punctuation and grammar, even if it takes twice the time (which it doesn’t; I’m a professional, and can whip my fingers around an iPhone with such alacrity it makes nearby ladies blush with astonishment).

Of course, one needs to be careful not to be too smug. No one likes that snooty Lord Ottombottom type in their friendship group forever correcting people’s grammar and using phrases like “I’ll have an exiguous lager thanks” when they mean a middy (and who orders a middy anyway? Do people like that still exist?)

But at the end of the day, is a tired and overused expression.

So take pride in your language, people. Make it your bestie. And remember, we all make misstakes. Hell, I saw The West Australian publish over a million copies of a recent paper with an AFL player’s dick hanging out. And segueway aside, at least I haven’t scrawled the word ‘TWAT’ on a beloved advertiser’s picture yet, although I was tempted with John Butler.

It would probably be a mistake to print that.

*these same people are more that welcome to scour and scrutinise this column <point at groin>

The Ghost Writer

Maybe it’s the fact that I spent the two hour plus running time of this film in the cinema’s first row and can now only permanently look up that’s affecting my mood, but I just can’t have the same oily critical wank that everyone seems to be enjoying over this film.

O, it has its good points. There’s a good and timely plot, thanks largely to the original novel Ghost by Robert Harris. Most of the film is well paced, particularly in the beginning, with a slow Hitchcockian attempt at playing with the audience. And there’s an excellent spark of humour and wit throughout, admirably delivered by Obi Wan KeGregor.

Unfortunately, this tale of an unnamed ghost writer taking over the autobiography of ex Brit Prime Minister Adam “Tony Blair” Lang from his mysteriously dead predecessor at the very moment the PM is accused of war crimes falls short of true entertainment. This is largely due to information being kept from us too long. In superior thrillers No Country For Old Men and The Constant Gardner, there are countless plot points, each more dazzling and thrilling and twisting as the screen time progresses. The Ghost Writer has about four, and each takes about half an hour to get to. Add to this a conclusion that can be predicted early in the film and it makes for a rather unthrilling thriller sprinkled with moments of enjoyment.

From the Bossman

My recent weekend frolics have been fruitful, if for no other reason than to deliver me two classic life moments, one a ‘you know you’re married when…’, the other a ‘you know you’re getting older when…’

Y’see, me and the dear lady wife went to buy a long overdue rug over the weekend. A trek of atypical domesticity, you’ll agree. But, my dear friend, the devil is in the details. As a bloke (you will remember from last issue’s column that I am, indeed, all man, despite a propensity to sob like a pansy girly-girly-girl-girl during emotional moments in films) my reckoning of the weekend was thus: go to sleep Friday night at time of choice, ideally whilst still drunk; wake up at time of choice, ideally both a) at some point in the afternoon and b) still drunk; ingest large portions of grease, preferably in meat form; jump in the car (not whilst still drunk) and drive three blocks over to the perfectly good rug store down the road; select rug that doesn’t induce vomiting, hand over a sum of money, where sum of money is equal-to-or-less-than weekly rent payment; wait until tomorrow, when energy has returned, to position rug under furniture; return to work on Monday, content.

Women have an entirely different way of approaching the world, and rug shopping it seems is no different. This is how the weekend actually panned out: drag alarmingly sober husband from the warm recesses of his Saturday morning bed at 7am; ingest a variety of fruit and ruffage; jump in the car and drive three… hundred miles to Sydney because they have a very specific rug store there (Cadrey’s, for those of you taking notes); scrutinise rugs for an interminable amount of time; select one, and hand over amount of money that extends my retirement age to 77; drive three hours home; immediately indulge in lifting heavy furniture and rearranging the house right-now-this-instance because, for some reason, this simply can not wait until the perfectly good Sunday that lay ahead of us; return to work on Monday, content.

You will notice the outcomes were both the same. So, in conclusion to this segment, You know you’re married when… you have vastly different ways of approaching a task, yet you go the way of the woman because a) it’s good for you, b) she’s usually right and c) she’s smarter than I am.

This segueways* neatly into the second portion of this issue’s rumination: You know you’re getting older when… you find yourself genuinely excited by the prospect of a new rug. Seeing that multicoloured bastard spreadeagled on the living room floor (like so many Allan Skos before it) first thing Sunday morning made me feel like a kid at Christmas. The Big Lebowski was right… it really does tie the room together (with any luck no one will mistake me for a broke eccentric and piss all over it. Fortunately I don’t know any nihilists, but I do know a lot of drunks. For those unfamiliar with The Big Lebowski, this parenthesis was a real waste of your time, wasn’t it? Some would argue it was a waste of everyone’s time, but let’s not extend this ludicrously long aside any more than we need to, eh?) If someone told me ten years ago that I would be genuinely excited at the prospect of buying a new rug, I would have pulled out my nine, shot the person in the toe and said ‘Nigga! You best step OFF with that gay shit!” (I grew up in the Bronx… And was black, apparently).

So why exactly does a rug excite me as much as a rum ‘n’ coke? It’s a symbol of domestic bliss, my friends, and one I hope is visited upon your fine household. Snug as a bug in a rug is an enduring phrase for reasons more than simply phonetic convenience. Which reminds me… the wife told me to call that exterminator. Gotta dash.

* yes, I said segueway. More on that next issue…

Scott Pilgrim vs The World

The best compliment I can pay this film – other than OMG!OMG!How superfrickinawesome! – is that my lofty expectations were all satisfyingly met.

Bryan Lee O’Malley’s Scott Pilgrim comic series is a knowing and humourous homage to computer game and hipster culture, which sees our hero pit himself against seven evil exes in order to win the heart of dream girl Ramona Flowers. In the build up to the film’s release, there were three crucial elements that, if done right, would make this one of the year’s best. The writing – I am pleased to report this is a sharp and largely faithful adaptation, replete with quickfire wit ‘n’ quips and solid story structure. Michael Cera – really, you just needed the Arrested Development, Superbad and Juno star to do what he does best; shyness, nuance, understated intelligence and perfect comedic timing. Check, check, check and ooooooo boy howdy check.

The third, and arguably most crucial element… Edgar Wright. Edgar bloody Wright. Everything the man touches turns to gold, from TV series Spaced to cinematic ventures Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz. Pilgrim is no different. Wright’s trademark vivacious visual humour is perfect for a comic book adaptation, capturing the blistering pace and action excitement adroitly. Add to this brilliant performances from Jason Schwartzman as the ultimate evil ex, Mary Elizabeth Winstead’s smouldering turn as Ramona and film highlight Kieran “Why don’t I act more often?” Culkin as Pilgrim’s gay flatmate Warren, and you have the year’s most entertaining and hilarious film to date.

From the Bossman

I’m all man, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

I have to remind myself of this every now and again. And no, not like that. Jeez, no class you people.

Not long ago, I had the divine cinematic pleasure of watching Toy Story 3. Learning of this fact before attending the screening, and having recently watched it herself, my mother-in-law proffered to the girl and I, “Bring a box of tissues with you; it’s a bit of a sad one.”

“Ha! Bless your little stressed-elastic socks,” I said to her, lovingly knocking the side of her chin with a soft fist, and flicking my mane away from my eyes in a gesture bristling with testosterone. “For I am Man, and Men do not secrete fluid from their eyes.” At this point I upturned my depleted pipe and, using my pullover clad sleeve as a fulcrum, emptied my ash onto the carpet. Then I crushed a beer can on my head, and unleashed a heroically wet fart, insisting everyone take a good, long nasal draught of it. All man.

Now you have the keen, cold eyes of an intelligent person, so I won’t waste your time with any further journalistic dawdling; I think you know where the story goes from here… A few hours later, there was Toy Story mainstay Andy contemplating the big symbolic handover of his beloved Woody doll, and with it his childhood, and there was I, darting my hot eyeballs to the roof of the cinema and gnashing my teeth feverishly into my bottom lip in a vain attempt to distract the small reservoir of tears that had pooled at the base of my eyes from making a break for the forest of whiskers on my chin.

I survived that particular one – no tears, all man – and was able to palm off the whole experience with typical conjectural guff such as “Woo! Hot in there, eh? My eyes are all prickly,” and “Man, it’s too dark in those cinemas; I went for a handful of popcorn and accidentally thrust my fingers into my eyes instead”. And at least I was with the dear lady wife at the time – such utterly non-manly sensitivity can actually score some needed brownie points around the homestead (to distract from the pipe ash on the carpet, for instance). The fact my lower lip was bleeding heavily didn’t help though.

A worse occasion was watching Pixar’s Up with my younger brother. O yes, the younger sibling. Next to a buck’s party with the Canberra Raiders, the younger sibling is one of the last people you want seeing hot tears snaking a path of shame down your reddened cheeks. But o no. Pixar only had to go and put in those heartstring plucking montage sequence, and old blubberguts here was cranking like a rusty sprinkler.

Yup, there’s a lot of pressure out there for the overly emotional man to suck it up – the cinema can turn into a dungeon of shame, a smile from a baby can result in paroxysms of tears, and woe betide you lock eyes with one of the kittens in the pet shop on your way to the post office. Emotional landmines are set to erupt everywhere. The only way past it is to ball all this emotion into a cave of repression, and let it manifest itself in the healthy mode of cracking loud obscene jokes during emotional bits in film, giving smiling babies a well positioned V-sign, and meeting a kitten’s loving eyes with a firm boot in the kisser.

Bile and venom. All man.

From the Bossman

I am the whitest person I know.

By that I do not mean I like to bust out ill-advised raps, achieving the deft hip-hop trick of rhyming ‘time’ with ‘time’ whilst grabbing an alarming amount of crotch real estate in public places. No, I am referring to my skin colour.

Many have tried to best me. Many have failed. “That’s not white,” they sneer. “I’m as pale as you are.” One lift of my t-shirt later and it’s “Holy CRAP it gets whiter!?!” usually followed by a magnificently witty quip such as “You should call Dulux, I don’t think they’ve discovered that shade yet” (actually I lie, I made that one up. The comments are usually more along the dizzying intellectual heights of puffing out their chin with their tongue and grunting “Urgh! White fuck!” I really should stop hanging out with my Mum so much).

At the beach, or municipal swimming hole, I am very much out of place. The rank outsider. “That guy”. Among the sea of tanned and seared flesh crackling away like a morning piece of bacon in the pan, I stand out like a blind kid’s copy of Where’s Wally? (note to self: invent Braille version of Where’s Wally?). In some areas, I am banned from removing my t-shirt for fear of snow blindness, the sun rays jack-knifing violently from my porcelain frame into the soft vulnerable eyes of unsuspecting beach-goers (“Ahhhhh! El Blanco Diablo!” they shout in Spain). In fact, I’m SO white… aaaaaahh you get the idea.

Tanning is an impossible notion. Whereas the normal human cycle of sun-searing goes “pale… pink/red… brown… lighter brown… pale”, mine is more along the lines of “pale… ARGH! My FUCKING skin! It’s like a cat’s pissed ACID on it! Sweet merciful Jesus, what’s happening?!?... peeling… pale”. Not quite as much fun, I can assure you. There’s a point in the highly enviable “peeling” stage that if you put me in one of those containment bubbles, I’d resemble a human snowglobe.

I had an ill-advised attempt at a tan once, when I was 18, and was about to go to Gran Canaria as part of England’s version of Schoolies. Keen to show off my newly sculpted bod, I thought a seven hour session in the sun, with my skin type, would beat down the path to the bronzed Adonis look I had envisioned. A little burn, and I’d be sweet. No pain, no gain.

Whooooooooooooa mama. For a week I couldn’t walk properly. Lying down was agony. Showers were a near impossibility; instead I bathed in after-sun lotion. Huge blisters erupted, camped for a few days, and promptly burst on my shoulders and legs. In another bout of youthful genius, I tried to rub after-sun lotion on the exposed skin. My subsequent screams could be heard three towns over.

So next time you see that super pale guy at the beach, don’t mock them. They’ve had it tough enough already. Simply go over and lovingly pat them on the shoulder. But not too hard. It stings, man.

Greenberg

Ben Stiller hangs up his fluffy bright comedy pants for a dabble in the dark arts of the “serious role” as neurotic, misanthropic Roger Greenberg… and turns in a mighty fine performance in this admirable attempt at a character piece.

On the back of a nervous breakdown, Greenberg returns to his native Los Angeles to housesit for his well-to-do brother’s family. Throw in an awkward relationships new and old – new with his brother’s personal assistant Florence (Greta Gerwig) and old with ex band mate Ivan (Rhys Ifans) – and we’re given a two hour study into a man with many problems and no solution.

Written and directed by The Squid and The Whale’s Noah Bambach this is an assuredly slow paced and character rich piece that could stand to lose 15 minutes to prevent the film dragging slightly. As with all character pieces, without a sharp script and strong central performances it can be a dire affair; fortunately a gleeful tick can be put in both boxes. Stiller, Gerwig and Ifans are uniformly excellent, bringing nuance and depth to their roles, and “hinting at an ocean of sadness just beneath the surface,” to quote High Fidelity. Both strained and restrained, no easy options are either offered or given, and Bambach’s confidence in his subject matter and actors allow the piece to play out at its own lingering pace. Fans of subculture pieces like Ghost World or American Splendor should lap this up.

Locality

I am the whitest person I know.

By that I do not mean I like to bust out ill-advised raps, achieving the deft hip-hop trick of rhyming ‘time’ with ‘time’ whilst grabbing an alarming amount of crotch real estate in public places. No, I am referring to my skin colour.

Many have tried to best me. Many have failed. “That’s not white,” they sneer. “I’m as pale as you are.” One lift of my t-shirt later and it’s “Holy CRAP it gets whiter!?!” usually followed by a magnificently witty quip such as “You should call Dulux, I don’t think they’ve discovered that shade yet” (actually I lie, I made that one up. The comments are usually more along the dizzying intellectual heights of puffing out their chin with their tongue and grunting “Urgh! White fuck!” I really should stop hanging out with my Mum so much).

At the beach, or municipal swimming hole, I am very much out of place. The rank outsider. “That guy”. Among the sea of tanned and seared flesh crackling away like a morning piece of bacon in the pan, I stand out like a blind kid’s copy of Where’s Wally? (note to self: invent Braille version of Where’s Wally?). In some areas, I am banned from removing my t-shirt for fear of snow blindness, the sun rays jack-knifing violently from my porcelain frame into the soft vulnerable eyes of unsuspecting beach-goers (“Ahhhhh! El Blanco Diablo!” they shout in Spain). In fact, I’m SO white… aaaaaahh you get the idea.

Tanning is an impossible notion. Whereas the normal human cycle of sun-searing goes “pale… pink/red… brown… lighter brown… pale”, mine is more along the lines of “pale… ARGH! My FUCKING skin! It’s like a cat’s pissed ACID on it! Sweet merciful Jesus, what’s happening?!?... peeling… pale”. Not quite as much fun, I can assure you. There’s a point in the highly enviable “peeling” stage that if you put me in one of those containment bubbles, I’d resemble a human snowglobe.

I had an ill-advised attempt at a tan once, when I was 18, and was about to go to Gran Canaria as part of England’s version of Schoolies. Keen to show off my newly sculpted bod, I thought a seven hour session in the sun, with my skin type, would beat down the path to the bronzed Adonis look I had envisioned. A little burn, and I’d be sweet. No pain, no gain.

Whooooooooooooa mama. For a week I couldn’t walk properly. Lying down was agony. Showers were a near impossibility; instead I bathed in after-sun lotion. Huge blisters erupted, camped for a few days, and promptly burst on my shoulders and legs. In another bout of youthful genius, I tried to rub after-sun lotion on the exposed skin. My subsequent screams could be heard three towns over.

So next time you see that super pale guy at the beach, don’t mock them. They’ve had it tough enough already. Simply go over and lovingly pat them on the shoulder. But not too hard. It stings, man.

From the Bossman

Greetings fellow chuckle hounds. You will no doubt be screamingly keen to learn that I have returned safe and sound from the party capital of the world, Madrid, to rock the coolth of Canberra once more.

Well ‘sound’ is probably a bit of a stretch. Racing straight from the airport to BMA HQ, smelling of Satan's armpit and caked in enough travel grease to fry a mess hall's worth of eggs doesn’t really qualify as ‘sound’. But that's the insatiable Mother Deadline for you. She waits for no man.

It has been awhile since I have indulged in international air travel, but with a plane flight worthy of a fourth Lord of the Rings book, I am once again fondly reminded of the joys of travelling on a writer's budget.
Upon boarding, you first need to move past the superior classes airlines so cruelly dangle in front of you. You start wide-eyed in the effortless suave of Business Class, move grudgingly through the spacious splendour of First Class, past the fetid, claustrophobic rank of the charmingly titled Economy Class before finally reaching your ‘seats’ in the Super Budget Pen of Despair. After picking off the gum and shooing away one of the chickens that had escaped from its crate, you settle in and wait for an aperitif to kick off the gruelling journey ahead.
"Can I get you something sir?" offers an overweight tranny in an air hostess uniform, sporting a face like a crab's bus ticket and a smile lacking as much in conviction as it was in teeth.
"Yes, I'll have a flat white thanks."
A very short time later, my nose is ablaze with pain.
"There's your flat white," she says, having just rammed a plate into my face. It seems liquids aren’t covered in the cost of travel.
After spending 14 hours with the wife's elbow jammed into my eye and my knee rammed in the small of her back (generally looking like we'd gone horribly wrong attempting page 137 of the Karma Sutra) we touch down, so ending the first of five legs of the journey.

Aaaaaaah connecting flights, where you get to revel in the international shopping paradise and nationalistic nuance of each country’s airport. Or so I anticipated. Disembarking the plane (and reinserting my shoulder back into its socket), we're led down a dark alley to wait for our connecting flight. While the Others are led into the opulence of a room decked out like the Garden of Eden (or so I assume; the electrified perimeter kept us at bay, but I could hear the unmistakable clink of cocktail glasses and Middle Class Laughter on the other side that only such a setting could summon), we are led to the Peanut Lounge, a room so called not because of the blushing abundance of snacks to be consumed, but for the litany of empty shells scattered all over the ground.

The following Thursday, our connecting flight was ready to leave.

High-larity aside it wasn’t that bad, but it’s an undeniable slog that reminds you just how far away we are from the rest of the world and how lucky we are that, despite our penchant for Southern Cross tattoos and casual racism, the world’s great talent decides to visit us. And you need to experience a bit of pain to make it all worth while. “It’s not the destination but the journey” some smug self-satisfied spiritual git once said. With international air travel, it’s the slog of the journey that makes the destination worthwhile.

But next time I’m travelling in Business Class; I just need to sell that damn novel (if any of you know a publisher who’d be keen to look at my novel Insert Witty Title Here, let me know at frankandbeans_69@hotmale.com)

ALLAN SKO

Exit Through the Gift Shop

3 1/2 out of 5

What a curious little entity this film is. Initially presented as a documentary on street art and its main progenitors, it quietly morphs into a cunning piece of self promotion, leaving one to ponder; is this actually a documentary, or a work of guerrilla art unto itself?

The British Banksy is arguably the world’s most renowned street artist, as prolific as he is mysterious. Swathed in shadow and with distorted voice throughout the film, the man’s identity is protected to prevent law enforcement disrupting his illegal form of art. Any wall or surface in any location around the world is not safe from Banksy, or indeed street art in general, as once dull concrete veneers are transformed into beautiful, often temporary, works of art.

This is called ‘A Banksy film’ and yet it is Los Angeles based Frenchman Thierry Guetta with the camera and narration. In 1999 Guetta found himself becoming obsessed with filming and ultimately aiding in the creation of street art, beginning with his cousin Space Invader in France (famous for placing pixel space invader motifs in increasingly creative places) then moving onto Shepard Fairey in LA (famous for, amongst other things, the Andre the Giant Obey effigy) and then Banksy himself.

The relatively short running time of an hour and 20 minutes means this documentary doesn’t overstay its welcome. During its running time we are shown some exquisite bits of street art (Banksy’s work on the wall dividing Israel and the West Bank is a highlight) and its progression from documentary to self-fulfilling street art gives the piece a clever conceptual twist. Guetta isn’t exactly the most charismatic of documentary makers, but his gumption and determination is to be admired, even if it is at the expense of his long suffering wife. Well worth brushing up on this often misunderstood form of art.

From the Bossman

Lovable attention-jockeys will know we bid a teary yet fond farewell to Justin “The Bedroom Philosopher” Heazlewood last issue. Apparently he’s just getting too “successful” with his music career these days and wants to “focus on it more”. Ridiculous. Yes, yes, so his excellent parody of indie-wank in Northcote (So Hungover) has got over 25,000 views on YouTube.

Big whoop. My allanAHAawardsdisgrace clip got way over that. Geek chic? Bah! I was rocking that when it was seriously not cool. Like atomic wedgie not cool. I can entertain you little pooglets by firing rainbows of yay into your chuckle zone. I have a Bachelor of Arts. In Professional Writing, dammit!

Seriously though, Godspeed Just. Be sure to check out both the fantastic video for Northcote (resplendent with muso cameos) and his ANU show on Aug 18 with band The Awkwardstra.

Anyway, this column comes hurtling to you on the mojo wire aaaaaaaall the way from sunny Spain, where I’m attempting a European honeymoon whilst stoking the fires of BMA from afar. Apart from three frantic messages from the fire department and a friendly reminder from Mick the loan shark, all seems to be going swimmingly. To celebrate this fact, here are some diary notes from the Spanish sojourn thus far:

- women sunbathe topless and, most surprisingly, no one gawks (well, nearly no one; I expect to see a headline in the Daily Madrid tomorrow reading “El Blanco Diablo!” or “Son of a Beach: Alabaster Pervert Strikes Again”).

- do not step onto zebra crossings expecting a safe haven from vehicular oppression; the law to stop is taken more as a vague suggestion here. They might as well paint a succession of targets.

- everyone here is gay. Or just remarkably well groomed. There are so many cheap and varied fashion stores, you simply have no excuse for sartorial sloppiness. As a flipflop blue flannel sporting Australian, the pressure is on. One feels the need to slip on an Armani suit simply to pop ‘round the corner to

- I’m not kidding people, like, totally topless. You spend the entire time trying to act cool by not staring. My poor inner monologue’s working double shifts (Be cool, Sko, be cool they’re just breasts after all, you’ve seen them hundreds of times, well, a couple of times before, play it smooth. Oops, just caught another eyeful. Stare whimsically at sea for a few minutes, that ought to balance it out)

“A lot of topless women today, dear.”

“Mmmm? Yes, yes I suppose there are, my dear wife. Well spotted.”

- “A bird in the hand is worth two years imprisonment.” Sydney Customs

- today we stumbled across a potential new location for the next series of Survivor, a little island situated off the south coast of Spain called Doñana (pronounced don-yana) or Mosquito Island, as it should be known. “You need be careful, there are many mosquitoes,” the tour guide proffered, in delightfully Spanish flavoured broken English. “Ha!” I thought. “You can’t scare me, peasant. I come from Australia. We breed and race in bastards in RSLs* where I come from!” Once we stepped off the boat, it was like a scene from Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds. Despite layering repellent on thicker than molasses, me and the lady wife now resemble an advanced version of join-the-dots.

- When a maaaaaaaaan loves a wooooooomun!

Sorry about that last one. Had Percy Sledge stuck in my head for some reason. Stay warm, squiglets. Catch ya in The Little Chill soon.

ALLAN SKO

*such activity may be restricted to Kambah

From the Bossman

Ahhhhh Canberra, you icy strumpet, you sure do know how to put on a winter, don’t cha? As we speak (or read, as the case may be) ice is welding favourable body parts to less favourable body parts, and with a commanding point of Jack Frost’s finger, an army of snuffling public servants is unleashed into the streets to infect the populous. Yes, if there’s one thing we know how to do down here in tha ‘Berra – besides harbour drug lords and wear scorn for unpopular political decisions that have nothing to do with us – it’s seasons. That’s right Sydney, seasons, like Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring, not like your Hot, Farkin’ Hot, Even Farkin’ Hotter, Not Quite As Farkin’ Hot But Still Pretty Farkin’ Hot.

I love a proper winter; it’s great snuggling weather, the element of fire suddenly takes on wonderful new meaning, carbohydrates taste better, I can finally dust off that thick jacket that embarrasses everyone except me when I wear it (we all have one of those, admit it) and in a juxtaposition worthy of poet John Keats it makes you miss the seemingly ubiquitous Australian heat.

