Monday, April 27, 2009

Categorically defining your aural pleasure


Let me be clear to those of you who can’t spell, I’m talking about the listening variety so you can get your sick dirty minds out of the gutter and take your sexy time elsewhere.

Putting aside the fickleties of genre and accepting that there will inevitably be some crossovers, the civilised world can ultimately be categorised into four types. Well, technically five, but I’m not counting the deaf or hearing impaired. These four types are defined by how they choose to pleasure their ears. For simplicity’s sake, and the fact that I don’t know what music North Koreans listen to, I’m going to focus on defining these categories from a western perspective.


1.
This group of people possess the power of the mob. Some would call them plebs. They are the lazy cretans, ignorant of the diversity and availability of potential ways to indulge their ears. Moreover, they are so single minded that they are sated by the simple and couldn’t be bothered trying something that might taste a little different.


They find meaning in stupid lyrics, claiming them to be witty, deep, or possessing prophetic meaning (see Jordan Sparks 'No Air' or anything by The Cranberries). They have a blind loyalty that is based on tabloid opinion that in turn informs their own opinions.

Unfortunately what is stopping these idiots from their own self destruction is that they tend to have a large buying power. When success in the music industry continues to be measured by how many records an artist sells and how much money they can make, it is this group who determines which artists are pushed, pulled, and signed, or not signed, as the next manufactured formula driven pop sensation. Let the public flogging in the commercial markets begin.


2.
This group of people just aren’t interested. Some would call it playing it safe. They have never taken the time to develop their own aural desires because to them music is simply something to listen to. This group is happy to have their ears enslaved by what the idiot market deem to be worthy.


They often lack in loyalty, or purport a superficial loyalty based on what is in at the time. They let go when the time is past or if the case in point falls out of public favour. Molesting children (see Michael Jackson or Garry Glitter), shaving off their hair (see Britney Spears or Sinead O’Connor), and/or various assault charges (see Chris Brown or Akon) are all sure fire ways to become cases in point.

They have the foresight to occasionally listen to the more slightly left of centre because on the surface there is an appearance of substance (see Dido) or the suggestion of some intellectual complexity or social commentary (see U2). However, this group is ultimately content with shallow unimaginative lyrics that come gift wrapped in repetitive clichĂ© hooks with a pretty card that contains a chorus they can sign a long to. And if the Category Ones are writing your letters to Santa, that’s exactly what you’re going to get.

3.
This group of people seek out their own musical satisfaction. Some would call what they listen to “good” music. They actively and consciously engage with music. They have taken the time to develop their own knowledge and opinions about music and have their own ideas about what is aurally pleasurable.


They don’t immediately accept what is pushed by the commercial industry, but don’t reject it outright either. They are willing to listen and assess what is promoted by the Category Ones. They consider the potential merit of this music and more often then not they come back empty handed. But not disheartened.

They don’t reject bands based on principle simply because they find popularity, financial success, or mainstream commercial airplay (see Category Four). They stick with an artist/band as they evolve and have a genuine interest in the past, present, and future of their music as long as the aural pleasure continues. They don’t care if their tastes fall in and out of fashion (see David Bowie or The Rolling Stones) because their loyalty and fandom will continue despite the waxing and waning of point in time popularity.

This group is into inventive and creative music that hasn’t lost its sense of fun and is still composed with the humble intention of pleasing listeners. They look for music with appeal that goes beyond music for the masses or music for the sake of music. They listen to what they want to listen to and yes, this category is the most diverse and subjective.

4.
This group of people have their own niche cliques. Some would say they epitomise music snobbery. They respect no one elses’ opinion but their own and the opinions of their select circle of friends. They revel in pretentious ego-stroking wankery and the back slapping that comes with their marvelling at their own magnificence of their own musical taste.


The music they like are artists/bands you never will have heard of. Well, unless you’re a Category Four. The music they listen to may include The Gin Club, Fleet Foxes, The Drones, Bon Iver, The Necks, Villains of Wilhelm, and/or The Kill Devil Hills. Well, actually that was the music they may have listened to once-upon-a-time ages-and-ages-ago. Now these cases in point have been tipped off to the public and become a little too in-vogue, they have been snubbed unceremoniously by their once so-called fans from Category Four.

They are the ones who go to gigs and stand stoically because bopping along disrupts their ability to “fully appreciate” the music. They’re most likely bored out of their brains but feign enjoyment and join the vain rave at the end of the show at just how absolutely delightfully obscure it all was. They don’t have the backbone to speak up and out about what they really like for fear that their actual opinion will destroy their illusion of cool and they will be rejected by the group.

They take their music “seriously”. By principle the music they listen to, or find it acceptable to listen to, can not be commercial and must never attain financial success. Their loyalty is fickle and artists are frequently dropped at the first signs of minor success, like getting your name on a tour poster or an article in Wikipedia. Oh, and did I mention at least one member of the band must have a beard? Yes, even if it’s an all female band.


Are my ears burning?
Yes. I'm arrogant enough to admit I consider myself as part of Category three. I don’t know any deaf people, but I do have friends in every one of the other categories. You probably do to. I just don’t bother discussing music with anyone outside my own category. Just like the people in Category One or Category Four. As for the Category Twos, I expect they’ve got other more important things than music to talk about.
So why categorise? I like making ontological distinctions, discriminating against the hearing impaired, and I always won categories as a kid.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Where Rock Out With Your Cock Out Originated


Eagles of Death Metal shamelessly embrace tight pants, loose women, and hook-driven choruses. They epitomise the fact that you don’t have to take yourself seriously to seriously rock out. Sure they might not be your all-time-favourite band, but EODM sure do put on an entertaining live show.

Fresh from their release of Heart On, they opened the Australian leg of their world tour to a sold-out crowd at The Tivoli. It was EODM’s first Brizvegas gig since their 2007 St Patrick’s Day show at The Arena where Boots Electric, aka frontman Jesse "The Devil" Hughes, dropped all pretences and humbly declared he’d never played a show so great to a crowd so awesome (or along those lines).

This time round they weren’t riding on the boozed-up enthusiasm that comes with St Pats, the fervour of the crowd wasn’t amplified by the echoes of The Arena, and most noteably Hughes was sans superhero cape. Nevertheless we were ready for rock and roll, and true to form EODM rocked out in their obscene hybrid of garage glam revival to an eager audience full of grinding, clapping, stomping, and cheering. Hell, I got vomited on in the crowd by some pissy kid who couldn’t hold his liquor and still managed to have a peachy-keen time.

Boots Electric’s performance was charismatic as always, radiating with all the self-assured swagger and cocksure grinning he could muster from under his rose coloured aviators and 70’s cop moustache.
He proudly led the enviable tour line-up of ultra-cool and incredibly talented drummer Joey "The Sexy Mexy" Castillo, the always young at heart "Darlin'" Dave Catching on guitar, and the less known bricky-turned-bassist Brian "Big Hands" O'Connor. Shamelessly utilising EODM's ties to Queens Of The Stone Age talent seemed only fitting given the absence of Hughes's partner in crime Josh "Baby Duck" Homme.

The set was a welcome mix of old and new EODM pure, adulterated debauchery. The new included the glorious Rolling Stones-esque 'Anything ('Cept The Truth)' and smooth