Still, bollocks to that, I’m off to Spain for a month to enjoy my honeymoon. Enjoy the cold, suckers! :D

But we leave you behind with this, our 350^th issue, to enjoy dear, lovely, startlingly attractive readers. Yes, it seems like only yesterday that Satan threw down a big bag of money and spake: “BMA. Create it.”* Good times. Much love, squiglets. Keep well, and keep warm! ALLAN “RUNNING OF THE BULL” SKO

* may not be actual origin of BMA. Consult sane person for accurate information.

New York, I Love You

Pretty young things and venerable actors exchange snappy dialogue and smouldering looks across ten vignettes, written and directed by heavyweights of Hollywood, on the topic of falling in love in the Big Apple and all the craziness that ensues. Sounds like a cringe worthy Hollywood goes arthouse wank venture, eh?

Somewhat, but there’s much to enjoy. It may be the heroic flow of wine generously bestowed by Dendy before the preview screening, or the fact I got married recently, but I liked this film. Others haven’t. Which is understandable; a series of shorts can seem a fractured and disjointed outing that never allows the viewer to truly engage with an overarching story. Not for me. We have many beautifully captured stories revealing just enough about the characters for our minds to develop the rest. There is humour and delight through dialogue and acting, and some wonderful moments of surprise. Only Orlando Bloom lets the side down; I’m sorry ladies, the lad just can’t act. And whilst maligned elsewhere, I found the Anthony Minghella penned short to be the most powerful, with Shia LeBeouf giving the performance of the film.

But there’s the thing; while some struggle to engage with this format, others will pick apart their favourite scene, moment, piece of dialogue, actor etc And there’s more than enough quality to pick through.

4 out of 5

From the Bossman

So, has anyone else been having as much fun with Telstra as I have?

Recently, I’ve been receiving bills that need to be sent off to NASA to tally. After navigating the 37 recorded options on the help line (“Would you like to know the weather in Beirut? Please say yes or no.”) I finally get through to one of them human fellers. “Ahhh yes, good evening, I’m calling about my bill. It appears I’ve unwittingly taken out a mortgage with you.”/ “No, sir, the amount is correct.” / “But I’m on a three googleplex cap plan.” / “That is correct, sir. And you have exceeded it.”

The fun and fresh-smelling dwellers of Gorman House can attest that I do indeed use my phone a fair bit; someone’s got to keep the BMA fire stoked after all. But as I can’t recall calling my cousin ZZzzrd from Mars any time recently, the notion of exceeding my cap is perplexing at the very least, and makes me swear like an Asterix character at worst (f$%*& &(%# !!!). This is compounded by the most confusing billing system I’ve come across to date. “So this figure I see online, I was told that’s how much I’ve used, and if I’m under my cap I’m safe.” / “No sir, that figure shows how much credit you have left.” / “So I have $125 left?” / “No sir, you have used $125, and will be charged $7,688 as outlined in our terms and conditions.” / “(f$%*& &(%# !!!)” ALLAN “IN COMMUNICADO” SKO

Can a Rat Control a Man?

Brit comedian Adam Buxton debates the finer points of Pixar's Ratatouille through the medium of jungle. 

A Song is a City

Although Dappled Cities are enjoying the pleasures of a warm English spring from their new London HQ, they will forego their pims and cucumber sandwiches to dash home for their Australian tour in support of their new single Wooden Ships. Dappled Cities Zounds album was released in Australia and the US to critical acclaim late last year securing the band their first Top 40 Chart debut, a #1 AIR debut, an ARIA nomination for Independent Album Of The Year, and AIR Award nominations for Album and Artist Of The Year. Wooden Ships will be the final single lifted from the Zounds album and the accompanying video is a beautifully shot alternate live version of the song, taken from a forthcoming DVD release. Since the release of Zounds, Dappled Cities have thrilled us with gold body suits, a Disney television series and light-bulb jackets – so it’s difficult to predict what treats the band will have in store for Winter Tour. John Steel Singers, Otouto and Fire! Santa Rosa, Fire! will join Dappled Cities on this final lap around Australia before they return to the UK. They’re playing ANU Bar on June 24. We’ve got a shiny double pass to give away. All you need to do to score is fling an email to editorial@bmamag.com telling what you’d wear onstage if you were a rock star.

Horrible, Just Horrible

Icon Film Distribution and Dendy Cinemas Canberra are giving away 14 fantastically creepy prize packs including 12 Ghostly Horror packs featuring a buy one get one free pass to see Triangle at Dendy Cinemas Canberra and a Paranormal Activity T-Shirt, Two Ultimate Horror Packs featuring The Broken on DVD, Splinter on DVD, Paranormal Activity on DVD, Severance on DVD, a Paranormal Activity T-Shirt, a Triangle poster and a free pass to see Triangle at Dendy Cinemas Canberra. To go in the draw to win one of these packs just tell us in 25 words or less what your favourite horror movie of all time is. Email your answer, with your full name and phone number to canberraevents@dendy.com.au .

Happy Buddha

Buddha Bar 12, the retro-romantic flavoured collection, opens the door to a universe where dreams become reality and where urban fairytales come to life. Having etched a name for itself the world over, the Buddha Bar compilation series started its humble beginnings more than 10 years ago in Paris. Since then, the series has gone on to develop a loyal fanbase the world over. First brought to life by DJ and Buddha Bar Paris founder Claude Challe, who compiled and produced the first two albums, Buddha Bar 12 was compiled and mixed by DJ Ravin, who has been responsible for seven of the 12 volumes to date. For Buddha-Bar 12, Ravin has created an exquisite, carefully orchestrated compilation, trendy and nostalgic, very Parisian yet as universal as the language of love. From the melancholic ‘la vie en rose’ to the heartbeats of Gypsy, Hungarian, Finnish and Persian songs, this double CD set intimately reflects DJ Ravin’s search for poetry and passion through music. He takes us through a journey of musical heights and provides the sounds to greater inner paths and experiences. Press play, close your eyes and let your mind take you to Paris where you can get lost for a few precious moments inside the lush, soothing and exotic surroundings of Buddha Bar. Now doesn’t that sound blissful. To win one of three copies, send an email to editorial@bmamag.com telling us exactly what you do to achieve supreme relaxation.

Session Musicians

Ministry of Sound’s Sessions Seven doesn’t invite you back into the club so much as it actually grabs you by the laces and pulls you onto the dancefloor! Need proof of just how massive the 2010 instalment of Ministry of Sound’s fabled Sessions series is? Well, once again the action has spilled over to three discs full of powerhouse dance music, each CD packed with the biggest tunes of the moment as well as the ones we’ll be dancing to in months to come, all mixed up by three certified heavyweights. Bringing their renowned floor-pumping muscle to Disc 1, Australia’s own Stafford Brothers back-up their impressive reputation with 20 tracks of unrestrained banging house. Triumphantly returning to the Sessions series after a monster mix for the 2009 edition, local hero Tommy Trash takes on Disc 2. Capping off an enormous twelve months for Tommy, this mix truly offers something for everyone fusing house, electro and even indie dance into one streamlined party disc. Taking the reins for the grand finale of Sessions Seven is none other than Steve Aoki, Los Angeles’ enduring DJ supremo, ending this party the only way he knows how - with the roof torn off and the cops called in to break up a riot. We have five copies to throw your way. To win, send an email to editorial@bmamag.com telling us about the craziest party you’ve ever been to.

Noisia - Split the Atom [Stomp]

Boldness, confidence, sense of purpose. Three great things to expect from your artists and with this, their debut LP after many-a-year twiddling away on the 1s and 2s, tech-triumvirate Noisia have achieved the holy trifecta, delivering a cohesive telling of their trademark uber-phat, ‘full’ sounding production. Pulling no punches, Machine Gun fires first with what starts as a semi-standard electro house number before descending into multi time-signatured, distorted bass madness (and be sure to watch the accompanying video on YouTube; one of the finest I’ve seen in a fair old while).

Title track Split the Atom and Red Heat scream “dance motherfucker!”, reminding us of the glory days of dirty breakbeat. But Messrs Roos, de Vlieger and van Sonderen do not completely abandon the warped D&B roots that made them famous, nor the roots of the D&B genre itself. Shellshock with Foreign Beggars and Dystopia contain the kind of Hades-driven bass and fury you’ve come to expect from the group that gave you The Tide, whereas Diplodocus and Hand Gestures with Joe Seven are pleasing harks back to drum ‘n’ bass of 15 years ago, directly channelling late ‘90s Ed Rush & Optical style neurofunk to great success.

I don’t know what they put in the water in Holland, but whatever it is, make mine a pint.

Iron Man 2

Iron Man 2? Iron Man Poo, more like! Ha! Preschool-hilartity-that-I-really-should-have-grown-out-of-by-now aside, it’s not that bad, but it’s far from a well-crafted, balls-to-the-floor action romp. Tony Stark/Iron Man has the world at his feet; untold riches, an adoring international public, and the man responsible for world peace. But he’s dying, slowly being poisoned by the radioactive thingy in his chest that he needs to stay alive (mad irony dude!), and the government wants his suits in the interest of national security (because if you can trust anyone with high-powered weaponry, it’s the American government, right?). Concurrently, Russian physicist Ivan Vanko (Mickey Rourke) is plotting revenge against Stark with the use of some big electrified whips (kinky), and after a false start at the Monaco GP, gets a little help from Stark industry rival Justin Hammer (Sam Rockwell).

Let’s start with the good points. Downey Jr is always a joy to watch (although perhaps a tad too quirky), Rockwell and Don Cheadle are particularly good, and Paltrow and Rourke do well with the material they have. There are some sassy one-liners, some scenes of snappy dialogue (a la The West Wing in many places) and an entertaining action set piece at the Monaco GP.

But these moments are like ice cubes of joy bobbing in a wide sea of crap. As with the first film, the pacing is off, meandering for a full 45 minutes in the middle, and the “climatic battle” is far from that. The action scenes will likely be a fan boy’s paradise, but for me they were dull; seeing two CGI models slugging it out with each other without actually having gaming controls to move them is as unsatisfying and hollow as the recent Star Wars trilogy. And more could have been done with Rourke’s character, and the relationship between Ivan and Stark cries out to be more developed. It’s a decent enough film to polish off a jumbo size box of popcorn to, but will make you feel bloated and strangely unsatisfied afterwards

From the Bossman

Let’s see, what’s in the news this week…

Iconic red food van Brodburger is under attack once again, with the NCA allegedly refusing to renew their hawker’s license. The NCA were not quoted as saying “Entertainment? Good times? Not in MY town! AAAAA ha ha ha HA!” before throwing themselves out of a nearby window. Yes, the thought of people enjoying top quality food by the scenic Lake Burley Griffin – a gaudy act that could be used to promote tourism in the ACT – just makes me sick to my ass too.

What else? Ahhh yes, it seems BMA has been ceremoniously drummed out of Merici college for being “not suitable for our girls”. Why the cunting fuck not? Damn Catholics and their dead religion.*

Groovin The Moo proved to be one of the biggest and most successful events to hit Canberra, a glittering jewel in the ACT’s entertainment crown and something that lifts Canberra up the standard of an international-grade city. No doubt authorities will be moving in swiftly to shut such nonsense down. The NCA were not quoted as saying “Entertainment? Good times? Not in MY town! AAAAA ha ha ha HA!” before throwing themselves out of a nearby window.

Right, that quite enough of that. Silly.

ALLAN “PROPOGATOR OF NONSENSE” SKO

* for heaven’s sake, put down that pen, it’s a joke.

Harry Brown

On first inspection, Harry Brown presents itself as the British equivalent of Clint Eastwood’s Gran Torino. Ex-military pensioner protagonist? Check. Disillusioned at the surrounding neighbourhood? Check. Spurned into vigilante action by a shocking event close to home? Check.

Being British, you can expect Harry Brown to be grimmer than its American counterpart, and to be well acted and well shot. Check on all three counts again. What you don’t expect from the normally-nuanced British is for their characters to be underdeveloped and largely two-dimensional, thus robbing the film of its potential full impact. Gran Torino succeeds because Eastwood’s Walt Kowlaski and the situation around him is what writing lecturers would refer to as ‘complicated’; war has made him racist, and he struggles to come to terms with living with good people of an ethnicity he’s been trained to hate. Caine’s Harry Brown is a good character played in typically beautiful fashion by Caine, but he’s too good, and his enemies are too horrid. The always excellent Sean Harris (you may remember him from his wonderful turn as troubled Joy Division frontman Ian Curtis in 24 Hour Party People) is almost comical as the utterly depraved dealer Stretch, and director Daniel Barber and actor Ben Drew have done well in creating one of the vilest antagonists put to recent cinema in Noel Winters. While this would make for an excellent action film villain, here it robs a socio-character piece such as Harry Brown from the tragedy writer Gary Young and Barber could have achieved with more rounded characters. In the end, we have a valiant effort that falls short of truly powerful revenge cinema.

From the Bossman

So my wedding day has been and gone and was as magical as I could have hoped it to be, thanks largely to a picture-perfect day, a beautiful blushing bride (but let’s face it, she could have walked down the aisle in a potato sack and looked gorgeous), and the best friends and family a man could possibly hope to assemble. And it’s good to see the signing of wedding certificates suitably modernised as well. Instead of adjourning to a table replete with one o’ them fancy-letter’d documents to sign by many a trembling finger and a fancy pen, instead you’re led to a table replete with laptop, lovingly opened by the celebrant where your Facebook page awaits, allowing you to change your relationship status from ‘It’s Complicated’ to ‘Married’ and thus officially sealing the deal in the eyes of the 21^st Century. Once the celebrant Ann Marie Tarry updated her Twitter page to read “Just married Allan n Elisa, LOLZ”, it was set in stone. So romantic.

“But enough with the sappy-pappy personal bollocks already, we’ve had enough of that last issue, Allan, you handsome bastard,” I hear you violently spit into your BMA. Well harness that bristling energy, dear reader, and fire it in the direction of the legislative assembly, for the time has come for you to do your bit to save our beloved live music. There is nary the space to explain here, but in short, the ears of the pollies are open to the o-so important subject of live music in Canberra, and how we can keep it in existence. They need and want your opinions and they need and want them now. I urge you to turn to editor Julia’s Local Column on page 17 for further details on how to get involved. Important? You betcha.

ALLAN “GET INVOLVED” SKO

Clash of the Titans

Hey readers, Allan here. Regulars to my From the Bossman guff will know that I am soon to be wed. As such, I have had nary the time to grace the splendours of the silver screen. But not wanting to leave you, the gentle reader, bereft of a film review, I called upon my brother Torben to give his salient account of Clash of the Titans:

“Bollocks really... just bollocks. For starters, the 3D looks shithouse. The character’s pasty faces look like they’re one plane, whilst their outline sure as hell sits on another, giving this annoying trailing effect I just couldn’t ignore. And at times the image is so dim you can’t make it out. I even considered watching it without the glasses. Let it be said, Jimmy John “Ava-wank” Cameron might be an arse, but at least he knows how to do 3D. Is it still worth seeing in 2D instead? By Zeus’ beard NO! It’s just lame. The characters are one dimensional (ironically) and entirely unsympathetic. I honestly couldn’t have given less of a shit when a bunch of them were killed off. In fact, I wish it had happened sooner, so I didn’t have to listen to their cliché bollocks. What’s worse is that film isn’t, well… worse. Then at least it might have been funny. Instead, it just sits nicely atop of mediocre hill, waiting for Prince of Persia to turn up. Go play God of War instead. By comparison, this film entirely lacks balls, and you know I do like a good pair of balls. You’re not going to publish this, right?”

Allan and Torben Sko

From the Bossman

Hey gang! Check THIS out. I’ve just figured out a way to bat your eyelids in cyberspace:

:) ;) :) ;) :) ;)

Pretty cool, huh? Now you can send that to your beloved, or flirt with an office colleague without having to resort to that obscene language you normally use.

Actually, now I look at it, it’s more of a disturbing demonic twitch than a meaningful and beautiful batting of eyelids. But I’m sure they’ll get the idea.

Anyway, please forgive my apparent giddiness, dear readers, for you see by the time you read this, I shall be a married man (yes sorry fellas, threw you a bit of a curve ball there). Yes, I’ve got me the ol’ ball ‘n’ chain, the trouble and strife, the “missus”, if you will or, as my bearded And Another Thing counterpart Scott Adams would say, the dear lady wife. And you know what? It feels pretty damn good.

So I dedicate both my column, and my heart, to Elisa Marie Macie; the most beautiful creature to walk upon God’s green earth. She’s made me a better man in so many ways, it wells the eyes with grateful tears just thinking about it.

Worry not, cringe hounds, I’ll be back with my usual rambling bollocks next issue but for now, here’s to you, my beautiful, wonderful wife.

ALLAN “SOPPY PANTS” SKO

Green Zone

It’s shortly after the invasion of Iraq in 2003, and Chief Warrant Officer for the US Army Roy Miller (Matt Damon) becomes increasingly disillusioned at orders from his superiors to search for seemingly non-existent WMDs and goes rogue. Special Forces are sent to stop him, so he must outrun them whilst attempting to get vital information about Sadam’s top generals to Baghdad’s sympathetic CIA bureau chief Martin Brown (Brendan Gleeson).

Any film that attempts to waterboard the Bush administration's invasion of Iraq is alright in my book, and Green Zone does so with gleeful gallons. There’s no fence-sitting here. Whereas other recent war efforts such as The Hurt Locker and Brothers study the psychology of war and its affect on the mind of soldiers, taking a balanced political approach as a result, here we have Matt Damon and director Paul Greengrass is camera-swaying Bourne Identity mode with a main purpose of yelling from the rooftop: America invaded Iraq based on filthy, dirty lies.

So while the subject matter gets an enthusiastic thumbs up from yours truly – particularly considering this is made by Americans – it seems out of place, and somewhat inappropriate, to give it the balls-out handy-cam action treatment. Yes, the action is played out with good set pieces, and Damon again plays to be a likable character to cheer on. But the concluding action sequence seems tacked on and dilutes the film’s heart and thus impact (and the fact all characters are miraculously tracked from a helicopter is just dumb). At the core, there’s a good film here, but one can’t help but feel it would have worked better as a taut, political thriller a la The Constant Gardner.

From the Bossman

By the time you read this, I will have sat on a panel of my peers (including notable venues owners and organisers of some of Canberra’s most exciting events) to discuss “the reduction of barriers to live music”, which is basically your atypical longwinded government departmental way of saying “giving live music a fair crack”.

“Yes, and about time too,” I hear you chorus. Some of you are well aware, others are probably too pissed to notice, but a lot of our venues are doing it tough out there,  subjected to sound complaints from neighbours who not only got there after the venues, but don’t need to adhere to the same kind of strict sound proofing. Hardly fair, I hear you cry. Well, that’s the way we’ve set it up apparently. Since the closure of The Greenroom and Toast (among others) Canberra has hardly been spoilt for choice for entertainment shacks, we’re missing out on many a touring act, and current legislation is certainly not helping out.

Now get me not wrong; I’m all for a good night’s sleep as much as the next old man (and after this deadline, combined with an eyeful of Lady Gaga to follow, I’d need a good lie down) but the laws are skewed and must be tweaked.

So, a small step in the right direction has been made. Stay tuned for more as events unfold.

ALLAN “120db” SKO

Gorillaz - Plastic Beach [EMI/PARLOPHONE]

When discussing with my dearest the notion of discovering the sex of a child before it’s born, she was adamantly against it. “It’s one of the only bits of mystery left in life.”

This truism switched me onto what I love about Messrs Albarn and Hewitt’s Gorillaz creation; mystery and magic. And so it is with Plastic Beach, their third LP. Albarn’s turned his bulbous brain to consumerism this time around, and each track reads like an exotic dish. A downtempo opener with Snoop Dogg in spoken-word mode, backed by the Hypnotic Brass Ensemble (Welcome to the…)? Check. Traditional Arabic music melding into a charged electro/hip-hop melange with a side of retro game effects (White Flag)? Natch. A bed of melancholy surf guitar with moody Albarn vocal, topped with a veritable reach-for-the-lasers trance experience (Empire Ants)? O’ course. That’s just three of the 16 available. And like a newborn, once the mystery is revealed, the magic remains. They have an amazing ability to sample the world, combine the most unlikely sounds, and make it work. Not just work, make it fantastic. Do enjoy.

The Men Who Stare At Goats

After his wife leaves him for his editor, backwater newspaper journalist Bob Wilton (Ewan McGregor) decides to prove himself by going to Iraq to cover the invasion. Whilst residing in Kuwait City he meets Lyn “Skip” Cassady (George Clooney) a soldier and product of Project Jedi; a secret division run by Bill Django (Jeff Bridges) to develop non-lethal warfare tactics that lend themselves to the mystic, the telepathic, and the LSD-inspired. Wilton decides to write his story on Project Jedi, and learns of the jealous Larry Hooper (Kevin Spacey) and his conflicting idea that could jeopardise the programme.

This is a delightful and enjoyable film that falls short of the knockout punch it could potentially deliver. Three of the four big names are magnificent; Clooney glides through with his usual effortless cool; Bridges channels The Dude for a role that gives warm acid flashbacks to The Big Lebowski; Spacey is wonderfully mischievous. McGregor’s good enough, but as the years roll on, the man irritates more than he dazzles. The subject matter – written by British screenwriter Peter Straughan and loosely based on a non-fiction (yes, non-fiction) book by Jon Ronson – is magic. Scenes of the platoon’s “training” in the ways of psychic warfare are among the film’s best.

But something in director Grant Heslov’s execution lacks the necessary bite. The narrative’s purpose, perhaps fittingly, meanders in the middle as the duo find themselves in the desert. While the acting is undoubtedly good, the protagonists often resemble caricatures rather than fleshed out characters, though I’m sure this is the point. And the conclusion peters out and is slightly unsatisfying as a result. Still, this has enough laughs from its subject matter and good performances to make it worth a fun ‘n’ flaky few hours viewing.

From the Bossman

Youth Week is nearly upon us; a wonderful time where we can share our collective disappointment at where the human race is headed. I mean, they just don’t work as hard as we did, huh? I remember my first paper round; trudging through a bleak English Winter – sans shoes, of course – navigating bastard driveways and murderous dogs for hours on end, and all for a New England ha’penny, which bought you just enough pig snouts to see you through to the next job. But did we complain? Did we bollocks! Nowadays kids just expect to be given the latest electronic pea-Pod or plasmo pictocube, or whatever they’re called. That would have taken 17 years to save up for one of those in my day but dammit, we would have earned it! <strikes fist into open palm>

I also received a press release recently proudly proclaiming the seven days following Mar 21 to be Seniors Week in NSW. Which of course begs the question; where’s Middle Age Week? A whole demographic is being tragically ignored. I can see it now… we could run workshops on how to sew leather patches onto our tweed jackets. There would be the beloved ‘trouser hitch’ comp – whoever has their belt line closer to their neck wins. The National Dad Jokes Comp, where everyone’s a wiener <zing!>. And let’s not forget Midlife Crisis Awareness Day; free pin up calendars for all!

Wait a minute; I’m meant to be the organiser of this. Better get cracking then. Damn memory. Ain’t what it used to be. I think.

ALLAN “GET OFF ME LAWN YER DERN KIDS!” SKO

DVDevotee The Mighty Boosh: Future Sailors

DVDevotee Bill Bailey’s Remarkable Guide to the Orchestra

From the Bossman

A Prophet (Un Prophéte)

imdb.com’s plot synopsis of A Prophet is beautifully succinct: “A young Arab man is sent to a French prison where he becomes a mafia kingpin.” Indeed, we join 19-year old Malik (Tahar Rahim) at the start of a six-year stint in the big clink. His crime is unnamed, but his scars tell a story.  He is tough, but wide-eyed and nervous. His Arab background sees him coerced by fearsome Corsican crime boss Cesar (Niels Arestrup) to kill Arab snitch Reyeb (Hichem Yacoubi) residing in Malik’s cell block.

Over the next six years, and near two-and-a-half hours running time, we witness the subtle transformation of Malik as manipulated to manipulator as he learns the machinations and politics of organised crime. It sounds like a grandiose action flick, but is instead an insular character piece, and in this it is amazing. The Malik at the film’s conclusion is completely different to the one at the film’s start, but his journey is so well crafted as to make such a transformation believable. A Prophet is meticulous, captures the drudgery and occasion violence of prison life without resorting to continuous Oz-like extremes, and has some magnificent performances, particularly that of Rahim whose expressive eyes remind one of a young Al Pacino in The Godfather. It is also deliberately slow, and its pace will divide audiences.  Some will find it interminably dull, others an expertly paced character piece. I moved from the former to the latter; A Prophet has lived in my head. A succinct plot that spins an intricate journey.

From the Bossman

Here’s Chuckie

Growing up, things weren’t easy for CHUCKIE. His early life was immortalised in the famous 1988 documentary Childs Play where he terrorised children as a knife-wielding evil doll… wait, am I getting him confused with someone else? The real life Chuckie (aka Clyde Narain) was born and raised in Paramaribo, Suriname, where he first discovered hip-hop and the love of manipulating music.

“Hip-hop has always been a great source of inspiration for me and it does influence my style,” he says. “When I play in a club I kind of do that with a hip-hop mind state. I like to scratch and cut during my DJ sets. Hip-hop also influences my productions. My record Let The Bass Kick sounds like a hip-hop record to me. I did some remixes for David Guetta and they are very hip-hop inspired too. That’s why I worked with guys like Lil’ Jon and Fatman Scoop on those remixes to add that little hip-hop twist to it! ‘No boundaries’ is the only rule I have – why limit yourself?”

When he isn’t producing atomic house records like Moombah, Let the Bass Kick in Miami and Aftershock, Chuckie runs the infamous ‘Dirty Dutch’ parties alongside established jocks Afrojack and Lucien Foort. The ever evolving event sees regular crowds of up to 10,000 jammed into sweaty halls celebrating the Dutch sound as one heaving mass.

“The concept is about the way I see clubbing,” Chuckie explains. “It started when I did a lot of bookings in Holland and the parties weren’t really how I wanted them as far as atmosphere, decoration and entertainment. So I started Dirty Dutch to do parties the way I wanted. Dirty Dutch grew really fast from a small club event to one of the biggest house events in the country. Apparently a lot of people could relate to Dirty Dutch where it came to a point people see Dirty Dutch as a lifestyle.”

Chuckie’s sound is a unique amalgamation of tribal, electro, hip-hop and tech, all compounded into a steamy club-friendly package, and with so much production work under his shiny Armani belt, fans will be excited to hear that he finally has an album on the way. “[My album] will be a reflection of the music I play in the club,” he says. “It will also reflect me as a person. I’m trying to blend all the styles that influenced me and make a record that is truly me. This album has to tell something about the musical journey I’m in.”

The juncture between success and superstardom is a problematic time in any artist’s career, and it is refreshing to learn that this rising star has his air force ones planted firmly on the ground. “When I’m not DJing or producing that’s the moment I take a step back and just look at what I’m doing from a distance. This is the moment where I try to improve what I’m doing. It’s really important to take a step back and assess things. It’s a really tricky game and you don’t want to be stuck in your own game. I’ve seen people becoming a victim of their own success. I don’t want that because at the end of the day it’s supposed to be and stay fun!”

I’m in Miami, bitch!

Precious

In Harlem, overweight, illiterate teen Claireece “Precious” Jones (Gabourey Sidibe) – pregnant with her second child by insidious circumstances and forever stalked by her hate-filled mother (Mo’nique) – is invited to enrol in an alternative school in hopes that her life can head in a new direction.

Based on the novel Push by Sapphire, this is a bleak telling of a girl forever put down, facing hardship after hardship with very little in the way of reprieve. It’s a story that needs telling; this voiceless person needs a voice, and like many tragic stories the simple act of telling in a small way allows some semblance of justice.

Like the utterly magnificent Last Ride, Precious explores the damaging and perpetuating effects of abusive parents. But where the former had an assured sense of its purpose, tone and style, with Precious director Lee Daniels seems caught in the middle. Fantasy scenes – where Precious imagines herself as a famous model – should have been cut or fleshed out. In similarly bleak offerings Dancer in the Dark and Pan’s Labyrinth fantasy was woven expertly into the fabric of the story, here they feel dropped in to break tension. The film also has a sporadic voiceover by Precious; it’s exclusion would have made the film more powerful.

This said, the central performances are very strong, culminating in a powerful scene between newcomer Sidibe and Golden Globe winner Mo’nique in a social worker’s office. Co-produced by Oprah Winfrey, starring a surprisingly unglamorous Mariah Carey, and a low-key Lenny Kravitz, you can tell this story and its subject means a lot to a lot of people, and it’s adaptation to the screen should be admired. Combined with the central performers makes Precious worth watching despite it narrative flaws. Not a first date flick, though.

From the Bossman

From the Bossman

So what is this, like, the '10s or something? The oh-tens? The tweens? I'll say this now, don't you fucking come at me with the
tweens. I will hurt you, sir.

The tens are the decade time forgot, so we're currently lounging in some kind of terminology limbo. Once we get to the '20s we're right back on track again. '30s, '40s, '50s: we know the score there. So much so each decade of the 1900s has its own epithet; the roaring '20s; the swinging '60s; the forgotten '40s (as they are known in Germany).

So welcome, one and all, to the vaguely defined '10s. I can see us all now in the far future, slack of jowl and turkey-necked, face like a crab's bus ticket, little Tarquil* resting patiently on the knee for his weekly visit to pop-pop, watching as we cast a misty eye back to this time.

"Ahhhh yes, Tarquil.", I'll cry in gravelled voice, casting a hand across the sky to paint an invisible landscape. "I remember the vaguely defined '10s alright. Actually no, I don't."

Good to have you back, you gorgeous creatures. Let's make this decade one to half-remember.

ALLAN 'HEY AL, ENJOYING THE TWEENS SO FAR?' IMA KILL YOU!' SKO

*one thing's for certain; names will get increasingly stupid as time wears on.

Avatar

Oi! You there! Down here. I can see you, staring incredulous at that three star rating for “posbly the awsmest movee eva!!!! LOLZ” Well settle down and let me explain.

I’m a writing/dialogue/plot focused reviewer, and while that doesn’t win me many friends amongst Gen Z, I can sleep at night. Avatar’s dialogue is, frankly, terrible. The voiceover, delivered via the medium of a spoken diary, is one of the laziest forms of storytelling you can employ. The storyline, whilst noble and socially important, is basically a retelling of Pocahontas. Conversation between characters can be clunky and preachy, and possibly the worst of all… unobtainium? Really? Did you have to call it something so skull-fuckingly obvious?

Yet despite all this, Avatar is still a wonderful film that simply must be experienced in 3D. Every scene is exquisitely composed and filled with visual wonder and delight. When Jake Sully ventures into the dense Pandora jungle – bounding over trees and scaling the floating mountains – you feel completely immersed, and summons the kind of wonder felt when you first watched Star Wars as a youngling. I can see why it’s grossed a billion dollars and counting.

This will sweep the award ceremonies; I just wish more care and skill on the script. Ol’ Jim Cameron is a passionate man with a point to make, and I can see why he dumbs his film down; he wants to appeal to as many people as possible. This an unfortunate sacrifice that keeps the film being our generation’s Star Wars.

DVDevotee Robot Chicken Season 4 - Madman

From the Bossman

A Serious Man

Dylan Moran

Ugly Ducklings

From the Bossman

Saying goodbye is hard. Amusing, too, as far phone conversations go.

I'm often on the phone (I can feel the mobile-induced tumour pulsing as we speak; I call him George) which submits one to many different forms of goodbye. It's amazing how much we struggle with this simple notion, even if it's someone we know dearly, and will likely see that afternoon in the pub.

On one end of the scale, you have the non-hanger-uppers who don't know how to end a conversation.

Them: So I'll get that through to you by Monday then/Me: Perfect, thanks mate/Them: .......... / (some seconds later) Me: Uhhhh, anything else?/Them: No, no....../(some seconds later) Me: Uhhh, goodbye then?/Them: Yeah! Bye!

On the other end of the scale are people who find it so hard to say goodbye that they hang up before the event (this is easily confused with good old fashioned rudeness).

Them: So I'll get that through to you by Monday then/Me: Per... o, you've gone.

My par-tic-coo-lar malady in this instance is my unexplained and significant rise in the pitch of my voice. 'Alright mate, good to talk to you, see you later, byeeee!' There's the booming conservationist who is loud and proud all the way through until a whispered 'bye!' is barely heard.  Then there's the last word: ('alright mate'/'alright mate'/'see ya mate'/'see ya mate'/'bye/'bye'/'so long'/'so long'/'bye'/'bye'/'bye'/'bye...)

Keep an ear out for it next time, you'll be pleasantly amused at how much of a sensitive bunch we all are.  And be sure to end your next conversation with a booming "I SAID GOOD DAY, SA!"

Right, I'm off to give George what-for down the pub.

ALLAN "byeeee" SKO

Hospitality Presents This is Drum + Bass Mixed by High Contrast + London Electricity [Stomp]

Two CDs and 55 tracks of arse-tearin' balls-to-floor D&B mixed by a chimp with ADD. Yes, it's that good. Except, of course, it's not due to our simian friends, but two of the finest minds in the genre today. Messrs Colman and Barrett have placed themselves on the world map in recent years, backing up consistent production with a string of high profile remixes that exude the Hospital label's mantra of smooth, melodic tunes underpinned by multi-layered beats and warbling, stadium filling basslines. An exciting selection, expertly mixed with healthy blends, that tarries but a few minutes on each track before firing the next one into the mix. Heard about this D&B malarkey but don't know where to start? Right here, pal.

From the Bossman

This 'ere issue you're currently holding in hot little hands - or are staring at with glazed eyes from a grey computer cubicle, whatever your medium of filth may be - is one of only four left until the end of the decade. Yes, it's a thought both terrifying and magnificent in its construction. We shall soon be marching tenaciously through November, having only just brushed the dust off our knees from April, and not long after that we'll all be sporting multi-coloured party hats demanding a Happy 2010.

A new decade. Shiiiiiiiiiieeeeeet. That means only two months to live it up in one of mankind's most hated decade terms; 'the noughties'.

Yes, time flies when you're having puns, as that half-remembered phrase goes, and it certainly seems like it's been a crazy year for all and sundry.

In an attempt to wrestle the temporal power back, I'll be holding specialised classes next year in attempt to slow down time, including Watching Paint Dry 101, a rigorous weekly session of Parliamentary Question Time and perhaps most effective of all - Prisoner Cell Block H: The Complete Boxset. Feel free to join me.

It will really make those minutes last.

ALLAN "TI-AAH-II-IME, IS ON MY SIDE" SKO

Star Stories Series 1 & 2 (Hopscotch)

"When you're famous, you're public property," the old adage goes. If this is true, then Star Stories has rented out said property, rigorously studied it, smeared it with faeces, and handed it back in a flaming bag.

Star Stories is your typical British-centric copy cat comedy, delivering 25 minute mockumentaries on celeb life stories on the likes of George Michael, Catherine Zeta Jones, Tom Cruise and Britney Spears; all told from a celeb's perspective allowing artistic bias to run rampant. Mimicry is a tried and true, often ho-hum idea (the not-bad Spitting Image and Dead Ringers, the terrible Skit House, hell, even Hey, Hey It's Saturday) but Star Stories distinguishes itself from the pack in three distinct areas: 1) sharp, witty writing, 2) magnificent mimicry from the actors, 3) combining the two to make a genuinely funny outing.

Exactly how hilarious purebred antipodeans will find this is variable. Seeing out my formative years in Ol' Blighty during the '90s lets those like me in to countless extra in-gags that will simply wash over a Southern Cross tattoo-sporting Australian audience. But the action is fast paced enough thanks to excellent editing, and the various real-life characters are so entertaining in their own right that while the episode on Sadie Frost may confuse it can still be enjoyed, and episodes on the universally known Guy Ritchie and Catherine Zeta Jones will have everyone laughing along.

There are enough peripheral characters that pop up in each episode to keep it interesting - Mick Hucknall, Russell Brand, Chris Martin, Colin Farrell, Michael Douglas, John Travolta... not many are left alone - and it's the ludicrous depictions married with spot on impressions that make this such a joy. All the actors are brilliant, but Kevin Bishop is undoubtedly the backbone (check out his Alex Ferguson) and Steve Edge could stare down Jack Dee in a dead-pan contest.

Four star stuff, but add an extra half star if you lived in the England over the past 20 years.

Cool Weapon

Forged in the fires of Canberra, sordid electronic trio COOL WEAPON - comprising lovable scallywags Josh Chaffey, Luke McGrath and Matt Sanderson - are at once as uninhibited and potent as their namesake suggests. Behind the scenes, nonchalance has no place in their working mantra. October 15 saw the release of long (long, long) awaited debut The Lay of the Land; a culmination of a year, and a career, of hard work with everything completed in-house. Originally slated as a 2007 EP release, a combination of new ideas, relocated band members (McGrath is currently enjoying the perpetual summer of the top end) and securing a hard-fought ACT Government Arts Grant saw the project lovingly balloon into a long-player, albeit it a super tight 23 minute one ("The shorter the better," says McGrath, "length is what remixes are for."). Bass-twanger Chaffey is understandably chuffed, and chaffed, after such a wonderful ordeal.

"Goddamn it feels good! This whole thing has been like tantric sex and the build-up has been going on for years! And now, 'aaaaaargh,' the release really feels like a release!" quivers Chaffey.

Despite inevitable life distractions, the past few years have seen the trio list an increasing number of achievements. Scoring well in the UncharTED online music competition, winning a Sony BMG A&R Hottest Pick, a Guest Artist's Pick from Canberra Unearthed winners The Bumblebeez and going on to finish fourth overall are but a few. On record, they layer sexy lyrics atop a swirl of toe-tapping pop rock. Live, they are outrageous, with Chaffey slapping the bass like a seasoned gigolo, Sanderson tilting the keyboards at a frankly alarming angle and vocalist McGrath megaphoning his purr 'n' sex performance in. In both endeavours, they seem in their natural environment. Was such chemistry instant?

"Yeah, the chemistry did come along pretty quickly. It was like a musical think-tank - the pop hack, the metal dude and the electronic tinkerer," says Chaffey. "We butted heads a bit, but only ever in the pursuit of the best sound, the truest expression of our musical urges," adds McGrath.

Although McGrath's absence meant no live launch show, Hush Lounge threw a free night to mark the release. "Well, Luke was going to come down from his tropical hideaway for the launch, but we couldn't meet his rider demands. I mean, where were we going to find ten bonobo monkeys in Canberra?" Chaffey says. "So Hush Lounge has come to the party, and we couldn't be happier; it's going to be a very debauched evening."

And whilst the tuneful triumvirate may currently be scattered far and wide across this great brown land of ours, we can still expect great things from 2010 onwards. "Oh yeah, this ain't the end. It's taken us a while but we're just warming up," says McGrath, before Chaffey adds, "like I said baby, we're tantric!"

From the Bossman

Benjamin Franklin was an alarmingly smart git. As well as inventing extreme kiting, the man also came up with the idea of Daylight Saving. What a magnificent and terrifying concept that must have been on first imaginings; to warp the very essence of time itself to suit man’s desire to read a book well into the evening or, indeed, to gaze handsomely upon one’s pantaloons.

With the seemingly haphazard nature of the seasons these days, I don’t think it will be long before we see that concept grossly expanded. The time will come (pun rejected) when we shall put our clocks forward not merely by an hour, but a whole month. The seasons aren’t what they used to be after all.  Let’s face it, you could hardly call the September/October weather we’re experiencing spring, now, could you?  However, if we tinkered with the months here and there, we’d be apples.  Global warming?  Fixed.  Hottest November on record?  No, you goose, it’s December innit?  That makes the average perfect.*

I can see it now; people “accidentally” turning up to work a month late.  “You mean it’s the first of October?!?  Silly me!  I forgot to wind my calendar forward.  O shit, I missed my wedding!”

I had about 87 different version of that last gag.  Hope it worked for you.

ALLAN “FATHER TIME AIN’T GOT SHIT ON ME” SKO

*argument may contain elements of massive flaws

I Love You, Man

Bromantic comedy. Whether coined by a payroll PR peep or some dithyrambic journo, I like the term. And if ever there were a poster boy for the sub-genre, I Love You, Man is it. The premise is simple; epitomic Mr Nice Guy Peter Claven (Paul Rudd) is getting married, but soon realises he has no one to call Best Man. After a series of fruitless "man-dates," charming bohemian Sydney Fife (Jason Segel) saunters into his life. Is this the bromance he's been searching for?

This is a quite remarkable film; it's largely sans conflict (the drug of entertainment) yet enjoyable. Any trace is handled with light-hearted grace and is usually dissipated with honesty a scene, or even a line, later. Sweet, touching, genuine and, of course, funny are all apt reviewing adjectives. Even the inevitable "inmost cave" (coined by Hero's Journey author Joseph Campbell describing the moment when everything goes to shit three-quarters in before coming good again) is delightfully mild.

Sharp writing and lovable characters replace conflict. Paul Rudd, who is quickly cementing himself as one of my favourite actors, turns in another beautifully nuanced and understated performance, creating one of the more likable characters you'll see this year. He is ably matched by comic foil Segel, and this is where the film sets itself apart. Elsewhere, Segel's character would be the Hollywood-ised outrageous, over-the-top surfer dood caricature most likely played by an Adam Sandler or Rob Schneider. But in the hands of writers John Hamburg and Larry Levin, and Segel in the driving seat, we have a thoroughly stand-up guy and the film is refreshing and unexpectedly touching as a result. The only drawback from all this niceness is the conclusion doesn't quite have that fist-pumping retribution we're used to. But bollocks to that. Add winning cameos from favourite J K Simmons and Andy Samberg (Jizz in My Pants) and you have a delightful comedy you'd happily take home to your mother.

Discovery LP

Vampire Weekend's Rostam Batmanglij and Ra Ra Riot's Wes Miles marry Miles' concept of an all-synth band and Bat's idea of handclaps over snares, creating an ethereal modern day reggae record. My enjoyment of it, like many things in life, relies on how drunk I am. Sober, it's an enjoyable half an hour romp. A few drinks in, however, I'll be bleating 'Ooo baby baby baaaaaaabe!' to the chorus of the earnest Can You Discover?, air-keyboarding to the blippy melody of Swing Tree, and revelling in the Jackson Five I Want You Back cover, a track as fun and delightful as it is ludicrous. You'll love or hate this, so do yourself a favour and find out.

From the Bossman

And for once I wasn't the only one feeling dusty.

The dirt storms we had recently marked a week when unkempt window washers across the land made so much money they were briefly listed on the ASX 200, every second car owner returned to find a variety of inventive swear words and matching crude genitalia lovingly finger-painted on their vehicle, and I failed at making a dust-angel in the UC car park (the dust angel itself was a vision of form and function. I just failed in general).

It also marked a delightful division between us noble Canberrans and "those" Sydney types. For us, the dust storm came and went. We coughed a little. We blew our nose. We got on with it. Switch on the national news in the evening and Sydney broadcasters were treating it like Godzilla has just strolled into town. The air hung heavy with hyperbole as "Dust Bowl 2009: Where were you?" dominated 80% of the programme. There was even "eye-witness footage" from the most toothless family in the Eastern suburbs, with them diligently documenting the dust rolling in and making everything slightly darker. "It's like, y'know, some kind of blackness, or summin'" the expert commentary spake. The Canberra coverage amounted to the newsreader throwing to the weatherman: "Bit dusty today, eh Ron?" "Awwww 'reckon." And that was about it.

These big city types with their balls all shiny, eh? I don't know.

ALLAN "DUSTY SPRINGFIELD" SKO

From the Bossman

There's a cute children's story I remember (although alcohol has since savaged the minute details of said kiddy tome from my increasingly grey matter, such as the title and author) concerning the weather. Charmingly portrayed for the kids as anthropomorphic personifications, they battle it out over the control of a man down below.  The sun would say something like "Check this shit out!" (I believe the book was written in Ireland) and beam away thus forcing the man to take off his jacket. Some cockney Jack Frost style character was having none of this, and suitable amounts of 'waaaaaays!' and 'ooooooooo!'s summoned up a tickling breeze and dragged some clouds across the sky to make it cold again, forcing the long-suffering chap to put his coat back on.

This carried on for some pages until the man knackered his arm with such repeated garment action and was rushed to hospital (or something, I forget how it ends).  The point being, Canberra in September always reminds me of this half forgotten story. You could write a remix of Crowded House's Four Seasons in One Day entitled Four Seasons in an Afternoon (Plus Three I've Never Seen Before).

But, with cautious gait, comes the first trembling steps of spring and it's good to have her back. And as the first buds pop from once naked stumps, so too do the green shoots of the region's music and entertainment. Your lovable locals have been pouring blood sweat and tears - in some cases literally - into their music and the time has come to get out there and sample the fruits of their labour.  Cool Weapon, Final Lies, Loud So Clear, Templestowe, J W Sparrow and KP Rekordz are all brandishing new releases, so keep an eye on these pages and find out how you can get out there, have a listen, and support your talented local troupe.

For now, I'm going to find that book and see what actually happens in the... oh look!  A beer!

ALLAN "HIC" SKO

Kill The Noise

KILL THE NOISE's Jacob "Ewun" Stanczak answers three questions in three words to open the batting of our conversation; not exactly the bubbling torrent of information us journalists thrive on. Opening pleasantries ('Keeping well?' 'How was Adelaide last night?' 'Got milk?') are met with the monosyllabic answers of a man more intent on being in bed than talking to some slightly English-sounding stranger from Canberra.

But hell, who can blame him? Stanczak has just touched down in Australia for the charmingly titled Fire and Hell Tour, is  outing his Kill Kill Kill EP and Turn Off/Tune In mix series, working hard on a new yet-to-be-named album due to drop in the next few months, and all whilst making the big move from New York to LA just before touching down on our dusty soil.

"I think you enjoy a better quality of life [in LA]," the man reveals from a Sydney hotel room. "For the kind of music I do, America's got a really vibrant scene at the moment."

The kind of music Stanszak does spans the spectrum of house, whether it be the Metroid-sampling The Mother Brain, the tight loops and interstellar synths of the All Too Vivid remix, or the smooth disco of Estelle featuring Kanye West's American Boy  emix. It's a breadth the man promises to bring to Canberra this week. "I like to run the gamut of styles within house music," he says. "Whether it's the glitchy, distorted side of things, straight up house, or deep driving basslines, I make sure I switch the tempo up."

Similarly, Stanczak has switched the tempo on his own career. The end of 2007 delivered a vicious re-working of the Kitsune signed Thieves Like Us which put Kill the Noise on the radar, swiftly capitalising on this newfound attention with remixes of Chromeo's Call Me Up, Vega's All Too Vivid and CSS's digital moistener Music Is My Hot, Hot Sex. Now comes the big test of any dance-o; the crucial first artist album. What to do? A set of dancefloor smashers, or a rounded 'artiste' piece filled with that light and shade stuff those bearded impresarios on TV keep going on about?

"I'm not writing it for the dancefloor in mind, no," Stanczak confirms. "That's what remixes are for; you can turn it into a  dancefloor monster from there. It's been really hard trying to keep it locked down, and not leak any of it before it's done. I won't be playing much of that out - there may be a track or two - but I'm saving most of it to be released all at once." But fear not you trembling KTN kids, there will be plenty more shiny newness to enjoy. "I have a lot of new tunes I've done that not many people have heard yet, as well as plenty of records from artists I'm good friends with." Hopefully the man will be treated to some well-deserved sleep before then.

Kill the Noise play a free show at Transit Bar on Thursday September 3 with supports Sean Kelly, Staky, Cheese and Bricksta. Tickets through noone, I told you already, it’s free.

From the Bossman

What. The fuck. Is going on in our town?

Within the space of what's turning out to be a very dark week for the region, we've seen funding for the Fringe Festival slashed, fireworks banned, and now - the stupidity to end all stupidities - businesses in Garema Place being told to do away with their outdoor racks of merch because, apparently, they've been deemed "unsightly".

What's unsightly is this single minded desire to make Civic more sterile than it already is, by ensuring the term Fun Police is a real-as-you-and-me, living, breathing entity.  You can crack out all the 'Live in Canberra' and 'Wrapt in Winter' campaigns you want, but no-one's going to come here if there's NOTHING TO DO OR SEE.

I'm a small business owner.  I understand only too well that if there's not the money for something, there's not the money for something, but telling businesses they're not allowed to spruik their wares outside of their own shops in a bid to make enough money for the princely rent they're expected to pay is mind-boggling.

If you care, and by the look of those puppy dog eyes of yours you do, make a stink, write a letter, change your vote, lest your favourite store is bullied right out of town altogether.

ALLAN "TAKING A STAND FOR STANDS" SKO

From the Bossman

It's Saturday night in Chez Sko - a good six days after the official BMA editorial deadline - and I've yet to commit to concretion this 'ere fortnightly ditty of random thoughts for my long-suffering editor.  It's been a busy week, y'see, and my mind has been basked in the beams of daily business machinations so long that when it comes to the task of being creative, my grey matter now resembles a shrivelled raisin.

"What to write about?" I ponder aloud to my fiancé, giving the half-stubble on my chin a jolly good artistic scratch, hoping somehow the heat generated will travel up my head and kick start something.

From her sweet repose on our bed, she suggests "Why don't you write about these?" revealing, with one swift expert tug of her nightgown upwards, a human landscape that would make Hitler weak at the knees, and rethink his life for the better.

So I did.  Hey, write what you know, right?

ALLAN "DEVOID OF INSPIRATION... AND LOVING IT" SKO

From the Bossman

The Wire is one of the finest pieces of drama put to television, and I recently finished the final episode. The same can be said of Avatar, a martial arts-steeped ‘children’s’ animated series dealing with such kiddy themes as death, disenchantment, duty, honour, the role of family and the effects of war. Both of these shows had me hooked (hell, who amongst us hasn’t wiled away a day seeing off the best part of a series in one go?), with the beautifully crafted characters and scenarios playing in my head for days and weeks afterwards. The emotions drummed up gave me fond memories of a younger, purer Allan, one that wished he could hang out with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Simpler times, people.

Having reached the end of said shows, with the knowledge that there are no more to be made, I find myself in a mild state of mourning. And I’m not alone it seems. I know a friend who has The Wire’s final series (the same person who switched me onto the show in the first place) and he refuses to watch it, knowing once he’s done, there are no more episodes.

Finishing a favourite show (or book or particularly excellent sandwich) can be like losing a friend. Sure, you can always revisit the memories, fondly and wistfully retreading old ground, but no new experiences will ever be formed. But of course it’s the finite nature of things that gives them meaning after all, and soon you just feel happy to have known them. Besides, you don’t want to end up like The Simpsons*.

ALLAN “SERIAL KILLER” SKO

*or a show like According to Jim which, frankly, should never have been born. Actually, while I’m in this aside, I’m one of the only people that actually enjoys the extreme surrealist bent of the new Simpsons episodes. Mmmm, this asterisk point is going on a bit. Just like The Simpsons! Zing! Always another one in the bank. No wait, I just defended The Simpsons. I should really stop drinking when writing these things. Re-reading and deleting would help too.

Mos Def The Ecstatic

Thrusting one's opinions upon the great unwashed is the one of the main reasons alcohol-soaked journos such as myself get into this heady game. So with this in mind I implore you with great joy to spring to your nearest music emporium and pur-chase a copy of the suitably titled The Ecstatic. It's Def's best album since his genre-bending debut Black On Both Sides thanks to the poetics and earnest delivery layered over globetrotting production from Madlib, Oh No and Mr. Flash.

Hairy-knuckled folk who spend too much time in dark rooms listening to music will recognise a lot of these beats already; Oh No rejigs some samples from Dr. No's Oxperiment to launch the album with the charged guitar riffs of Supermagic, Madlib serves up a reheated-but-still-tasty India flavour with tracks from the Beat Konducta in India series, and Life in Marvelous Times recycles Ed Banger label Mr. Flash's Champions. But the tracks, and the whole album, come alive with Mos' energy and deft lyrical flow layered over the top. This will be in my albums of the year.  Make sure it's in yours.

DVDevotee - Flight of the Conchords Season 2

Overall, the second series from the lovable kiwi duo has been somewhat disappointing after the consistent brilliance of the first, although it is peppered with some of their best work to date.  Their initial wit and genius seems muted here - where in season one they reeled off hit after hit of didactic musical comedy genius (Inner City Life! Business Time! Bowie! The list goes on!) here we're not provided the same knowing glow. The story threads mirror this, which are haphazard rather than well plotted tales, and the 'struggling artists' gag begins to wane for the first time. Should they have adopted the same sly stroke as Ricky Gervais with Extras - where he seamlessly progressed the series from being the hapless acting extra to the hapless series writer - a wealth of new material would be available for the highly likable and obviously talented Brett and Germaine. As it is, a lot of the early parts of this series feel like treading old ground with worn shoes.

But it's not a completely humourless outing. Us Aussies get an excellent ribbing in a few episodes as arrogant, mocking types. Sugar Lumps is a sly wink to the Black Eyed Peas, a wonderful parody of the Timbaland style 'slammin club joints' so prevalent in pop these days, and one of their best to date. And episode six with the pair competing over the same girl is consistently hilarious, with the R Kelly/Usher mocking track Same Girl ranking as a favourite.

Come season three, I believe we'll see the lads come into top form again. As the old music adage goes, you have your entire life to come up with your first album, and six months to come up with your second, and with such a strong first series, a stumble here is understandable. But revel in the joy that is episode six, and with it the hope of more sharp writing, and gemstone songs to come.

From the Bossman

Miscellaneous Things I've Learnt About the Music Industry #4: You never forget your first.

Interview, that is.  Mine was Canadian hip-hop DJ turned dutty bass raggamuffin K-Note.  Editor Julia Winterflood's was drum 'n' bass DJ Q-Bik.  Ask any journo, and they'll tell you (though you may have to buy them a drink first).

You never forget because at the time you're about to pop your interview cherry, you're absolutely terrified.  With trembling fingers you gingerly grip the receiver, biting your bottom lip, and hoping dearly that the other person doesn't think you're crap.

It's something one's been delightfully reminded of when telling our work experience kidz (notice the handsome use of street level "z" there; that's right - I'm hip, I'm with it) they'll be interviewing someone.  You can smell their terror before being released into the telephonic wild.

After a few years in the industry - some 500 interviews in the bag, a swag of funny stories, a borderline alcohol addiction and bags under your eyes that read "International Luggage" later - you forget the grip of fear that wraps its oily tendrils around your heart before talking to "a real person".  But o the adrenaline post interview deadline still exists.  It's one of the best ways to put a smile on your face.

ALLAN "IS THIS MR K-K-K-K-NOTE?" SKO

From the Bossman

Miscellaneous Things I've Learnt About the Music Industry #3: "I'm sorry, they're in a meeting at the moment. LIES. Filthy, dirty lies.

The "meeting" line is the most common one receptionists feed you on the phone when the person you're trying to reach doesn't want to talk to you. Being in a "meeting" gives the person an inflated sense of self importance - makes them sound all big and grand and wheelie-dealie like - when in actuality, they're sitting there in their underpants, trying to fire their toenail clippings into a bin across the room.

You know they're right there, you know they have that little screwed up expression of distaste on their face that's been there ever since they heard your name. Just answer the phone, or say "please go away." Because I'm a persistent little twat and I will keep ringing until you answer.

You don't have this problem when you're an editor. Folk would vault over a cactus and into a flaming pit of shit to answer your call because there's the shiny prize of editorial to be gleaned. With advertising, the same people are suddenly locked into hour seven of their epic boardroom meeting, most likely discussing exactly how much more important they are than everybody else. It's a wonder any work gets done in this industry with the amount of meetings/toenail grooming going in.

There's nothing wrong with being honest, people. It will save everyone a stack of time. Although perhaps don't be as honest as my erstwhile editor Ben Hermann was once, when he gleefully informed a client I couldn't come to the phone because I was "taking a dump."

ALLAN "OCCUPIED" SKO

From the Bossman

One thing you have to love about Canberra is its admirable insistence on having four distinct seasons. It’s stinking hot and
sunny in the summer, pleasant and warm in the spring, puts the autumn in autumnal, and by crikey does it crack out the cold in
winter. As is Nature and Life’s wont, we go through this cycle every year, so you’d think us humans would be used to it by now.

But no. It always delights me to see how much winter takes us by surprise each year. I look forward to the first day of proper cold weather the same way a single-digit child looks forward to their next birthday. The morning that the mercury battles to stay over zero, everyone is in a shared state of disbelief, having left for work/uni wearing the covering equivalent of a napkin. A look of shock glazes over the eye, people are bent double over themselves in a desperate and failed attempt to cover any hole that could let the biting wind seep in. Yellow snot leaks onto reddened faces until you resemble something Reg Mombasa might paint in a nightmare.

God bless you Canberra winter, you icy bastard. Good to have you back.

ALLAN “NUM FINGAZ” SKO

From the Bossman

Were it not for my studious (and, frankly, gorgeous) fiancé, I would have been buried by my own possessions long ago (and cut short of the greatness that I aspire to each day, of course. A tragedy, you’ll agree). Yes, like many a bloke to their doting missus, I can often exude symptoms of annoyance when asked, for the fifth time that Saturday morning, to clear away that pile of CDs, sort through that stack of papers, or wheel that hamper of soiled underpants into the laundry. But it keeps things in check, and allows one to accumulate anew like our hunter-gatherer ancestors of old.

Sadly, this is not the case in the office.  Despite my best intentions to keep the ‘media area’ * clear of CDs, every day, case by case, a binary hamlet is built until – in a frenzy of musical ADD we all sometimes get when 100 songs enter your head at once, and you simply must play them all that afternoon – an impenetrable fortress of musical history has been erected that no man can demolish. 

No man, that is.  A woman has that neatly packed away in ten minutes.

So as the Pope famously once didn’t say: “Women.  Am I right fellas?”

I really do tail off with these things.

ALLAN “NOT SO SHORT STACK” SKO

* read 1982 Rotel CD player with a tray that jams in the winter, and a dog-eared copy of Q Magazine circa 1996.  Who will win the battle of Brit Pop between Blur and Oasis? I still haven’t the time to find out…

ARC: It's Raining Pleasure

The anniversary of singer-songwriter David McComb’s passing inspired a reunion concert for his iconic ARIA Hall of Fame inductee band The Triffids at the 2008 Sydney Festival, the first gathering of surviving band members and friends in 20 years. Filmmaker Steven Levett weaves interviews and concert footage with guest performances from the likes of Mick Harvey, Steve Kilbey (with his own version of Wide Open Road), Toby Martin from Youth Group and Rob Snarski, performing material he and McComb wrote for The Blackeyed Susans. Canberra Premiere. Steven Levett and musician Graham Lee will introduce the screening. We have five doubles passes to the Sat June 6 screening. To win, send advertising@bmamag.com an email stating your favourite thing about The Triffids. The screening starts at 7:30pm.

From the Bossman

Well check us out with our balls all shiny - we've gone and got ourselves a new design... Who'd a thunk it!  Yes, like an aging whore slapping on frankly alarming amounts of rouge, we've tarted ourselves up for you. But unlike aforementioned strumpet, we're now so lovely that you'd take us home to show your mother (if only we'd just cut out that darn sailor talk, of course).

We have the disgustingly talented graphic design talents of Jen Freeman to thank for this. She's tamed the rainbows, harnessed the awesome powers of Form and Function, and created a new design that registers a healthy 11 on the scale of Gorgeous. For this, we thank her.

So let the colours dance over your eyeballs, you lucky people. And it's a free country (to be phased out 2017) so tell us what you think. (NB: not to be confused with 'tell us where to go').

Also, be sure to keep an eye out for our brand spanking new website to boot, heading your way very soon, with a whole new set of enjoyable bells and whistles.

As our tagline for this issue says: BMA, you can polish a turd!

ALLAN "AGE BEFORE BEAUTY" SKO

From The Bossman

Feeling a tad sluggish these days? Find peeling yourself out of bed of a morning as “easy” as peeling the price stickers off JB Hi-Fi items?  Maybe your brain is feeling as dusty as a Scottish library?

Yes, everyone and everything is sick at the moment; people, the economy, and even animals are back in the news with their ailments.  Humans have become walking germ factories.  The economy’s liquidity is bunged up with the mucas of fear.  And farmers have swapped Bayticol* for Berroca.

First it was bird flu, then the horses got the sniffles, and now the wonderful world of swine has an Influenza named after them.
It’s the animal’s fault really; it only takes one of them to “battle on” at the farm and infect the rest of the stock.  If I were the farmer, I’d send the sniffling pig home with strict orders to dress warmly, include as much garlic and echinacea in their trough as possible, and stick a nice hot water bottle under their trotters. So if you’re feeling ill, take a stern farmer’s advice – shoot to kill.  Or something like that .

ALLAN “RECOMMENDS EQUINE-GRADE FACIAL TISSUES” SKO

* it’s a brand of livestock dip. Geez, do your farm comedy research, people!

From the Bossman

Additions to the Australian Citizenship Test:
Q34: The Australia flag is…
a) a representation, and celebration, of the bubbling multicultural hotpot that is the joy of human life in this country
b) a cape to give you really super awesome bogan powers
c) with each Cronulla-style outbreak of violence, increasingly looking like a Swastika

Q77: The t-shirt “Fuck off, we’re full” is…
a) farkin’ hilarious!
b) the kind of thing you’d expect to buy from the Ku Klux Klan
c) a handy way to quickly identify an idiot

Q101: Why do you want to enter Australia?
a) to support the country, get a job, drive the economy, raise a family in peace, learn the culture and share my own so we enjoy the best of each other’s worlds
b) the fear I deal with in my country will be marginally less that the fear I expect to experience here
c) I like the taste of bogun knuckles

I think that about brings us up to date, now, doesn’t it?

ALLAN “ADVANCE AUSTRALIA FAIR?” SKO

Milk

“My name is Harvey Milk, and I want to recruit you.”

So became the catchcry for the charismatic, confident Harvey Milk, one of America’s first gay activists. Milk joins Harvey (Sean Penn) on the eve of his 40th birthday, lamenting “40 years old, and I’ve done nothing to be proud of.” Just over eight years later Milk was assassinated and mourned by thousands as a relentless crusader for gay rights.

Van Sant’s brilliant film follows these eight years in a measured chronological fashion, from moving to San Fran for peace, to spurned street level activism, to eventual election as supervisor. Strong as Harvey may be, the relentless fight wears, and this is the film’s key: as social commentary, it documents – both through restrained storytelling and perfectly interweaved stock footage – one of the most crucial periods of America’s (gay) history. As a character piece, it perfectly captures both the might of Milk, and the vulnerability exposed by relentless discord, driven by unarguably the best performance of Penn’s lofty career.

With such searing subject matter, it would be easy to take over-the-top swings at bigotry and bigots themselves. Instead, we are shown attitudes, the emotional after-effects of those targeted, and are allowed as an intelligent viewer to make up our own mind. Good films don’t demonise.
The supporting cast is excellent, in particular Josh Brolin’s tortured Dan White (delivering one of the film’s key scenes where he drunkenly arrives to Milk’s birthday celebrations). James Franco also shines as Milk’s hugely likable squeeze Scott Smith who, along with a frankly staggering turn as James Dean in the largely average Dean, is quickly becoming an actor of great worth.

Coincidentally, Milk’s release coincides with the election of the first African-American president, with both events highlighting the stark segregation that has gone before, and the hope for the future. 30 years after his death, thanks to Harvey Milk the brave, Penn the uncowardly, and Van Saant’s wonderful film’s portrayal of them, Harvey can expect many more recruits to follow.

5 out of 5

From the Bossman

Things I did over the break:

Paid to go and see a film for the first time in awhile. Was alarmed at having to hand over the best part of $50 for the privilege.  “There better be a happy ending with that!” I decreed, with dramatic eye-rolling for effect, to which the clerk, obviously unaware of the power of sexual innuendo for humorous effect, proceeded to reveal the ending to the entire queue.
Was barred from the cinema.

Went to a bird sanctuary and asked the lovely female keeper to “show us your tits”.
Was barred from the sanctuary.

Tracked down the people responsible for those Rivers ads and set fire to their house.*
Was awarded Australian of the Year.

Which means there’s now only seven places left in Canberra that I can legally visit. Result. Next stop, Fyshwick!
It’s good to be back, Pooglets, and it’s good to have you back, especially with a face like that. Cor! Strap yourselves in and together we’ll make 2009 one to forget.

ALLAN “FEELIN’ FINE IN THE OH-NINE” SKO

*now remember, kids, arson’s not big, and it’s not clever.  Try swearing instead.

From the Bossman

Hell’s bells, stone the crows, blimey o’ trousers and various other utterances of disbelief.  The rumours are true.  2008 is, in fact, drawing to a close, meaning the shackles of BMA are loosened once more, giving this little black duck a month off (I can finally take that bath I’ve been trying to get around to).

After touring the great rehab clinics of Europe, I shall indulge in a stop over in New York to start working on the script for The Bronx version of High School Musical. It has better songs, and tons more violence, featuring the instant classic songs We’re Breaking Free’s Legs and We’re All in This Together (‘Cept you, Cracker!).  I think Jay Z’s licensing out 99 Problems for it, but we’ll see if the paperwork comes through. Getting the whitest man in Canberra to pen this jolly yarn should go down well, too, allowing for a refreshingly objective perspective.

But enough about my scurrilous holiday activities; what are you up to this Yuletide season?  O, really?  That should be fun.  Mmmmm, don’t know about that, though.  Isn’t that largely illegal? O right, you’re doing it in Brisbane, fair enough then.

Even though I’ve never had the chance of meeting a lot of you face to face, I consider you all my children, and not in some Waco Catholicism-gone-wrong style way.  So have an absolute blast for the month ahead, but stay safe, y’hear? I want to see as many of your bright, gorgeous faces in the oh-nine.

ALLAN “YAHASRA AND GOODNIGHT” SKO

From the Bossman

A few weekends back, the girl and I were treated to the double-barrel cinematic feast that was Dave Chappelle’s Block Party and ol’ timey favourite The Blues Brothers. The combo of these films sparked the warm memory of the ‘credits rap’ phenomenon that swept through the movie industry in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s. The white corporate world had just cottoned on to this strange and daring new form of music called hip-hop, and they saw that the kids bloody loved it.

What followed was peppering the credits of all major blockbusters where the plot of just-watched film was neatly summed up in delightfully hackneyed rap format which, of course, could be later bundled in an easy-to-sell format (this is back when people actually bought these things called CDs, or the cassingle if you were truly old school). Bobby Brown’s Take Control from Ghostbusters II helped kick things off and against my better judgement; I’m gonna go on record and say I bloody love that song. But who could get through the early ’90s with shouting “T-U-R-T-L-E POW-er!” at some point?

I’d like to see the cheesy rap make a comeback. Maybe for the 17th instalment of the Indiana Jones franchise? “Weeeell his name is Jones/Likes digging up bones/Has a big whip/And a hat of brown tones/Battles Nazis, the Ruskies and a whole villainous team/So he can get the artefacts that “belong in a museum!”

Or perhaps not.

ALLAN “SHOULD PROBABLY BACK AWAY FROM THE COMPUTER” SKO

From the Bossman

So am I the only one who wanted McCain to win? I am? Well thank Christ for that, then. It’s amazing what you’ll pledge allegiance to when in the depths of an ether binge.

After this edition, there’s only two more BMAs until the end of the year. How’s that for an alarming stat? And as we hurtle in a frankly alarming fashion towards 2009,

our world is suddenly a very different place. We have a new black president, a new male (a bloody male if you can believe that) New Zealand Prime Minister, a vastly different ACT government and a strangely unifying financial situation (I refuse to call it a crisis; that’s so mainstream media). And, of course, men’s top lips are sprouting hair. Or trying to, in my case.

Well, you can keep your bastard Movember. It’s all about Bearduary for me. Now that’s a MAN’s month. If I start now, I should have a semi-healthy plumage by then.

So click yourself in and prepare for an entertaining few months ahead. I’m sure 2008, and its sordid offspring 2009, will have some interesting nuggets for us.

ALLAN “PUTTING THE DYSLEXIC BMA IN OBAMA” SKO

SUMMERSLAM

WHAT: TWO FLOORS OF ALL AGE DANCE MAYHEM
WHERE: HOLY GRAIL, CIVIC
WHEN: FRI NOV 14

Summerslam will be the block buster of the season.  No, it’s not a set of sweat-soaked muscle-bound ’roid bags DDT-ing each other’s skulls in the solid steel of a prone chair, although it will have much the same effect. Rather, it’s a two-level entertainment smorgasbord of over 16 drum ‘n’ bass, jungle, dubstep, hip-hop and breaks acts, a graphical and modern art exhibition, breakdancing, and an old school arcade game comp. Headlining proceedings is a UK D&B double header, with Hospital label darlings Brookes Bros and Danny Byrd, who will no doubt have the room a-swayin’ with their melodic yet ball-tearing brand o’ D&B.  I bet you’re under 18 and reading this jaunty yarn with an increasing sense of dread. Well cheer up, shorty! It’s all ages, don’t cha know? If you’re over 18 and reading this lively short and thinking “Shit! I can’t get me a beer now”, well turn that frown upside down, handsome! It’s licensed all ages! I’ve gushed so much superlative, I’m all outta exclamation marks. O no, here’s one more. It’s only $25! 7pm – midnight, you slags.

DVDevotee Futurama: Bender’s Game (Fox)

Keen readers of these fine pages – and I know there’s at least seven of you – will be aware that in my quest to apply critical ink to the Futurama films, I have been largely void of sympathy. In film format, this beloved series becomes bogged down in heavy issues, meaning the frequency and potency of laughs dry up.

So here we are, the third in a four film series and you know what?  It’s the best of the lot so far. With a sadly inevitable “but”.  The plot draws you in.  Like our world, petrol prices have (if one is permitted a pun) skyrocketed and Mom holds the monopoly. Through an amusing flashback or two, it seems Professor Farnsworth is responsible for energising dark matter with fuel potency and handing the diabolical Mom her fortune, but in its creation, he also has a crystal to render dark matter useless, cripple Mom’s ironclad commercial grip, and rid the world of fuel dependency. This is all executed beautifully; the plot points roll forth in a lively, entertaining fashion, there’s some neat little twists and, most importantly, the laughs are consistent.

And then, just as we near the conclusion, we’re thrust into a Dungeons & Dragons meets Lord of the Rings fantasy scenario with, frankly, a pretty weak explanation, and we lose all momentum. The gags and plot points became a lazy aping of the latter story, and once it’s all over, we’re taken back to where we were before, leaving a distinct feeling that the whole episode has simply been tacked on.

Futurama’s future is uncertain; there’s a very real chance that after the fourth and final film Into the Wild Green Yonder, that will be it for the show. It’s seems unfair that this brilliant series has been forced to dribble out rather than leave with a bang, but at least the films are improving, and hopefully the final one will provide a fitting end that will truly capture the genius of the four series that preceded it.

All Ages

Greetings, kidlets. It’s your old Bossman Allan here. Your regular wily scamp Josh has disappeared on us and not handed his column in. So he’s fired, and you’re stuck with me for the time being.

But don’t worry. I may be hurtling through my mid-‘20s but I’m hip. I’m with it. Ducka-ducka-ducka-ducka-ducka.

A licensed all ages dance event. Now you don’t get treated to those all that often, eh pooglets? But come Friday November 14 at the Holy Grail in Civic, we’ll have just that, where you PYTs can rub shoulders with us hairy degenerates. Summerslam is the name of the event, drum ‘n’ bass, dubstep, breaks and hip-hop is the musical flav du jour, and over 16 acts will be tearing it out. Headlining proceedings is a UK D&B double header, with Hospital label darlings Brookes Bros and Danny Byrd, who will no doubt have the room a-swayin’ with their melodic yet ball-tearing brand o’ drum ‘n’ bass. There’s also breakdancing demos, graffiti and art demos, and the rather intriguingly titled oldskool arcade competition. $25 tix can be nabbed from Landspeed , or by calling 0410 371 317. From 7pm to midnight. Should prove to be fun.

A tip of the cap must go to the Tuggeranong Youth Centre, who have been raising their game this year and channelling a wealth of all ages shows into tha ‘Berra. One of Sydney’s foremost post-hardcore groups of the current era, Irrelevant, will be ripping it up on December 6 there in support of their forthcoming album New Guilt. The album has been described as an ambitious effort, combining the brutal purity of the bands’ 2001 EP Reflecting and Refracting, the fierce musicality of their 2005 debut Ascension, and the maturity that comes with a menacing decade of dedication to the road. Good times.

Mary Jane Kelly is also scheduled for a Tuggeranong Community Centre show on Saturday November 15. The Wollongong troupe will be touring their Our Streets Turn White EP, with the band’s singer Justin Bortignon saying, “We’re all just kids doing the things our parents never let us do when we were younger, and if you’re down with that, then come and hang out with us, climb rocks and not shower for a week at a time.”

Done and done, Justin. I can’t remember the last time I showered. No really, I can’t.

Continuing with the Tuggeranong Youth Centre, the gang are putting on a balls-out festival at the end of November which will definitely be worth keeping an eye out for. Details are sketchy at this stage, but don’t say you haven’t been vaguely notified.

In the interim, you have Block Party 2 to enjoy, featuring those scallywags The Kash Boys, Magic Hands, Epic Flagon and Mykaphobic. It all kicks off on Saturday November 15 at the Belconnen Library Courtyard and rolls from midday to 7pm. I believe it’s free, but don’t trust me on that one.

And I trust you all have your Trackside tickets yes? It’s the biggest all ages event eva, after all. You haven’t? Really? Well for the love of God, hurry! Use your young legs to good advantage! That shit be selling like hotcakes. But not like hotcakes with shit. I imagine sales would be somewhat down on that number.

Right, that’s all from me. My back’s hurting and I need to scare some kids off my lawn. Remember stay safe; don’t do the funky chicken without your plastic longjohns on.

ALLAN “DO THE FUNKY GRANPA” SKO

The Drop

My dear friends, this will be the last Dance Column I write for some time. Perhaps forever. Only time will tell. So shush now, dry those tears. We have much to get through before we’re done.

It’s one of the bigger pieces of dance music you’ll hear all year; the previously reported Booka Shade show, scheduled to play at Transit Bar on Thursday Nov 27, has now been declared a FREE SHOW. For your entry – which, you will recall, was FREE – you also get the talents of Scottie Fischer, Mig-L, Hubert, Dave Norgate and the Exposed DJs. My street level “ears on the ground” have reported that mass hysteria has broken out in Sydney based on this news, so we can expect this to be a seriously enormous eve. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

There’s many ways to entertain yourself this Melbourne Cup day (I believe you can do a “flutter” on a “GG”, or something? I don’t know; all sounds very “gangsta” to me), but an odds-on favourite for an entertainment win has got to be Subsumo’s lavish Lawns Party at Thoroughbred Park on Nov 4. Mark Farina (San Francisco), The Aston Shuffle, Rob Kay, Downtown Brown, Paul Wheeler and Hubert will be ripping it up. It’s a posh dance affair. Tix are $157 + bf, which covers all your food and alcohol for the day. There is a dress code, with thongs and camouflage not being permitted. Nor should they. Filth. Tix from www.subsumo.com or Landspeed Records .

(Trinity) Bar are cracking out their Sound Baked Sundays series again, kicking off on November 9 with Aussie DMC champ DJ Perplex, ACT DMC champ DJ Just 1, Chinese Laundry’s Steve Lind, Nathan Frost, perennial scallywag Jemist, the amusingly titled Frat House Phillips and Dave Parkes. How much for such awesomeness, I hear you cry? Natch. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Just get there at 2pm for the BBQ and have a ruddy good time of things.

Summerslam. Not a variety of steroid-pumped men going at it in a ring, but a massive two-tier licensed all age night at the Holy Grail in Civic on November 14. It’s drum ‘n’ bass, jungle, dubstep, hip-hop and breaks at its finest, led by the awesome UK double thwack! headliners of Brookes Bros and Danny Byrd. There will be over 16 – count ‘em – 16 acts to enjoy (well go on… count ‘em; the flyer for it is just across the page there). “FUCK ME! That’s LOADS!” I hear you shout. Well yes, but for God’s sake keep the swears down. The fucking nuns are trying to sleep. Jeez. Anyway, it’s from 7pm til late, and tix are $25 from Landspeed Records. Dr Fun prescribes you get involved.

Pang , Pang, Pang. Can’t bloody help themselves. You think you have a night free? Think again, mortal! For Pang have no-doubt plundered the clubbing depths of the UK to put a kick arse international on. Tuesday November 4 sees the UK’s Jack Beats. $20 entry there. The sure-to-be-epic Grum night on Friday November 7 has escalated into a UK double header (the flav de jour this month, it seems) with fellow pie-eating patriot Dave Parkes joining in the fray, along with Mikah Freeman. And yet the fee remains at $15. Tasty. Rounding off a massive weekend on Saturday November 8 is the return of Sampology, where he will be accompanied by a super disco visual party. As gnarly as it sounds. $15 for that. It all goes down at Lot 33 kids.

And that, my dear, dear diluted pupiled friends is all from me. You can still catch me rambling within these pages. But for now, the lovely and considerably taller Tim Galvin will seize my mantle. He’ll even start writing the Dance Column from now on. Yes, one final bad knob gag. You know you’ll miss it.

ALLAN “LOVE YOUSE ALL” SKO

From the Bossman

Yes, it’s all about the credit crisis these days, or credit crunch if you will. Well, in true Mighty Boosh style, let me tell you a little something about the crunch. The rigid finger of blame has been quivering righteously at many figureheads; greedy stockbrokers, Wall Street, unscrupulous lenders ™, global warming. But there’s one group almost solely responsible that haven’t copped nearly enough flak.

YyyyyyyyyyyyoooooooooOOOOOOOUUUU!

Answer me this, peasant. How oft have you cast aside the “measly” 5c piece? Huh? Think you’re above holding onto that, do you? Well think again! Sitting on the couch right now? Lift up the cushion. Bam. There’s four 5c pieces right there. We moved offices over the weekend. After tearing out all the desks, what do you think was found lurking there, covered in vintage dust from 1974? 5c pieces. Six of ‘em. “But what does this all mean, you rambling idiot?“ I hear you cry. Well, Rudd’s desperately passing bills like a casino highroller to get consumers to pump money back into the economy in time for Christmas. But it’s simple mathematics, people. Behind nearly every couch and desk there’s at least 30c in 5c pieces. 30c times some one million locations equals three squillion dollars. Three. Squillion. It’s a sobering figure, and that’s just for Australia. Bollocks knows how many rupees in the red we are.

So buck up, people! Dig (in your pocket) for victory! Cast not aside your 5c pieces, and instead pump them into our silver-starved economy. Your local friendly fast food outlet will love, admire and respect you for buying your value meal with 100 5c pieces.

ALLAN “TOP ECONOMIC ADVISOR TO THE BUSH ADMINISTRATION” SKO

GRUM - Grumble in the Jungle

Grum

Hot young spark GRUM – and I do mean young, the git’s only 22 – is conjuring up some clubbing magic over in homeland UK, and it’s a whimsical dance spell he’s preparing to cast over us lucky Antipodeans.The Leeds-via-Scotland Grum, or Graeme Shepherd to his dear Ma, has a biography that describes his music as “melodic, heavy electro trash, with a twist of ‘80s disco funk thrown in for good measure.”

“There’s a bit of Italio disco influence in there as well,” Shepherd’s amiable Scottish accent tells me down the phoneline. “I like the cool disco synths and sort of spacey sound of Italio stuff. And a bit of funk, and funky bass in particular, is important. For the club, I like a sound with big production.”

It’s a meticulous musical concoction much loved by both chin-stroking industry moguls and sweaty-browed young things of a dancefloor. With ten smashing remixes already under his newly bought belt (including Love Motel, Tronik Youth and Revolte; all of which can be heard on his Myspace) Shepherd has no less than five new remixes on the go and an eye on the ultimate production prize; his first artist LP.

“I’m working on an album deal right now,” Shepherd says. “Original stuff is what I really like doing, so hopefully next year it will be ready. I’m aiming for a mixture of emotion and big dancefloor numbers. I find there is a lot of merit in albums that experiment with different speeds and sounds, so that’s what I intend to do.”

And you can get a sneak peak of the man’s original wares; tracks Heartbeats and Runaway are being pinned as first singles, snippets of which can be lovingly purloined from his Myspace. With such promising early work, Grum’s ascendency to international stardom seems only a matter of time, placing himself firmly in the “ones to watch” category. And, like many things in life, we can blame trance for this.

“When I was 14 or 15, trance snared me. This was back in 1999. There was a lot of hype about it on TV and local radio stations in Scotland. This led me to get into production…”

…which, of course, steamrolled into the giddy juggle of production and gigging the man now experiences. But, as the old English adage goes; mustn’t grumble. “It’s difficult,” Shepherd says of the workload. “Waiting in airports has to be the worst part of it, especially in situations where the time in the air is less than the time you’re waiting at the airport. But this is the best job in the world. Spending countless hours working and tweaking a track, then seeing people dancing to it and enjoying it is simply the best feeling the world.”

It’s an experience we shall soon be able to enjoy this November when Pang brings the plucky whelp to the snuggly confines of Lot 33, marking the first time the man has played in Australia. It appears to be a mutually enjoyable experience. “I understand electro’s really big,” Shepherd correctly surmises about our homeland. “I’m looking forward to the crowds. So keep an eye out for me and come down if you like!”

I might just do that, Graeme, you disgustingly young and talented bastard. I bet he’s good looking as well, eh? Shit.

The UK’s Grum will unleash his Italio and ‘80s disco funk influenced brand of melodic, heavy electro trash at Lot 33 come Friday November 7. He will be joined by former UK dweller Dave Parkes, and local luvvie Mikah Freeman. Tis but a mere $15 entry.

From the Bossman

When you go to the polls this October, be sure you vote 1 for Allan Sko. I’m not actually on the ballot paper, so be sure to add my name, draw a little box and write “1” in it. Try to make the box as square as you can, or else they might not accept it.

I will tackle the big issues head on. I promise to abolish the concept of education in order to reduce the pressure felt by children, thus drastically reducing childhood obesity.  All schools will be converted to pubs so adults don’t have far to go, thus alleviating the strain of increased petrol prices and public transport. Cars will be converted to confectionary hybrids, and run off gumdrops, emitting rainbows instead of pollution, and thus drastically, and impossibly, cutting down emissions.

As for roads; where we’re going, we won’t need roads.

So this October, be sure to Go For Sko. Impractical solutions for a silly tomorrow. Authorised by the Donkey Vote Party.

ALLAN SKO

DVDevotee Horton Hears a Who (Rated G)

There’s been a veritable parade of animated feature lengths hitting our screens of late, the best ones able to appeal as much to adults (with a sly wink of cheeky dialogue here) as well as children. With this Dr Seuss adaption, it pleases me greatly to report that Horton Hears a Who is placed firmly in this category. There is much to like in this film. It’s almost a moot point to gush hyperbole about the standard of animation these days, such is the giddying height of its quality, so let us just say it’s up to dizzying scratch. There are continual, solid contributions from the supporting characters, including the usual array of cute ‘n’ cuddly (including a frankly bizarre and consistently amusing character that can only be described as a mentally challenged Pokemon) and the downright hilarious (the monkeys). There is a simple yet solid plot complete with philosophical musing on the nature of reality for the adults to enjoy. It lags ever so slightly near the end, but not enough to diminish proceedings. And the humour is plentiful and varied, packing more one-liners, snappy dialogue, physical comedy, parody and slapstick in five minutes than most contemporary “comedies” can manage at a full hour and a half.

But what makes this film a real winner are the central characters; Horton (Jim Carrey) and The Mayor of Whoville (Steve Carrell). Both actors are perfectly suited to their characters, play to their strengths magnificently (Carrey in manic Mask/Ace Ventura mode, Carrell tightly wound yet lovable form) and their interaction throughout the film keeps you riveted and, more importantly, laughing. All in all, an excellent addition to the animation canon, to be enjoyed by kids and adults alike.

The Drop

“The king is dead, long live the king!” would be the best way to summarise the third round line-up for Foreshore. Sadly, Nick Warren is no longer on the bill – probably caught in a prog trance in the British woodlands somewhere – but the mighty Sasha will take his place; a worthy replacement indeed. Sasha’s debut LP Airdrawndagger was an instant classic, and continues to stand as one of dance music’s finest pieces. Canberra narrowly missed out on a Sasha show some two and a half years ago when we were shunned for the bigger cities, but the allure of Foreshore was too much for even his holiness this time round.

Of course, Sasha isn’t the only announcement. Joining him will be The Aston Shuffle, Jeff Drake (Syd), Jaytech, Chris Fraser, Club Junque (Syd), The Hump Day Project (Syd), DJ Tass (Syd), Ben Henderson (Syd), RyFy, Ashley Feraude, DJ Just 1, Scott Fischer, Jamie Vale, Sean Kelly and Michael O’Rourke. So if that floats yer boat, nab yer ticket via Ticketek, Moshtix, Landspeed Records and Parliament clothing.

Never ones to be left behind, Trackside have announced the Sidetracked dance stage. This year, Will Styles of Funktrust DJs fame will be having a spin; the Soft Tigers DJs will be cracking out their eclectic sound wagon; local heroes D’Opus & Roshambo will unleash their increasingly honed and energised live hip-hop extravaganza; Pang DJs will show why their club night was voted #1 in the recent inthemix poll; and Milkbar Nick will again demonstrate why he considers Trackside to be “the best night of my life”. A Comedy Stage and triple j Unearthed comp have also been announced, so flip to their ad at the front for all the deets.

All hail the long weekend, and its many options to get severely trashed and consequently lose a whole day to bedsores. Kicking it all off on Friday night (October 3) at Academy is the mighty breakbeat prowess of the Plump DJs, where we get to bear witness to Messer’s Rous and Gardener’s newly installed four deck set up for the first time in Australia. Lee Rous himself has promised me they’re doing their best shows to date, and that man doesn’t strike me as a liar. Tix are a thrifty $30 + bf and are available from Landspeed, Stock and moshtix.com.au. You also get a little Karton bang for your buck. Isn’t that nice?

If you prefer something a little harder and faster, the UK’s Survival will be thrashing out some ‘90s neurofunk style drum ‘n’ bass at Mercury Bar, also on the Friday night, with local troublemakers Benjammin, Rhombus, Kilojulz, Buick, Tidy and Crooked Sound. “I’ve always been a raver, I was goin’ out from when I looked old enough. That’s what really got me into D&B,” the enthusiastic Survival told me recently, so get along, slap $15 on the bench, and watch the man spin it like he talks it.

Dragon Dreaming 2008 is ready to rock over the whole weekend with its three days of festival goodness on October 4-6, including three music stages, an outdoor cinema and market village. The Servants of Sound kids have just fattened up the bill that little bit more by adding Canberra legends The Andi and George Band to belt out their self described funk/soul/reggae/hip-hop sound. Check out www.servantsofsound.org for more info.
And never one to let a holiday Monday go to waste, Friction & Lexington are sexing up Old Parliament House with the aptly titled Our House. The night – sporting roustabouts the Potbelleez, Germany’s Sharem Jay, Dexter, Jeff Drake, Ashley Feraude, Ryfy, Sean Kelly and DJ J – is well on its way to selling out, so be sure to scoop your $39.95 + bf tix from Landspeed, Parliament and Moshtix and make sure to clear the way for Monday.

Sideproject, those fine purveyors of doof-doof, are celebrating their fifth birthday at the end of this month; a mighty achievement for any Canberra promoter. Help them blow out the proverbial candles this Friday October 24 at Mercury Bar where the amusingly titled Psyboriginal (live) and locals will be ‘aving it large. $20 for the likes of you.

And that, my friends, is your fill for this fortnight. Goes quickly, doesn’t it?  Well, chin up. Another one will be on its way soon. Or just get really grassed and forget you read this one, and then re-read it all over again.

ALLAN “GET YOURSELF HIGH” SKO

DVDevotee Street Kings (Fox)

Knowing little to nothing about this film, stark surprise was conjured come credits time upon learning that the screen play was co-written by none other that revered crime writer James Ellroy. Surprise, because Ellroy’s hyper-gritty crime-driven exposures of the dark side of America – through the likes of LA Confidential and one of my favourite books of all time, American Tabloid – is nowhere to be found on this frankly lacklustre release.

So I don’t waste any more of my time than I have to, online movie database IMDB describes the plot thusly: “Tom Ludlow (Keanu Reeves) is a veteran LAPD cop who finds life difficult to navigate after the death of his wife. When evidence implicates him in the execution of a fellow officer, he is forced to go up against the cop culture he’s been a part of his entire career, ultimately leading him to question the loyalties of everyone around him.”

Trying to pin him for the death of his partner is Captain James Biggs, a rather bemused looking Hugh Laurie, who surgically implants his House character into this film (one imagines at director David Ayer’s request). Trying to protect him is Captain Jack Wander, the always excellent Forest Whitaker, who sadly disappears for large portions of the film. This tug of war takes place as Ludlow, a classically wooden Reeves, tries to piece together the conspiracy of his former partner’s murder.

This film isn’t so much bad as disappointing; it doesn’t work as a thriller because anyone with half a brain will figure out the plot points and subsequent ending; resorting to Harry Potter style “the good guys are actually bad and the bad guys are actually good” theory, rather than fleshing out the characters into believable, and likable, entities. It doesn’t work as a searing indictment to American corruption, because what’s done here has been done before, time and time again, and better. And the usual sharp, unrelenting violence and sparkling dialogue and plotting of Ellroy’s work seems somewhat blunted here – it’s a stringing together of one shooting gallery after another.  If I cared for the characters more, I may have enjoyed this. Unfortunately, this particular Ellroy bullet misses the mark.

From the Bossman

Yes, spring has definitely sprung, as some wanker once said, and while this ushers in a pleasing display of winter-whitened flesh, and allows the foliage to don its best multi-coloured rave gear, with it comes one of Nature’s most heartbreaking sights; the dropped ice cream.

I first spied this lip-trembling image whilst taking a turn at Floriade with my dearly be-love-ed last Saturday. All the pretty flowers in the world couldn’t wrench the scarring image out of my head; that of the once sweet shard, now lying covered in dirt and dust. You just know that there’s a five year old somewhere, tears snaking down their crimson cheeks, snot bubbling from a nose in mourning of a fallen icy soldier that – dammit! – should have been cooling their tummy and turning their mouth area an amusing hyper-red colour.

I think we all have experienced at least one ‘back-in-Nam’ style flashback, when our small probing tongue managed to topple the creamy goodness from its waffly plinth (or, indeed, when an overzealous squeeze of the Calippo slip shot the sorbet spear groundwards). Just thinking about it now is making my eyes glaze over, sparking The Doors’ The End from the opening of Apocalypse Now to play in my head.

So remember all; the warmer weather may be conducive to good times, but it’s all fun and games until someone loses an ice cream.

ALLAN “SOFT SERVE” SKO

From the Bossman

Miscellaneous Things I’ve Learnt About The Music Industry #s 13, 27 and 45:

#13: There is no such thing as a free lunch. There is such a thing as a free beer.  Ensure you turn up to your meeting with the local bar manager with a coat lined with voluminous pockets, wait until they go out the back, and BAM. Free beer.  The sweetest plum.  Just try not to sound like a wild west sheriff as you gently clink your way out of the premises.

#27: “Tickets selling fast!” means “Tickets not selling at all!”, shortened from “Tickets not selling at all, for the love of Christ, people, do you know how much money I’ve sunk into this thing? Please, please buy a ticket! THEY’RE GONNA TAKE MY THUMBS!” The number of exclamation marks denotes number of tickets not sold. “Tickets selling fast!” = they’re shifting OK, but we’d like to sell more. “Tickets selling fast!!!!!” = o boy.

#45: “Hottest thing to come out of !!!” is the most used phrase by publicists and press release writers to describe an artist or band. In the same press releases, there is an 87% chance adjectives such as eclectic, unique, hot, forward-thinking and genre-defying will appear. 100% of the time, these are lies.

ALLAN “HOTTEST THING TO COME OUT OF CANBERRA” SKO

The Drop

Evening, you saucy tarts.

I was enjoying the spectacle that was Canberra’s second water feature – an apparent burst water main just near the merry-go-round along City Walk – just the other day. Water was geysering at the height of the Actew AGL building at an alarming rate, whilst a herd of slightly embarrassed looking workers stood around twizzling their toe into the dirt. To add to the hilarity, one of the resident inner city mentals turned up, barking with delight and greedily lapping from the newly formed puddles on the ground and splashing it eagerly around his face. He then started dancing in the newly formed Lake Burley Griffin jnr, which was slowly increasing in size. Before long, he was joined in his gay abandon by some borderline emo/hardcore kids, showering innocent passers-by with their child-like mirth.

I love Canberra.

O yes, we all know about DJs and where they’re ranked. There are more polls than a Fyshwick bar. So tis a breath of fresh air to hear of an international top 20 for VJs (that’s visual mixers, to those a little slow on the uptake). Our very own VJ Jim Medcraft is in contention to be the first Australian to make it into the rankings. Honing his craft at MIT in Boston, as well as his regular Academy nights, Jimbo has busted out on the interstate festival stage, adding Field Day, Parklife, Future Music Festival, as well as our own Warehouse, Foreshore and Stonefest to his glittering performance CV. You can vote for our Jim by jumping onto http://www.djmag.com/index.php?op=top20vj . Jim is currently on tour with Grafton Primary, the cad. Go forth and vote it up, you slags.

There’s a new chap in town by the name of Matt Aitchison, putting on a new night: unBEATen Thursday. Geddit? In Matt’s own words, it’s aiming to be a “fusing of downtempo electronic grooves, with local musos.” Matt also flies under the performance moniker of Favourite Son.  Introduce yourself to the nice people, Matt: “After touring solid for the past six years with Queensland group OKA, I’m ready to do things a little more low key, with a monthly night featuring funky electronic beats and a host of local musicians.  The first features Niels Rosendahl on sax and Supernova Jade all the way from Byron Bay; the music will be the perfect cruisey payday evening soundtrack.”

If that sounds delish, then pop on into Hippo on Thursday September 18 and check ch-check check check check ch-check it out.

Academy Friday night rosters for the months ahead are filling up nicely, as a quick flick of your eyes to their ad across the page there will soon tell you. It is particularly good to see Guy Hatfield, AKA UK heavy-hitting breakbeat don DJ Hyper, making a stop over come October 24. We’re lucky to have the lad here at all, as he was recently banged up in a Hong Kong police cell for 36 hours after being swept up in a club raid only minutes into his set. A stinking cell and some taunting guards later, and the man was free to go. O, the high life of the globetrotting DJ.

Before I go, that Academy rapscallion Ashley Feraude wanted me to mention (you say no to that face) that Academy stickers that can be picked up by Uni students to give them 2-4-1 entry on Thursdays and Saturdays.  May the filth commence!

ALLAN “WORD WHIPPET” SKO

DVDevotee Shutter (Twentieth Century Fox)

This is a ‘horror’ film so mind bogglingly tedious, so woefully plotted, so painfully unscary that it doesn’t deserve any ink – positive or negative – to be heaped upon it, but hey, something’s got to fill this column, right?

And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let those bastards Setty and Hook run things, so here goes. A quick glance at the sadly hopeful tone of the press release accompanying this disc reveals “from the executive producers of The Ring and The Grudge”. O dear, executive producers? That’s all they could manage? I believe they hand out one of those credits to the stage hand if he whips up a particularly spot-on cuppa joe for the director, so that there’s not a good start. And from the very beginning to the final scenes, this film claws desperately at the far (far, far) superior aforementioned flicks. Newly weds go to Japan where Matey Jim (not actual character name) is set up for a top photography possie (oh yeah sorry, I forgot. He’s a photographer, the film’s all about photography, hence the title Shutter. Not to matter. It’s shit). On the way, they mow down a girl in their car. Or did they? Suddenly, spectral shapes are appearing on all of Matey Jim’s photos.

Or are they? We then learn the dead girl was mixed up with Matey Jim in the past, which is when we start to care. Or do we? Unfortunately, no-one was able to inform the director, writer, or indeed coffee guru executive producers, that white blotches on a photo simply. Aren’t. Scary. Especially for just under one and a half fucking hours. The only time I shat myself in this film was upon glancing at the timer towards the end, only to discover a mere 20 minutes had elapsed. Every horror cliché is wheeled out from the grave time and again (“Mmmm, seemingly nothing in this scary room. I’ll just safely turn around and O Jesus H Humperdink! For the love of…! O, no wait. It’s just the other character. Phew! That was sure a close one!”), the pacing is as pedestrian as a zebra crossing, the ‘twist’ is so flaccid my penis actually shrunk to a humble 12 inches, and the script is typically bad.

I really need to stop watching these kinds of films. I think I’m developing a masochistic personality.

INFUSION - “It’s electro pop rock nonsense, really…”

Infusion

The dance music climate has changed dramatically in the last two years, particularly at home. The Modular label shot to prominence, bringing into sharp focus Australian dance luvvies Cut Copy and The Presets and, in part, helped usher in the seemingly ubiquitous electro house sound we’re now drenched in.

PNAU combined their long-standing dance sensibilities with crafty pop nous to release one of the albums of 2007, and subsequently some of the best singles of 2008 in Baby and Embrace.

It is into this climate that the mighty INFUSION triumvirate stride once more, looking to reaffirm their position as one of Australia’s most beloved – and most enduring – dance acts. It seems an age since Girls Can Be Cruel delighted and entranced the unsuspecting public’s ears and that’s because, well… it has been an age.

Believe it or believe it not, 2008 marks a decade since three plucky Melbournites decided to shake up the dance world. After a string of successful 12”s on the Thunk and Roadrunner labels, the band caught fire in 2004, landing a slot at the revered Glastonbury Festival. Yes, if there’s anyone that knows how to adapt to the fickle and fast-changing dance scene, it’s messieurs Jamie Stevens, Frank Xavier and obliging BMA interview subject Manual “Manny” Sharrad.

Manny is a delightful character of the Australian dance music scene, a man who loves a chat, loves a dance, and loves a party. Fortunately for the world of music, he balances such decadence with a firm head on the shoulders, belying the musical intelligence we’ve come to know of the Infusion troupe. He comments openly and widely on topics such as dance music, Infusion’s place in it, their musical methodology, their new direction and, most pressingly of all, what the bloody hell they’ve been up to.

“Touring for a lot of it,” Sharrad quips. “Mostly Europe. By last count, we’d played in 39 countries and 123 cities. And we even managed a good old fashioned bit of relaxing by the end of it. We lived in London for a few months to try and crack the market over there, which formed the base for lots of the shows around Europe. We get along famously, but I think we were all getting a bit sick of the sight of each other towards the end, so the break was vital in unwinding and getting the creative juices flowing again.” The break seemed to only fuel the muse of music within the camp.

“We were itching to start writing and recording again; we all had so many ideas by the time we got back into it. For the first time ever, we actually went to a retreat, of sorts, down on the coast, and got stuck into uninterrupted, focussed writing. It was really beneficial.”

Citing The Killers, “New York guys” The Strokes, and Belgium band dEUS as influences certainly helped fuel early rumours that the long-awaited follow up album to 2006’s ARIA award winning Six Feet Above Yesterday had a slower tempo, and more of a live band sound. But this is not the case.

“It’s sounding pretty fuckin’ hot, I must say,” Sharrad says, with lovable enthusiasm. “I wouldn’t say it was slower. We wanted a really good, strong, solid, up-tempo kind of album. There’s only really two vaguely slow songs on the album, but they’re by no means laid back!” he laughs.

“One of them (Horizons) is a pure, Led Zepplin, rockin’ out, fuckin’ epic rock monster of a track that starts out sounding Massive Attack meets Zepplin meets Depeche Mode. Frank [Xavier] and I were getting bored of 12 minute prog epics.  We wanted more of a crossover-festival kinda-fun-stuff vibe overall; y’know, songs, proper pop songs that allow silly dance remixes further down the track. We wanted to make things tighter and catchier, so we wanted to make this one a good, solid, short, catchy album with good pop ethics.

“We’re not going total rock, we’re just getting more instruments involved,” Sharrad continues. “Some of the tracks have strings, and there are live drums that we’ve recorded, sampled, chopped the fuck out off, plus a fair bit of guitar and bass here and there, but only where it needs it, not for the sake of it. We start off writing the way we usually do – electronic sounds and beats – and if something needs a real guitar or some drums, we’ll include it.”

Canberra will mark the first performance on Australian soil for the merry men in a long time, and it seems a lot of pent up performance energy will be unleashed.

“I just can’t wait until the album’s out and we can start touring again. I’m itching to get back out there. Canberra should be great. I’m looking forward to playing with the Karton boys again; they’re always fun. We’ll be playing a more dance-orientated set to fit in with the night, so live guitar and up-tempo numbers will be the go.
“We’ll have a guitarist; Pip Branson. He plays for Something For Kate, has a bunch of other projects going on; he’s an old mate, and a really good guitarist, so that will add an exciting element to the show.”

And new material one trusts? “Oh yes,” Sharrad spouts, his enthusiasm positively dripping down the phone line. “We’ll be playing a helluva lot of new stuff. The one we’re really pushing to the forefront at the moment – and will probably be the new single – is Dogtown. It’s a crazy fuckin’ tweaked out dancefloor stomper of over-sexed madness. It’s just a really good dance track, a fun track of bouncing around craziness. And that’s what we’re all about these days, electro pop rock nonsense, really. Pop doesn’t have to be stupid, it doesn’t have to be shit. It’s about finding that balance. The people who turn it into gold are geniuses in my book.”

Glittering nuggets of dance pop brilliance exploding in the live arena with a sextastic performance mantra. It’s a description that could be applied to Infusion at any stage of their career, but perhaps even more so now. Despite their seeming absence in a scene that tends to change as rapidly as a kaleidoscope, the boys are set to shake us up yet again.

“I’m itching to get back out there. Canberra should be great.”

Infusion headline the massive ITM Party at ANU on Saturday September 13 with Grafton Primary, James Dela Cruz, Nick Thayer, G.L.O.V.E.S, Typhonic, Karton, Danielsan, D’Opus & Roshambo, Hubert w/ MC Darkwing, Alikeminds and Dazed & Flawlezz. Tix $45 plus BF from Landspeed, inthemix.com.au, ANU Union and Stocks.

INFUSION - “It’s electro pop rock nonsense, really…”

Infusion

The dance music climate has changed dramatically in the last two years, particularly at home. The Modular label shot to prominence, bringing into sharp focus Australian dance luvvies Cut Copy and The Presets and, in part, helped usher in the seemingly ubiquitous electro house sound we’re now drenched in.

PNAU combined their long-standing dance sensibilities with crafty pop nous to release one of the albums of 2007, and subsequently some of the best singles of 2008 in Baby and Embrace.

It is into this climate that the mighty INFUSION triumvirate stride once more, looking to reaffirm their position as one of Australia’s most beloved – and most enduring – dance acts. It seems an age since Girls Can Be Cruel delighted and entranced the unsuspecting public’s ears and that’s because, well… it has been an age.

Believe it or believe it not, 2008 marks a decade since three plucky Melbournites decided to shake up the dance world. After a string of successful 12”s on the Thunk and Roadrunner labels, the band caught fire in 2004, landing a slot at the revered Glastonbury Festival. Yes, if there’s anyone that knows how to adapt to the fickle and fast-changing dance scene, it’s messieurs Jamie Stevens, Frank Xavier and obliging BMA interview subject Manual “Manny” Sharrad.

Manny is a delightful character of the Australian dance music scene, a man who loves a chat, loves a dance, and loves a party. Fortunately for the world of music, he balances such decadence with a firm head on the shoulders, belying the musical intelligence we’ve come to know of the Infusion troupe. He comments openly and widely on topics such as dance music, Infusion’s place in it, their musical methodology, their new direction and, most pressingly of all, what the bloody hell they’ve been up to.

“Touring for a lot of it,” Sharrad quips. “Mostly Europe. By last count, we’d played in 39 countries and 123 cities. And we even managed a good old fashioned bit of relaxing by the end of it. We lived in London for a few months to try and crack the market over there, which formed the base for lots of the shows around Europe. We get along famously, but I think we were all getting a bit sick of the sight of each other towards the end, so the break was vital in unwinding and getting the creative juices flowing again.” The break seemed to only fuel the muse of music within the camp.

“We were itching to start writing and recording again; we all had so many ideas by the time we got back into it. For the first time ever, we actually went to a retreat, of sorts, down on the coast, and got stuck into uninterrupted, focussed writing. It was really beneficial.”

Citing The Killers, “New York guys” The Strokes, and Belgium band dEUS as influences certainly helped fuel early rumours that the long-awaited follow up album to 2006’s ARIA award winning Six Feet Above Yesterday had a slower tempo, and more of a live band sound. But this is not the case.

“It’s sounding pretty fuckin’ hot, I must say,” Sharrad says, with lovable enthusiasm. “I wouldn’t say it was slower. We wanted a really good, strong, solid, up-tempo kind of album. There’s only really two vaguely slow songs on the album, but they’re by no means laid back!” he laughs.

“One of them (Horizons) is a pure, Led Zepplin, rockin’ out, fuckin’ epic rock monster of a track that starts out sounding Massive Attack meets Zepplin meets Depeche Mode. Frank [Xavier] and I were getting bored of 12 minute prog epics.  We wanted more of a crossover-festival kinda-fun-stuff vibe overall; y’know, songs, proper pop songs that allow silly dance remixes further down the track. We wanted to make things tighter and catchier, so we wanted to make this one a good, solid, short, catchy album with good pop ethics.

“We’re not going total rock, we’re just getting more instruments involved,” Sharrad continues. “Some of the tracks have strings, and there are live drums that we’ve recorded, sampled, chopped the fuck out off, plus a fair bit of guitar and bass here and there, but only where it needs it, not for the sake of it. We start off writing the way we usually do – electronic sounds and beats – and if something needs a real guitar or some drums, we’ll include it.”

Canberra will mark the first performance on Australian soil for the merry men in a long time, and it seems a lot of pent up performance energy will be unleashed.

“I just can’t wait until the album’s out and we can start touring again. I’m itching to get back out there. Canberra should be great. I’m looking forward to playing with the Karton boys again; they’re always fun. We’ll be playing a more dance-orientated set to fit in with the night, so live guitar and up-tempo numbers will be the go.
“We’ll have a guitarist; Pip Branson. He plays for Something For Kate, has a bunch of other projects going on; he’s an old mate, and a really good guitarist, so that will add an exciting element to the show.”

And new material one trusts? “Oh yes,” Sharrad spouts, his enthusiasm positively dripping down the phone line. “We’ll be playing a helluva lot of new stuff. The one we’re really pushing to the forefront at the moment – and will probably be the new single – is Dogtown. It’s a crazy fuckin’ tweaked out dancefloor stomper of over-sexed madness. It’s just a really good dance track, a fun track of bouncing around craziness. And that’s what we’re all about these days, electro pop rock nonsense, really. Pop doesn’t have to be stupid, it doesn’t have to be shit. It’s about finding that balance. The people who turn it into gold are geniuses in my book.”

Glittering nuggets of dance pop brilliance exploding in the live arena with a sextastic performance mantra. It’s a description that could be applied to Infusion at any stage of their career, but perhaps even more so now. Despite their seeming absence in a scene that tends to change as rapidly as a kaleidoscope, the boys are set to shake us up yet again.

“I’m itching to get back out there. Canberra should be great.”

Infusion headline the massive ITM Party at ANU on Saturday September 13 with Grafton Primary, James Dela Cruz, Nick Thayer, G.L.O.V.E.S, Typhonic, Karton, Danielsan, D’Opus & Roshambo, Hubert w/ MC Darkwing, Alikeminds and Dazed & Flawlezz. Tix $45 plus BF from Landspeed, inthemix.com.au, ANU Union and Stocks.

From the Bossman

Ooooo yes.  Ya feel that, kids? That’s one girthy edition of BMA right there, huh? I can hear the extra pages wearing down your brittle wrist bones as we speak. Ahhh yes; nothing beats the sound of splintering bone under newsprint. You really should get some more calcium in your diet.

As well signalling exciting times ahead for the region, this super-sized edition is all the more fitting by marking a changing of the guard here at BMA HQ. Fearless editor Peter K, who has majestically steered the good ship BMA over the past year and a half, will be leaving us this issue for greener pastures – his old temp job at Woolworths. For the good of the nation, one hopes Peter will hang around the BMA pad in some professional form, or indeed simple skulk around the bins like so many editors before him. Regardless, I extend a hearty backslap Peter’s way for a job well done, and a friend well made.

Ushering in a new reign of terror will be long-standing BMA journo, and fourth placer in the Queanbeyan Beauty Pageant, Ben “The Gun Show” Hermann. I expect big things of this small man (the ability to fit into small passageways for one), and I’m sure he won’t disappoint. All I need decide now is how to explain away the “extensive meetings” one indulges in of a regular afternoon. Gum can mask the stench of alcohol only so much.

ALLAN “” SKO

MOBIN MASTER

WHAT: MELBOURNE HOUSE AFFICIONADO
WHERE: MONKEY BAR
WHEN: SAT SEP 6

Melbourne house music mogul Mobin Master will be tearing Monkey Bar a new ‘un this September, where he will be whipping out his trademark Show Me Love track, currently moving the sticky-soled dancing shoes of clubland, along with other upfront releases from his Safari record label, and tracks from his Stateside connections. Exhibiting a penchant for the Big Apple, Mobin has worked on worldwide releases with New Yorkers Roger Sanchez, Inaya Day, Rob Mirage, Corbo, as well as Robin S, Jodie Watley, D’Empress, Supafly, Marcia Hines and Madison Avenue, informing his own music with the energy associated with our United States cousins, whilst solidifying his international reputation in the vocal house arena. No slouch on the performance front either, you can expect driving basslines, exclusive remixes and layered acapellas when the man straddles the decks, building a set sure to spark euphoria in even the most flaccid. Joined by regular Monkey-goers Kiz, Tim Galvin and Trent Richardson, plus special guest Franco Lumicisi, Sep 6 is sure to be a night to remember. Or forget, depending on how large you make it. $15, doors 9pm.

The Drop

Well-well-well-well-well. Well. If it isn’t you guys, what with your things ‘n’ stuff hanging about the place. No, I have no idea what I’m on about either; it’s been a big weekend.

So, the ITM Top 50 poll has been and gone for another year, and thanks to the hard work and turgid talent of our local dance music glitterati, it’s been the best yet for the ACT. A mightily over-exaggerated tip of the cap goes to the Aston Shuffle boys, who came in at a staggering sixth place in the national – yes, the national – polls. Bloody nice work, chaps. And a jubilant and congratulatory cockney wink goes to Foreshore for taking out the Best Event category. In your face, Big Day Out.

Locally, the top five were as follows: #1 Aston Shuffle, #2 Tori Mac, #3 Ashley Feraude, #4 Tim Galvin, #5 Mikah Freeman (enjoying another excellent year, it seems). For the full results, hit up www.inthemix.com.au/50 .

Those delightful Servants of Sound kids – yes, the very same that brought you the much loved and highly successful Liquid Sun and Galactic Centre parties – are back with their biggest show yet; a three day festival with the rather fetching name of Dragon Dreaming, happening on Oct 4 to 6 at a TBA location. I caught up with plucky whelp Lynton Sheehan to get the goss.

“Servants of Sound, REGEN, Ixchel and Suntribe are excited to announce Dragon Dreaming Festival 2008 – the first ever three day festival of its type to be held in Canberra!” the man enthused. “Get your fix at the Dragon Dreaming Launch party at Teatro Vivaldi (ANU) on Saturday September 13 from 9pm. Not only is this a launch for Dragon Dreaming, but it’s also a birthday for a special someone – so we’ve gone all out with a burlesque theme! Servants of Sound are giving the best dressed person a free ticket to Dragon Dreaming Festival, so trot out the top hat and tails and come and strut your stuff to a selection of acts such as Eukali, Close?, Psytata, freebasstoad, Aneurysm and more! Check the website for more details - www.servantsofsound.org .”
More on Dragon Dreaming next issue, you ravenous hounds.

The international drum ‘n’ bass nights at Mercury Bar continue to roll out. The UK’s Survival of Creative Source/Exit Records/ DNAudio/Qurantine and Shogun Audio fame will be in town on Friday October 3. Benjammin, Rhombus, Kilojulz, Buick, Tidy and Crooked Sound System will be in support. $15 before 10pm, $20 after. Doors 8pm.

And then a little further down the track, the awesome might of Apex, also a dweller from the land of bad teeth, will be here on Friday October 17, with Bowl & Scissor, Centaspike, Escha, Dred and DJ C. $15 before 10pm, $20 thereafter. Jump onto his myspace (just type in Apex myspace into your preferred search engine) and have a listen to Entrapment. Killer.

Academy has a few aces up its sleeve for the month ahead. I caught up with ACT ITM #3 Ashley Feraude both to find out what’s happening, and to stare dreamily at his undeniably chiselled features.

“Thursday has a “show us your trash” stencil comp coming up which can win you two platinum passes. More details on the comp and how to get the sticker on the website www.academyclub.com.au . Fridays we have John Course (Friday Sep 5), then the One Love Party which features TV Rock with Seanie B live on the mic (Friday Sep 12) and the Ministry of Sound Clubbers Guide Spring Tour with Groove Terminator (Friday Sep 19). Decadence Saturdays continue with Chris Fraser, Ashley Feraude, Miles, Pred, Saad and Rexy and live elements throughout the month include percussionists, vocalists and even MC Roshambo, who’ll be complimenting one of my sets with his skills! The Candy Bar features the Latin musical journey of Mi Casa Es Tu Casa with Frank Madrid or the funk, soul and retro sounds of Ear Candy.”

Much to enjoy. Be sure to read up this ish on Mobin Master @ Monkey Bar, Sep 6 (Tidbits), Infusion/Grafton Primary/G.L.O.V.E.S @ ANU, Sep 13 and bask in the glory that is Foreshore’s second round line-up. I’ll see you at the ITM Party, kids.

ALLAN “MIRTH ‘N’ GIRTH” SKO

From the Bossman

Miscellaneous Things I’ve Learnt About the Music Industry #33: The vacant stare of half recognition.

It’s a useful creature, this one, and a look than can be applied across the broad spectrum of human interaction. Y’see, you meet a lot of people in this industry. A lot. Some of them are like you; ugly, dishevelled, manners of a baboon (complete with smell), spending Friday nights furiously masturbating to Neil Diamond records, and thus not worth remembering (worth reporting to your local constabulary, if anything).

Others are “important” people or, even worse, heart-achingly lovely people that deserve recognition from alcohol-soaked magazine operators. They have a name. A name you really should remember either because they’re ever so important, or they’re someone you’ve conversed with on multiple occasions and now, for the love of GOD, you can’t recall their simple phonetics.

Hence “the vacant stare”. Relax, and allow your eyes to cloud over. This will soothe them. Then, with as much gusto as you can manage, heartily slap them on the back, and call upon one of your many endearments: “Y’right mate! Champ! Squire! Tweacle! Sweetheart! Darling! Honeybunch! Apple pie! Dickhead! (Dickhead?)
Actually, perhaps lay off on that last one. One night in the cells is enough for anyone.

ALLAN “WHAT’S-HIS-FACE” SKO

The Drop

My dear dishevelled dance masses, how good it is to see you once again. Pull up a floor cushion and let’s get started, shall we? Before we do, you’ve got a little something on the side of your mouth there. No, the other side. No the… ahhh, forget it, you daffy goon.

Sounds like we’re in for a treat with the encroaching ITM Top 50 Party. I jumped on the horn to Infusion’s Jamie Stevens this week, and he revealed “we’ve just finished the new album.” And will you be playing new ‘n’ exclusive tracks at said upcoming party, I enquired? “Oooooo yes.  We certainly shall be.” Well isn’t that nice? Grafton Primary, James Dela Cruz o’ Avalanches fame, G.L.O.V.E.S, Nick Thayer and a stack of others (check ad for deets) join Infusion at ANU on Saturday September 13, which should prove to be an epic eve. Tix $45 + bf available from Landspeed, Stocks, ANU and inthemix.com.au .

If you like yer beats frenetic and your rhythmz tribal, then you, my psychedelically clad chum, are in luck. Friday September 12 at Mercury Bar (Northbourne Avenue) marks the Transmission Warmup Party, for what’s sure to be a big event in an intimate setting. Sydney’s Jason Suae, Pulsar and SDee lead the charge, with locals Nomad, Fi-End, Nasty, Enerv8, Simon Hunter and Neonik bringing up the proverbial rear. Tix went on sale last Monday and are available from Landspeed Records. Buggered if I know how much they are. It’s an early start (8pm) and a late finish (4am) so be sure to pack your industrial strength multi-coloured furry ugg boots.

Reapercussion is back for a second instalment, sporting your favourites Matrix and Hellraiser. Ruth “Artemis” Robertson will be making a welcome return set from Melbourne, bringing regional compatriot Exa-cist with her. Throw in Loose Cannon, Neonik, Frodo and Fi-End and you have yourself a banging eve. ANU is the place, Saturday September 20 is the date, and $25 plus BF is the fee.

Those with a penchant for classic breakbeat will be overjoyed to hear that the Plump DJs will make a triumphant return on Friday October 3 to Academy, thanks to the handsome Landspeed folk. Touting their very tidy new Headthrash album, this eve should be a stormer; you will find me surprised if this night is anything less than a sellout. If you haven’t heard the album already, jump onto their myspace page for a preview. Or just man up and buy yourself a copy. Karton, who themselves are putting the finishing touches to their debut long-player, will be in support. Tix are $30 plus BF from Landspeed, Stocks, inthemix.com.au and etc.

Academy are sexing themselves up this August. Mish Mash Fridays is the new installation for the end of week eve, with Bodyrox roxing yo body on Friday August 22. They of club hit Yeah Yeah fame will be supported by specially selected Mish Mash residents.

Saturdays sees Academy launch Decadance Saturdays. The club promises to let you “spoil yourself on the best night of the week with the biggest acts, top local DJ talent, live elements and themed visuals”. Friday August 23 sees Beni from Riot In Belgium kicking up a storm, with beloved residents Ashley Feraude, Pred, Rexy and Miles in tow. The night is also host to the seven sinful $5 drinks promo, so binge drink your little tits off.*

Drum ‘n’ bass head? Of course you are. I’ll be seeing you at Muffler this Friday August 22 at Mercury Bar then (check the ad this ish for all the deets). To get you in the mood, DJ Dred has dropped the third chapter of his Ruff’N’Ready mix comp, a two-side 40-cut selection with tracks from Nu:tone, Logistics, Survival, Subfocus, Commix, The Brooks Brothers, Alex Perez, Spectrasoul and more. It’s a free download, available from www.agentkaos.com , so whaddya waiting for, huh?

And regular readers o’ this column will remember BreakOut Lab is on Friday August 29 at Mercury Bar, with DJ Filter from Inbound Records Adelaide. It’s a night of soulful jazzy drum ‘n’ bass, chillout, dub and tech house. 8pm start, $5 entry. For more info, hit www.puredjs.com.au .

And that, my pretties, is that. More than enough mischief to be getting up to. So go. Get.

ALLAN “PSYCHADELIC TROUSERS” SKO

*do not binge drink your tits off. Rudd will be after our precious basic spirits nectar next.

BRIGITTE HANDLEY & THE DARK SHADOWS

WHAT: LAUNCHING THE STAND OFF EP
WHERE: ANU BAR
WHEN: FRI AUG 15

Brigitte Handley & The Dark Shadows are a Sydney based all-lass three-piece who proudly thrash out a sound described as “defiant punk with a dark edge”. And what’s life with a thick slab of that, eh? Unsurprisingly, the feisty Brigitte Handley fronts the Dark Shadows on vocals and guitar, with the irrepressible Carly Chalker thumping on the bass, and minx Nerida Wu keeping time in fine style on the drums. The trio have shared the stage with a string of impressive names – including Mad Sin and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club – and have just returned from a successful West Coast tour of the USA and Canada, where they played 27 shows in 30 days. Touting their new debut EP Stand Off – released through Revel Yell Music, Japan and distributed through MGM Distribution – the girls are on fiery form and playing with more gusto than ever before. Catch ‘em in Canberra this month, supported by Hytest and Charlie Greaser. $10, 8pm start.

MUFFLER

WHAT: FINNISH D&B
WHERE: MERCURY BAR
WHEN: FRI AUG 22

Finnish born drum ‘n bass DJ and producer DJ Muffler, or Konsta Mikkonen to his lederhosen-sporting bank manager, is a man of many guises. Having also operated under the names Konsta, Constant, Unknown Soldier, Axis Of Evil and Alloy, Muffler’s tearing, energy-infused brand o’ D&B has seen him picked up by prominent labels such as Moving Shadow, Hospital, Commercial Suicide, Formation, Urban Takeover and his own Sighco Recordings. At the sickeningly young age of 22, Mikkonen already sees himself splitting time between London and Tallinn, and touring the world. Producing since the age of 9, he enjoyed early releases in 1999-2000 on the Urban Takeover label when most of us were playing with our propeller caps, and has gone on to release over 50 vinyl singles and two CD albums in a short time. As a DJ he is dynamic, trademarked by his fast double-drop mixing skills, and dubplate heavy selection, so that every set is sure to be laced with the latest cuts from himself and other producers. The man will bring the noise to Canberra this August, ensuring no plaster remains on Mercury Bar’s shiny new interior.

From the Bossman

My good friends, the pissed-stained y-fronts of rock ‘n’ roll are hanging particularly loose this morning.
You find me, at time of penning this particular fortnight’s random smatterings, painfully hunched over my computer console, having just returned from Splendour in the Grass after an epic 12-hour straight drive back from Byron Bay in order to get this - yes, this very tome you currently clutch in your trembling fingers - out to the extremely good looking people of Canberra and beyond.

It’s not pretty, but it’s the price you occasionally pay for choosing to operate in this industry. A film of an as-yet-unnamed-by-man substance currently covers my face. My ever-observant Accounts Manager was only too keen to point out my violently trembling fingers as I handed him a contact detail with, what I foolishly presumed to be, a hand of pure iron.

My stomach is a litany of bad diet decisions - a veritable mad scientist’s bubbling beaker of filth - and one peanut away from internal combustion.

And I can actually smell the colour purple.

It’s safe to assume I’ve shaved at least a few days off my life expectancy over the weekend. So why do it? Because I love you and, dammit, these are the kinds of lengths I’m willing to go through.

O yes, my pretties; these proverbial y-fronts have plenty more stains where they came from.

ALLAN “I’LL BE SENSIBLE NEXT ISSUE, PROMISE” SKO

The Drop

This cold weather’s good for one thing at least – “I swear, officer, my jaw’s only moving this much because I’m cold.”

Hello again dance chickens. Much to get through this edish. And God bless those end of year festivals. Following news that Foreshore will be delighting us with The Presets, it now emerges that Cut Copy will be gracing the Trackside main stage come Saturday November 22. Another major tour that Canberra was cruelly ignored for earlier this year, it’s a joy to know we won’t miss the splendours of their excellent LP In Ghost Colours played for us live. The full Trackside line-up can gleaned on pages 2 and 3 of this ‘ere rag. Tix go on sale August 21, are $79 plus booking fee and are available from Landspeed Records, Stocks, moshtix.com.au and Ticketek.

The inthemix Top 50 Party is back again, and this year is shaping up to be a big ‘un. Taking place over two rooms at the ANU on Saturday September 13, the line-up includes the return of the mighty Infusion, Grafton Primary (launching their highly anticipated new album Eon), Melbourne’s Nick Thayer and G.L.O.V.E.S, Hubert feat MC Darkwing, Karton, Fourthstate, Danielsan, Typhonic, James Dela Cruz (erstwhile Avalanches man), D’Opus & Roshambo, Alikeminds and Dazed & Flawlezz . Tix are $45 plus booking fee and are available from inthemix.com.au , Landspeed Records and Stocks stores.

Monkey Bar has been going bananas of late (boom-tish!), with the performance roster thickening by the week. August sees no less than five notable acts snuggle into the first floor level club’s refurbed confines. August 9 sees the mighty Bag Raiders pop in for a set. 15 clams for that one. On August 15, “Sydney’s undisputed heavyweight champion latino DJ” Don Juan pops in to hot things up, with a best dressed and “sexy dance” competition for those so inclined. $10 entry.

Still at Monkey, Ex-Canberran love merchant Rob Kay will spin up a storm on August 16, with Paul Wheeler playing live accompanying trumpet for something a little different. $10 for that ‘un. A week later on August 23 and the Nocturnals make a stopover. And to close off the month in fine style, Club Junque of Chinese Laundry fame makes a August 30 appearance. $10. All shows (minus Don Juan) are supported by resident DJs Kiz, Tim Galvin and Trent Richardson.

Dave Scully and co have fired up a new dubstep night, entitled Shockwave. “We are dedicated to bring to Canberra the best dubstep vibrations and welcome you to come along and check out the sound that is rocking the world,” keen-bean Scully enthused. The first instalment hits Mercury Bar (along Northbourne Avenue) on Friday August 15, with Miss Universe, Crooked Sound System and Fourthstate on the cut, and Harlequin MC on the mic. $5, or free before 10pm. There will be giveaways too, including Benga’s landmark album Diary of an Afro Warrior, and Box of Dub 2 (Soul Jazz Records), plus mix CDs, t-shirts and stickers. For a free Crooked mix check it out .

The Finnish drum ‘n’ bass meister Muffler should ensure a very enjoyable evening of energy-ridden beats ‘n’ bass is had at Mercury Bar come Friday August 22. His DJ sets are something to behold, a fast-paced affair trademarked by fast double-drop mixing skills and dubplate-heavy selection. And jump onto his myspace page; any man able to move seven lasses to strip to the waist and each bear a different letter of your moniker on their slender behinds to spell out your name has gotta be doing something right in my book. $15 entry, with Benjammin’, The Crunch, Karton, Escha, Buick and Dred in support.

Brewster B will grace the next Bleep @ Transit Bar on Friday August 15. Ronnie Gordon, Mig.L, Bruisa and Alex McLeod vs Nick Smith will be in support and, as with all things Transit, it’s free entry. Pow.

And that, my dear jaw-shudderers, is it for another fortnight. And remember, during this time of year wrap up warm. Just because it’s 4am, you’re sporting your Borat mankini, and you feel perfectly warm doesn’t mean you are.

ALLAN “OOO, ME GIBLETS” SKO

The Drop

To the seven of you whose eyes aren’t glued shut by winter illness gunk, I welcome you to this edition’s instalment of Colume De Dance (translation: metal column).

Needless to say the biggest dance news is the announcement of this year’s Foreshore line-up, with the added, and extremely pleasing, knowledge that we won’t be missing out on a Canberra Presets gig after all. After being cruelly ignored on their recent spate of June/July shows, the boys Hamilton and Moyes will be gracing the Foreshore stage come Saturday November 29 at Commonwealth Place. I need not gobble up too much column space with the details here, as you can flick to the handsome double page spread at the start of the magazine for that. The thing to know is that tickets are a thoroughly thrifty $69.95 plus BF for first release, and go on sale 10am Thursday July 31 from Landspeed, Moshtix, inthemix.com.au and Ticketek.

Three cheers to local prog-house lad James “Jaytech” Cayzer, who has just released his “eight years in the making” debut album Everything is OK. Featuring his first foray into the world of vocals, I spoke to the man recently about his labour of love. “I’m very happy with it; I didn’t rush anything and wanted to wait until I had everything just right. I was never happy with my technical prowess with vocals – it’s tricky to get vocal lines, and the lyrics themselves, just right – until now, so it’s the two vocal tracks on the album I’m happiest with.”

Jimbo, as he is lovingly called, describes the album as having a positive, uplifting sound, mirroring the rather cute cover artwork. “The album title was inspired by a photo, which was then used for the front cover. A large scale public pillow fight was staged, and taped round the side were these signs saying ‘Everything is OK’ to inform passers-by who might be alarmed at the sight. This one shot has the sign, and the pillow mayhem blurry in the background; it’s one of my favourite photos. I showed it to the guys at the label, we thought it would make a good album cover and title, so we tracked down the photographer, who was good enough to give permission to use it.”

Jimbo is swanning around the world on tour, currently residing in Wimbeldon, England. Git. His album is out soon.

On the gigs front, there’s a coupla “alternative” eves to indulge in. Local pant-swinger Brujo Gordon is firing up a new Latin night at Paparazzi along Franklin Street in Manuka (ex Company, ex FMs, ex ex ex…). “These parties will be run by the best Latin DJs from Canberra and Sydney,” espouses Gordon. “We have several big events already planned for this year, including what will be the first Salsa Musical, produced and directed in Australia and performed by Canberra’s best local dancers. You will receive information about this audition soon!”

In the meantime, the pre-opening nights are on July 19 (already passed, obviously) and July 26, with Saturday August 16 being the official launch. Expect dance performances, live percussion and many surprises, and all for a slender fiver.

Slightly further down the track, you can enjoy Pure DJs presents BreakOut Lab, featuring DJ Filter from Inbound Records, Adelaide. “The music being played on the night is mainly soulful jazzy drum ‘n’ bass,” co-promoter Duy-Nam told me. “But in the opening and closing hours of the event, we will be playing dub, chillout, broken beats and tech house.”

If that sounds like your thing, then circle Friday August 29 on your calendar, and mark down Mercury Bar in your diary. No, I don’t have a pen. Again, ‘tis but a trembling five dollars entry.

There’s more. There’s always more.  But you’ve had your fill for now

ALLAN “GREEDY FOR THE VERSE” SKO

DVDevotee Day of the Dead (the straight-to-video remake!)

(Force Entertainment)
You know the kind of evenings; the ones where you’ve had a couple of big weekends in a row, soaking yourself in alcohol and seeing more hours in the AM than you’d care to mention, leading to that period in the life cycle where it’s time, for the sake of your sanity and the sanity of the loved ones around you, to have a “quiet one”. And what better way to tame the beast than with a shitty B-grade film? And this, my friends, is a shitty B-grade film. A remake of the third film in the series is always going to set off alarm bells. In George A Romero’s original, the series had progressed, and zombies had completely swamped the world except for the good ole ‘rag-tag’ group of survivors. The remake removes all such development, and focuses on the same tired one-off plot; there’s an outbreak - what could it be? Probably just the flu. Good lord!  He’s biting my leg! This must be, must be some sort of… outbreak! A zombie outbreak! O no, now I’m a zombie! Ooooo, brains! Etc Like most good ‘bad films’, there is a smattering of fading starlets and ‘in it for the money’ bit parts. Ving Rhames - whose Pulp Fiction “…we’re gonna get medieval on his ass” line paved the way for his next three movie roles - turns up for a handful of scenes, pockets his paycheck, and gets the hell out of the movie as quickly as possible. More horrifying than the poor special effects, typically laughable script, and plotting as yawn-inducing as it is unbelievable, is lead actress Mena Suvari.

O my dear Mena; where did it all go wrong? You entranced the world as beautiful, bitchy, and ultimately vulnerable Angela Hayes in American Beauty, and you inspired many a rigorous ‘rhythm’ session in boys across the world with your well-pitched lesbian turn in Six Feet Under. Here, your slightly chubbier frame is woefully miscast as an army lackie trying to ‘make sense of the madness’ and help your extremely rag-tag, picked-off-one-by-one-as-the-film-progresses crew to the inevitable conclusion. Certainly not good, and not really bad enough to be enjoyable, which places this film in the worst kind of limbo for B-grade offerings. If you need a schlock night in, stick to the original. This film just drove me to drink.

From the Bossman

In the spirit of randomness – which, let’s face it, this column embodies – here are some home truths that have struck me recently.

Nothing says “seedy” like a flickering Exit sign. You could have an opulent manor setting the likes of which would grace Ladette to Lady, but one flickering Exit sign in the background and it’s suddenly a vile den of unspeakable filth.

Technology is like a shark; it can smell blood. It can seek out when you need it the most, and shut you down without a second thought. And if technology is a shark, the internet is the Great White.

Contains Elements From would be an awesome name for a sample-based hip-hop album.

Captain Fuckarse and The Unpossibles would be an awesome band name for a band.*

Health Karma is a very real threat. As soon as you boast “I haven’t got ill yet” with the kind of smug grin that would put the Royal Family to shame, you wake up the following morning drenched in your own mucus, violently gasping for air while spasms of pain reminiscent of the closing stages of Orwell’s 1984 surge through your body.

The best, yet possibly saddest, news story I’ve heard this year is thus: “Ayveq the walrus, whose bizarre though oddly compelling masturbation rituals that made him an international sensation at the New York Aquarium, has died. He was 14.”

Second only to this piece about musical theatre and cabaret performer Todd McKenney allegedly being caught with drugs: “McKenney told police he had been to a party at an apartment in Macleay Street, Potts Point, on Anzac Day eve and had danced so much that he began to overheat and had taken his pants off to continue dancing. McKenney says that it was while his pants were down that someone at the party must have put the drug into his pocket.”

I mean, we’ve all been there, right?

ALLAN “WISDOM OF THE UNIVERSE” SKO

*unfortunately for me, I can’t claim credit for this one. Editor Peter K gets the nod there.

From the Bossman

Apparently, I managed to sleep on an angle no human person should possibly able to achieve last night, and I am now sporting the worst crick in my neck-slash-general-shoulder-area I’ve ever suffered.  I empathise with Derek Zoolander; I can’t turn to the left. All day, anyone vying for my attention on said side has been inadvertently shunned.

Peter (to Allan’s left): Hey Allan! (he says, eager to show off his new haircut)
Allan: “Huh?” “Ahhhhhhh!”
Peter: “Alright, fine! It’s too short!  Gitface.”

I can hear that whisper, Peter, our office is only two square metres in size after all. I’m just too bashful to tell you so, like all quivering journalist, I use the medium of print to vent my rage.

Anyway, rejoice Canberra, because the line-ups for our festivals are starting to creep in. Stonefest, Trackside, Foreshore… they’re all queuing up for your love. So if you’re cold now, here’s a fact to warm you through the winter: there’s a month-long period at year’s end that will see over 70 world class acts gracing ACT stages. O yes. It’s enough to make one forget the searing pain one’s in.

For now, you’re buggered though.

ALLAN “WINTER WONDERLAND” SKO

Bill Bailey

Allan Sko: So have you had the phone glued to your ear all evening?
Bill Bailey: Well, not really glued, no, but certainly pressed in a very friendly sort of way.
AS: That’s good. As long as it’s not too much of a burden, or indeed leaves any residue after you finish.
BB: Ah yes, well I usually clean it off afterwards and then I hold it slightly away from my ear…
AS: Yes, well, you’d have to raise your voice up I imagine, so you’d want to be careful about scratching your throat up.
BB: Yes, yes, well it’s a nightmare, isn’t it really, the whole phone process. There’s a lot to do really, there’s so many options.
AS: It’s a frightening modern world we live in, there’s no doubt.
BB: Yes, it’s terrifying… So many choices! I mean there’s so many cheeses, for one thing. Where do you start? The luxury cheese, the nice cheese, the ordinary cheese or valley cheese… The differences are bewildering! All the different kinds of cheddar cheese you can get…
AS: Let’s not even get started on that, that’d take up huge amounts of time.
BB: Farmhouse, mature… extra mature! And all these handy little guides that tell you how strong the cheese is. I mean, I just I don’t know, I… I get mesmerized, I get hypnotized. I’m hypnotized by the choice. I daren’t look!
AS: It’s startling isn’t it (laughs).
BB: And then you need to find someone to get the cheese for you. That’s the ultimate luxury…
AS: Let’s not even get started on that. I know with many of your shows, you say you have trouble starting the shows. I’m not sure if it transgresses onto interviews as well, does it?
BB: Well, yes, I’ve stopped dead, because I’m scared of answering the question now. And I fear that may lead me onto more conversation about cheese.
AS: (laughing) Well, you never know when it’s going to leap up on you.
BB: It might do, it might just creep up on me. Okay, okay, let’s try this together, and let’s forget this whole cheese deal and start now, start again.
AS: Yes, let’s give it a crack, eh?
BB: Hello!
AS: Hello!
BB: How are you?
AS: I’m very well, Mr Bailey, how’s yourself?
BB: I’m very well, thank you! Very good to hear from you.
AS: Ah, marvellous, marvellous…
BB: Canberra you say? It’s Australia’s home of cheese…. Ahh! How did that happen?!
AS: I stopped my timer there and I think we got about 15 seconds. That’s got to be some kind of record.
BB: Oh, right, okay.
AS: I ‘spose I can only blame myself for sending through ten questions based on cheese, so you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself.
BB: Yes, well, that’s really what let me down that cheese road…
AS: Haha, brie alley…
BB: That’s it, down the old cheddar gorge…
AS: You shouldn’t blame yourself. Damn journos, always tripping you up with some kind of tasty slice.
BB: Oh God yeah… I’ve forgotten where I am now.
AS: Ah yeah, I generally have that… It’s a backlash of being a journalist, you generally don’t know where you are most of the time.
BB: You don’t who you are or what you are.
AS: Well have all your other interviews been permeated with cheese, or did you sort of…
BB: I managed to keep it at a minimum ‘til now. Now it’s all gone… Well, cheese crazy.
AS: Evidently. Is this a nice way of avoiding having to talk endlessly about yourself, because God only knows you would have had an absolute parade of interviews in your time.
BB: Oh yeah, well, over the years, I’ve talked at length about sheds, cheese, anything really, other than uh…
AS: Peregrine falcons?
BB: Yes, well, peregrine… now you’re talking! Peregrine fallcons… falcons or fallcons?
AS: Well, I usually go for falcon, but fallcon sounds like it probably should be said if one is training them. But people might confuse that with fulcrum and then you’re in some kind of mechanical nightmare…
BB: Yeah, I mean why would you train a fulcrum? I mean, how could you train a fulcrum?
AS: Well, I hear they’re very useful physically, so who knows?
BB: No, you’re right actually, they are very handy… particularly if you need to balance something… or looking at some crucial point between two other points. Whereas a fallcon, a fallcon would just be a liability in that situation.
AS: Well, you can’t really balance anything on that, for example a tray of cheese. It’s a nightmare.
BB: Yeah, but get two dead voles, then bob’s your uncle.
AS: Well, that’s how the fulcrum was first camouflaged, really, was two dead moles.
BB: Yes, exactly. ‘Ahh, my lord, I bringeth forth the voles!’ ‘But how will we balance such fine creatures?’ ‘Why my liege, I have here a new device I have been developing.’ ‘Well pray let us see it!’ ‘I’m calling it the falcon.’ ‘Why, no one would believe you! I suggest calling it a fulcrum.’ And thus the legend was born.
AS: And that’s what I love about your shows, and indeed talking to you in person. It’s a history lesson come to life.
BB: It is, yeah. It’s all physically and mentally totally accurate.
AS: And God bless it for it. Good stuff.
BB: I should really answer a question now, shouldn’t I?

The full interview transcript is available below. Bill Bailey brings his show Tinselworm to the Royal Theatre on Saturday September 13. Tickets are available through Ticketek on 132 849 or www.ticketek.com.au .

Bill Bailey interviewed by Allan Sko Full Transcript

The Drop

You gorgeous love-mongers. Look at you.  You’re like living emoticons.

Yes, it’s that time of year already.  inthemix Top 50 votin’ time. Yes, already. Last year, the ACT shamelessly revealed its Mikah Freeman love affair, voting the Freeman-sporting Aston Shuffle #2 and Mikah himself at #1. Rounding out the five were Milkbar Nick #3, X-Dream #4 and Karton #5. The national poll saw Ajax take the top spot, Dirty South in second, Stafford Brothers third, TyDi fourth and John Course fifth. Who will spin their way into your hearts this year? Voting is open now (or “now open”; delete as according to literary pomposity), and you can start racking up the points for yer favs by jumping onto www.inthemix.com.au/50 .

Be advised that Random Soul will no longer be playing at Minque on Sunday July 13. Instead, party starter DJ Taras will pop past from Sydney to take their place. You’ll still be able to enjoy the sweet sounds of Ashley Feruade and Rexy DJs as well, so chin up and get involved.

Minque are really looking to fill out their calendar over the next few months thanks to some deft new management, so keep an eye out for the smooth jazz of the James Lafevre Quintet from 2pm in the afternoon of Saturday July 19 as part of the regular Jazz Sessions, and flicking forward to Friday August 15, you’ll have DJ D to enjoy. More details on that party to follow in a future issue.

That filthy love nugget Milkbar Nick is at it again, championing the newly installed FutureLoveAffair parties at Academy. But why editorialise, when I can just quote from Nick himself?

“It’s an exclusive intimate party in Academy’s Candy Bar,” sayeth the Nick. “Inspired by the infamous loft disco parties from NYC in the ‘70s, DJs Milkbar Nick, Rubicon and guests play disco, house, tech and sprinklings of prog from 11pm every Saturday. Entry is strictly guest list only, email milkbarnick [at] academyclub [dot] com [dot] au to be on it.”

Don’t be left out in the cold. Jump on the ‘puter and get guestlistin’.

In extremely pleasing news, C-tek Collective are back on the promotional radar with the Hijinx party at Akuna Bar (next to Ticketek, Civic) on Saturday August 2. It promises to be a night of techno, house and minimal electronics spun by the likes of talented tykes Eukali, Walski, Steve Sobevski, Anjay and Dante.

According to their Facebook blurb, you can expect music by Joris Voorn, Robert Babicz, Richie Hawtin, Technasia, Magda, Marc Houle, Bookashade, The Hacker, Klko, Stephan Bodzin, Oliver Hunterman, Kaliber, Alexi Delano, Cari Lekebusch, Adam Beyer, Oxia, Jasper Dahlback, Minilogue, Extrawelt, Sven Vath, Steve Bug, John Tejada, Misstress Barbara, Dousk, James Holden, Carl Craig, Slam, Wighnomy Brothers, Marco Corola and much more. Anyone who knows ten or more of those names wins a lollipop. It’s only five clams entry too.  Gravy. And as if that wasn’t enough you can download a mix from C-tek luvvie Chris “Walski” Wallis. I recommend its freeness.

Speaking of jaunty free downloads, Aston Shuffle have dredged up some love for you. “We have been getting lots of lovely messages from you out there in internet land about where to get FCKVRN,” international hair model Mikah Freeman said this week. “It’s been super mega ultra limited and exclusive up till now, but FINALLY here it is for you all to download … FREE!! .”

So get on over and enjoy the free music love. Isn’t living in the oh-eight great? Well, not if you want to make music AND make money, of course.

USA-ian SPL will be bringin’ the noise drum ‘n’ bass style to Mercury Bar on Friday July 11. With a typically tough style reminiscent of compatriot Hive, the man will be mixing up a primordial soup of tunes from his Lost Soul Recordings label, his forthcoming debut LP, as well as his upcoming Hollow Point Recordings label with Roommate, exhibiting a heavy slant on dubstep. A thumping good time awaits. The night has also got Chils (they’re multiplying), Dredd, Buick, Miss Universe, Kilojulz, Fourthstate, Centaspike and Twisted System in support. $15 entry.

Monkey Bar on Akuna Street in Civic has become a glorious “ugly duckling” success story this year. Born from the scourge that was Mombasa, Monkey Bar has swanned into the Canberra limelight and gone from strength to strength, doing extremely well to carve a reputation with its slick new interior and solid house/breaks music policy in an otherwise harsh Canberra winter climate. The good times continue with house aficionado Mark Dynamix on Saturday July 12, who will be joined by DJs Kiz, Tim Galvin and Trent Richardson. Doors 9pm, $10 before 10pm, $15 after.

A fortnight later on Saturday July 26, Matt Nugent, one of the men behind the latest One Love mix series alongside Grant Smillie and Crookers, will grace the Monkey Bar. Proving the theory that “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”, supports are by DJ Kiz, Tim Galvin and Trent Richardson, with doors 9pm, $10 before 10pm, $15 after.

’til next time, keep your noses clean (ahem) and I’ll see you in the gutter.

ALLAN “OOO AHH, JUST A LITTLE BIT” SKO

ALL THE UG REGULARS

WHAT: UG BEATS’ SIXTH BIRTHDAY
WHERE: TRANSIT BAR
WHEN: SAT JULY 4

Well slap me sideways with a sausage and call me Cumberland; it’s the Ug Beats Sixth Birthday Bash! Proudly proclaiming “we don’t know how we made it this far either”, Ug Beats has always been about surfing dance music’s eclectic side and having a jolly good night out with chums in the process.  As co-founder and perennial performer Alistair Erskine told me years ago: “It’s not about mixing, it’s about a bunch of people getting together to listen to good music in a bar.” Aptly enough, this simple concept was birthed at 7 Akuna Street, the very place it celebrates six mascara-smeared years, although it wasn’t the Transit Bar back then. Ug has called Aree Bar, Church Bar and Toast its home, but this year sees it blow out the candles at Transit with Ug long-timer Bec Paton returning from Sydney for a spin, as well as regulars Jemist, Alistair, Miss Universe, Not You and Pornstylus. Entry is free, so slip on your birthday suit, slap a fat ass, and slop.

MARK DYNAMIX

WHAT: ELECTRO-HOUSE DON
WHERE: MONKEY BAR
WHEN: SAT JULY 12

The last time I spoke to Aussie electro-house juggernaut Mark Dynamix, which admittedly was some three-and-a-half years ago now, he gleefully revealed he has amassed a record collection surpassing 20,000 in number. God only know what figure the musical maniac has got to now. But that’s our Mark for you; wholly committed to his music, and ensuring he’s suitably equipped so that no two sets are the same.  “Each crowd needs a different set,” he enthuses. “I want them to experience what I experience when I hear a track for the first time, that feeling when a song is so awesome you get off on it. I want to open some people’s minds, open new doors for them, musically. Educate and entertain through music. But, when it all boils down, you want to play tracks that make the crowd go nuts.” Dynamix will be helping to further bolster the newly established Monkey Bar’s already burgeoning roster with his eclectic musical menagerie. So be sure to get along and scuff up those nice new dance floorboards

DVDevotee Futurama: The Beast With a Billion Backs

(Fox)
And here we are; Futurama film two from Matt Groening and co, following the unceremonious canning of the genius four season long series. Regular readers of these pages – and I know there’s at least seven of you – will recall I was less than impressed with the previous film Bender’s Big Score. So how does the sophomore effort stack up? It starts well. From the inspired opening sequence that pays homage to early (and I’m talkin’ 1920s early) Mickey Mouse flicks to some inspired, and unexpected, moments of surrealist humour involving exploding heads and blood on pancakes, the first 30 minutes saw me slapping my thigh pink from mirth.

nfortunately, there is a “and then” to this review. And then it gets, well, serious. Futurama in series form had a delicate and uncanny knack of lacing in heavier plotlines without bogging down either the story or, most importantly, the gags. Here, the weight becomes positively crushing, with the mood and pace slowed in the second half by subjects as intense as love and loss, death, and even suicide. Lacing your comedy with drama is exciting, sure; it drives the plot, and makes the comical moments all the more potent. Throwing thick slabs at an audience expecting a handful of stoner giggles will have them reaching for the razor blades. And the plot is fantastical to say the least; some will find it hard to swallow, others will love where the broad spectrum of sci-fi can take them. I fall into the former category. So, again, like all the cinematic efforts from that genius Groening and his team – to whom I owe countless moments of mirth – I’m sadly left cold.

Third time’s the charm? Please? I’d love to tell my as yet unborn kids that I really loved a Groening film one day.

The Drop

Gather round my jittering children of the fading twilight; I come bearing wordy dance nuggets for your eager consumption.

And there’s plenty to sink your chattering teeth into over the ensuing months, starting with the DMCs. Yes, the annual battle of the turntablists is back for another year, and once again the ACT will rep-pra-zent thanks to those incorrigible True Jungle Souljahs. The Greenroom will play host on August 1, with DJ Buick defending his ACT crown for the third time in a row. Other competitors at this stage include Dave Skully, Twisted System and Rushnosh, although these are subject to change, so keep in touch.

Performing in a non competitive capacity on the night will be Dazed & Flawlezz, Roshambo and Maggot Mouf.  But most exciting of all, the $2 Scratchies will make a triumphant return. Anyone who lurked around the Canberra dance scene a few years ago will know that the pairing of ex DMC champ Nathan and Mexi were the go-to guys for the support slot of any major international coming through town. It’s quick-fire multi-genred madness, and if they throw in their trademark Monkey Magic theme, they’ll undoubtedly spark a few flashbacks in the crowd. All this for a meagre $15. You’ve gotta be in it to win it.

The first line-up for Parklife is in, and reads thus: Goldfrapp, Soulwax, Peaches, 2ManyDJs, Dizzee Rascal, Martin Solveig, Plump DJs, Diplo, Jesse Rose, Does It Offend You, Yeah?, Blackalicious, XXXchange, Metro Area, Elektrons, Yuksek, Van She, Dragonette, Boy 8-Bit, Familjen, Bag Raiders (Live), Ajax, Slyde, Grafton Primary and Van She Tech. The Sydney show will be on Sunday October 5 at Centennial Park. Expect to see a good handful of those names make it down to Canberra. I’ll keep you posted about that.

The Institutional Eyes DJ comp at Transit on Friday June 13 was a roaring success, with Adam Miller taking out the top spot, followed by DJ Biggie in second, DJ Bricksta third and a special mention to Surgin. Miller will be playing a guest set at the July 26 Exposed as a result. According to Institutional Eyes’ Duncan Brown: “Transit Bar was packed and security had to drag people off the dance floor at closing time… everyone was impressed with the turnout. Thank you for your support and interest in Institutional Eyes’ first event of many.” Hearty congrats to all involved.

Speaking of Exposed, the next one will rock Transit Bar on Saturday July 5, featuring Kid Cudi of Day & Night fame, with supports from Terrorvision, Scottie Fischer, Beat It, Staky and Sean Kelly. All that, and you need not even burden your wallet to gain entry. Hit up myspace.com/kidcudi to catch the man’s sounds.

Mercury Bar is quietly filling the hole left by Toast with a veritable parade of fringe events. The latest added to the roster is MFT 3 on Saturday July 12, a quivering slab of hip-hop in the form of Dazed & Flawlezz w/DJ Mad Cow (ACT/NSW/VIC), Undertow (NSW), Rhyme Ministers (ACT), B-Ware & HalfCast, 3Two Mafia (Live MPC Set), plus DJs Alistair, Mad Cow, Nothing, Dazed and Miss Universe. That’s a whole 12 acts for the slim sum of a fiver! Now THAT’S what I call a bargain! But phone within the next fifteen minutes, and they’ll even throw in a limited edition (only 1,000,000) plastic mic so you can do your very own freestylin’.*

Before that, there’s Perth D&B bad boy Shockone to enjoy at Mercury on Friday June 27. Our man Tim Galvin had a chat to the lad this issue, so be sure to flick yer peepers over that. And jump on his myspace ( www.myspace.com/shockonemusic ) for a bit of a taster; hi-NRG bounce, comin’ at ya. Lovers of Pendulum’s older stuff will enjoy. Fifteen squid entry.

The True Jungle Rollers are also bringing out SPL (USA), Muffler and possibly Paul Blackout, so stay tuned for further deets.

Right, that’s all the word nourishment you need. I shall see you all at D’Opus and Roshambo’s album launch at ANU on Saturday July 5. Bring the noise.

ALLAN “SIPPING MY GIN & JUICE” SKO

*not strictly true, but the acts are real, so do pop along, will you?

From the Bossman

“It’s good; for a local release.”

Ooooooo! Isn’t that the very epitome of a back-handed compliment? You’ll often see that phrase gingerly sprinkled throughout reviews in “regional” rags (yes, to the big smokes of Sydney and Melbourne, we’re considered regional). Why? Because often – and this is between me and you, right? – the CDs aren’t. Actually. That. Good. But launching into some tirade about how this abortion of a CD isn’t worth the excrement it’s slathered in doesn’t do anyone any good; the band is often poor and struggling, and a review like that could remove them from the music world before they’ve had the chance to hone and improve.

Besides, you might run into them down the pub.

So, it is with great pleasure, and indeed pride, that one can listen to a slew of local releases recently and state “It’s good. Full stop.” This issue, local hip-hop heroes D’Opus & Roshambo adorn the cover, and everyone’s favourite octet The Casual Projects scoop our album of the issue, and that’s not because of the veritable parade of sexual favours offered. It doesn’t stop there, Canberra. The Variodivers, The Haunted Attics and The Chuffs have all represented our region magnificently through solid albums. And there’s still Pod People and Cool Weapon LPs to go.

So swell your chest (I said chest, dammit) people; this is one regional area with big ideas, and a big heart.  Still no cash, though.

ALLAN “CAUGHT IN THE ACT” SKO

Mark N - N-troducing

Melbourne-via-Newcastle producer, DJ, and erstwhile label owner MARK N is a man who extols the phrase ‘variety is the spice of life,’ both through the music he plays and the life he leads.

In 1995, Mark N started up Bloody Fist Records, which enjoyed a steady parade of releases from drum ‘n’ bass to breakcore, experimental to gabber, until its demise in 2004. But the end was far from a sad affair, with Mark N stating the proudest moment of the ten year tenure was “putting a bullet in it at 3pm one sunny afternoon in early October 2004. People need to learn that letting go of creative projects when they are doing well is sometimes the best possible overall move – kill something rather than let it fade away. I don’t regret it one iota.”

But allowing Bloody Fist a natural death hasn’t stopped the man from his industrious ways. “I jumped on a plane to Melbourne in 2005 and set up a record store and mail order called Noise-X-Change right in the CBD. The store specialises specifically in new and secondhand heavy electronic music on vinyl – covering industrial drum ‘n’ bass, breakcore, industrial hardcore, gabber, speedcore and associated genres.”

In the performance arena, Mark N is often touted on tour posters as playing a mixture of the aforementioned genres (particularly jungle, D&B, hip-hop and experimental), ensuring you never know what to expect from his steamy musical broth.

“That list of ‘genres’ looks pretty tame on paper, doesn’t it? It sounds like a crushingly boring night out in Melbourne,” Mark N states. “In actual fact there’s a few other areas of sound which have probably been left off that list on purpose. Whenever I play there’s also a healthy presence of gabber kicks in there which is specifically designed to polarise opinion, especially amongst drum ‘n’ bass purists – a lot of whom will be probably spending a great deal of time standing around scowling into their puffer jackets.

“A lot of the music I play probably sits nervously on the border between drum ‘n’ bass, breakcore and industrial/gabber. I like records from ALL these genres, especially records that combine several of these elements into one track. For me personally, the most interesting records at the moment are the industrial drum ‘n’ bass ones, which appear to be directly influenced by a lot of the different styles of hardcore electronic music I have been interested in over the past 15 years.”

As to what we can expect from his imminent appearance at The Greenroom, prepare yourself for “differing combinations of relatively high-speed inorganic snares and bass. Loads of it. With very little let-up. BYO beards, earplugs and bored girlfriends.”

Yes, make sure you do, as the man’s last visits to our fair capital city saw him experience the kind of variety most of us could do without.

“I have been to Canberra a few times back in the ‘90s. I distinctly remember everyone being in bed by 9pm, but there were also some party animals who stayed up as late as 9.30. I remember also being instantly dismayed upon my discovery that the ‘Fetish’ section of one of the porn supermarkets in Fyshwick consisted almost exclusively of ‘pregnant porn’. Christ almighty.”

Mark N will hit The Greenroom on Friday June 13 with Buick, Dred, MGO, Skully, Kilojulz, Benjammin and Centaspike. $10 entry, 9pm start. Black/death/horror theme dress with prizes for best dressed, you ghouls, you.

The Drop

What’s up, you gaudy rube bwoys? Been keeping out of trouble? Then for God’s sake, get to a safehouse and lie low for a few weeks. Not again.

So, suitably recovered from Warehouse? Me neither. I think the debaucheries that played themselves out on that Saturday have safely contributed to the grip of ill health currently seizing the ‘berra populous. Anyone who went to bed earlier than 8am on Sunday morning simply didn’t try hard enough.

Whatever your dance poison, there’s something coming up for you to grind your teeth to. Those wily Sideproject knaves are at it again with a party entitled Cut-Sik on Saturday June 21, held at somewhat of a different choice, the Akuna Club (just down the road from Transit Bar). The previous party held there was a roaring success I’m told, and the way this one is shaping up, it shouldn’t be any different. It’s an early kick off and late finish, spanning 6pm to 4am. Filling this expanse of time will be DJs Darkchild vs Galaktik (T-Quest, Sydney), Black Samurai (3rd Eye Productions), Psyentology, Aneurysm, Stoj vs Disect, Incongruous, Tarik, Miss Riss, freebasstoad, The Duelist, underPSYdead, Stefan Stonker and Triskele. There shall also be visuals by VJ Insan3 and nature photographer C. Fricker, sound and lighting by PA Sime, décor by the Sideproject crew themselves, and scones by my mum (possibly untrue). Entry is a slender $15.

Proving he can’t stay away, James Ash of Rogue Traders fame is back to play a DJ set at the Monkey Bar on Saturday June 21. Two weeks later on Saturday July 12 at the same locale, Mark Dynamix makes a stop. DJ Kiz, Tim Galvin and Trent Richardson will be in support for both, and entry is $10 before 11pm, $15 after. Monkey Bar is having a red hot Aussie go at being the Lot 33 of the North, so get in and support the cause.
There’s an article penned by my fair hand on Melbourne-via-Newcastle DJ/producer Mark N, who graces The Greenroom on Friday June 13 thanks to the True Jungle Rollers. It should certainly prove to be an interesting night of eclectic sounds. In the man’s own words: “In actual fact a lot of the music I play probably sits nervously on the border between drum ‘n’ bass, breakcore and industrial/gabber.” You have been warned. $15 entry.

And then starts the triumvirate of varying D&B @ Mercury (nice ring to it, that). Long-standing Aussie legend Shockone from Perth will make himself known on Friday June 27. On July 11, SPL comes all the way from the USA for your listening pleasure, for a distinct D&B ‘n’ dubstep blend. And then, for a bit of the screaming ear-gouging shade of the genre, be sure to pop along to Muffler on Aug 22. Good times ahead.
For something a little different, the upcoming ACT Writers Canberra Writing Festival presents a few educational opportunities. On Friday June 20 from 8-10.30pm there’s The Big Damn Turboslam featuring hip-hop, funky beats and performance poetry from the likes of Miles Merrill, the one-man word hurler from Sydney ( www.wordtravels.info ). Open mic from 8pm. Poetry Slam from 9pm. Cash prizes. Cash bar operating. MCs: Hal Judge and Julian Fleetwood. It all happens at the Bogong Theatre, Gorman House, Ainslie Ave, Braddon. Free, dammit, free.

Earlier in day, at 9am-11.30am to be precise, at the same location, MC Karuna will be conducting a hip-hop workshop for ages 12-18. Bookings essential on 6262 9191. Again, bless their generous souls. It’s free.
And that about does it for this frisky fortnight. Two pieces of good news to leave you with: the Raw Vol 2 CD is selling like a bastard (a high selling bastard, that is). A pat on the back to Chris Fraser and co there. “Massive, huge thanks to all you out there, you truly do ROCK,” the man enthused. “The new CD’s already eclipsed sales of volume 1, and thanks to your overwhelming support in buying volume 2 we’ll be able to make some substantial improvements to the Raw experience.”

And the Aston Shuffle have a new promo mix for you, amusingly entitled What Ev’z. You can check it out here: http://www.zshare.net/audio/12706161b805042c/ .

Now away with you. I have a safehouse to get to.

ALLAN “YOU DIDN’T SEE NUFFIN” SKO

From the Bossman

Are you in a public place while reading this? Then try this out. Look at the person in front of you. Now look at the person to your right. And now to the one on your left. Chances are, they’re all ill, and if you’re not, then brother, you’re gonna be. Winter = illness, we all know that, but this year’s veritable epidemic is frankly ridiculous. Educational campuses have become breeding grounds for viral activity, kids swap germs like footy cards (kids still do footy cards, right?) and buses have become shuttles of bacterial warfare. History will speak of this year in the same hushed tones as the Black Death (the Murky Yellowish-Green Death perhaps). And it’s hard to elicit sympathy from people when everyone’s copping it.

What’s worse are the chemists. They who used to be our friends, our courageous medics on the frontline of this vile germ warfare, have turned against us, hording their juicy, juicy pseudoephedrine and instead peddling us pills with the same potency as classroom chalk. I was asked for photo ID when in need of cold & flu tablets the other day. Pho-to eye-dee. As my trembling hands tentatively moved past the tendrils of snot snaking from my abnormally red nose and to my wallet I thought, ‘what next’?

“Sir, if you could stand by that height chart and hold your name out to the camera Now turn to the left . Right, give him a swift kicking, constable.”

First our alcopops, now our cold & flu. It’s getting so a guy can’t get loaded in this town. That’s not the Canberra I know, people. That’s not even Queanbeyan.

ALLAN “HOPPED UP ON VICKS” SKO

IZAD

WHAT: INTERNATIONAL ZOMBIE AWARENESS DAY
WHERE: ANU BAR
WHEN: FRI JUNE 13

If, like me, you enjoy wrapping your lips around some juicy, juicy brains, then you, my friend, are in luck. Proving that the third time is indeed the charm IZAD – that’s International Zombie Awareness Day to the living – returns once again, with liberal lashings of blood, guts, bands, DJs, films and entrails. There’ll be blood-curdling live performances from Mz Ann Thropik (Syd), Moh Van Wah and Frankenpop. They’ll be ghoulish DJ sets from DJ Metavirus, Dead DJ Joke, DJ Modernrage and DJ Robot. There’s undead themed giveaways to grab, costumed competitions for Best Dead, Dead Sexy, Best Faker and Most Offensive to win, and Zombie Film Screenings to feast the eyes on (not to be confused with feasting on the eyes). It’s a night of connecting local talent and strengthening Canberra’s film industry by raising money for the feature film Local and the short film Guest House. So don’t be a brain dead moron, get along to MeatLocker FX House’s (and sponsor Raven Clothing’s) latest rancid, flesh-dripping instalment.

KNIGHTSBRIDGE HIGH GRADUATING CLASS 1984

WHAT: KNIGHTSBRIDGE PENTHOUSE 4TH BIRTHDAY BASH
WHERE: KNIGHTSBRIDGE, OBVIOUSLY
WHEN: SAT JUNE 28

Just last night I was stood in the fabled Knightsbridge Penthouse courtyard with the esteemed film critic Mark Russell, feeling terribly undressed in an old hoodie and hoping that no one had noticed I’d just dropped the slice of lemon from my incredibly fancy drink down my front. But enough about my weekend… Knightsbridge, one of Canberra’s most loved purveyors of quality drinks and wonderful music is celebrating it’s fourth birthday with a graduation ceremony of sorts - that is, Prom Night 1984. The Knightsbridge High graduating class of ‘84 is set to come and give you the most memorable night of your very young lives, complete with punch, padded jackets, scrunched and gelled hair, a gaudy colour palette and, of course, suitable music from the Knightsbridge resident DJs. If you were at Yacht Rock Christmas Eve 1977, then you’ll know the mayhem that’s certain to ensue. Happy Birthday Knightsbridge! Woo! Remember; it’s time to break the rules. And if last night’s line out the front was anything to go by, you’d best turn up early.

MARCUS STURROCK

WHAT: GUITAR WHIZ
WHERE: SOUTHERN CROSS CLUB, WODEN
WHEN: SAT JUNE 21

Guitarist extraordinaire and vocalist Marcus Sturrock, who has rubbed shoulders with music greats such as Pink Floyd, David Bowie, Phil Collins, and the Moody Blues, will be gracing the Southern Cross Club floorboards. The man’s virtuosity as a string-plucker has seen him heaped with praise from his peers. Robin Lumley (keyboard player for Pink Floyd, Bowie, Collins and Moody Blues) describes Sturrock as “skill and passion weaving eclectic, heartfelt tunes and songs, from Celtic to funk, Middle Eastern and more. Marcus sometimes uses one hand to play melodies or chords, his other hand simultaneously creating drum tones on the guitar body.” Doug Spencer (producer/presenter of The Planet on ABC Radio National) was happy to chime in with “Marcus is not merely an adept guitarist; he has the happy ability to play music rather than just notes and to infect the audience with his own joy.” Marcus will be joined by two folk; Andrew Clermont, whose accolades include touring with six bands world wide, appearing recently on Spics and Specs, Director to the Golden Fiddle Awards, and three time National Flat-pick Guitar Champion; as well as Brooke Schiemer, a unique, skilful, heartfelt vocalist. Bookings: 6283 7288

Four Year Strong Show Moved to Weston Creek Community Hall

Due to unforeseen circumstances, the Canberra leg of Four Year Strong’s ‘Dropping Thunder Downunder’ tour has had a venue change. The show scheduled for Friday 6 June has been moved to the Weston Creek Community Hall. All tickets purchased through Moshtix are valid at the new venue and tickets for the show are still available online at www.moshtix.com.au and from the door. Playing with Massachusetts’ Four Year Strong is Sydney’s Rex Banner, Canberra’s own Slowburn and Dead Kings. Doors are open at 6pm. The new venue is on Parkinson St, Weston. It is situated behind Coolemon Crt Shopping Centre. This event is All ages. For more information visit www.destroyalllines.com .

From the Bossman

Ooooooo! Good heavens! Winter! Gah! Cold weather? Brrrrrrrr. Well I never! Humperdink!

We’re a funny breed, us humans. Although we can recall intricate memories from hazy years in the past (“the sticky part of the flower’s middle is called the stamen” and “daddy don’t touch me there” serve as equal parts insightful, amusing, and downright disturbing examples), we tend to forget that winter, and its annual icy tundra, is actually cold. Every year, at around this time, our eyes widen in the kind of fear reserved for ‘70s horror B-movie actresses, and we billow out half-believed condensation gasps of “How cold is it? I mean How. Cold. Is. It?”

About as cold as it was last year, friends. My advice? Go against the norm. Strip to the very bear essentials, take a cold shower, then jog around Lake Burley Griffin. And for the love of GOD… don’t go putting on extra clothing. Far too sensible. Anyone would think you knew it got cold around this time. The disgrace of it.
Yes, nothing much to talk about this fortnight. Notice that, did you?

ALLAN “COLD AS ICE” SKO

The Drop

Like a moist finger up a cat’s date, Canberra tightens the hell up gig-wise for the first month of winter.
Fortunately, the dance community never sleeps (quite literally) so there’s plenty to keep yourselves warm with as Jack Frost’s icy tendrils wrap around your slender bodice.

The biggest news of the fortnight is our very own Roshambo and D’Opus will finally be launching their long-awaited brand spanking new, meticulously crafted hip-hop bullion debut LP The Switch (no, not that kind of switch; they’re all man). The album, featuring impressive collaborations with Supastition (US), Carts2Deadly, Axe Aklins, Cris Clucas, Hancock Basement and Minky Faber will be hitting state wide shelves come June’s end, and their launch at ANU Bar on Saturday July 5 featuring the might of Axe Aklins w/ Bagdad, Carts2Deadly, Scott Burns & Mathmatics (Syd) should, in the immortal words of The Backstreet Boys, be larger than life. Stay tooned for more.

If you’re sticking in the hub of entertainment that is Canberra for the long weekend then you’re positively spoilt for choice. Those Pang promotion devils bring UK badbwoys Stupid Fresh out on Saturday June 7 to Lot 33. Be sure to jump onto their myspace to hear the kind of squelchy, twisted house nonsense you’re in for. Our man of action and satisfaction Stevie Easton caught up with the lads this issue, so be sure to make good use of that face of yours and check that out too.

If a slab of trance, D&B, dub-step, hard dance and hardcore is your flav, then pop along to Nemysis at the Celebrity Lounge on the Sunday June 8. Presented by Nemysis Crew and the Royal Rollers, the eve will feature Archie (Syd), Kranky (Qld) and SHAD (Tas). $15 at the door will bid you a warm welcome to the eve.

After a comparatively quiet half year period, drum ‘n’ bass threatens to take a strangle hold of Canberra once again, with no less than three D&B parties planned. As mentioned in the tidbits page, DJ Kaos returns for the third instalment of the Pulse nights at Celebrity Lounge come Friday May 30. Also appearing – in order of name size, as I’m undiagnosed obsessive compulsive – are DJs C, Eska, Dred, Buick, Escha, Skully, Jammin’, Karton, Kilojulz, The Crunch, Fourthstate and Twisted System. And it’s free, so if you divide the entry price by the amount of DJs you get, it’s still free. I majored in maths.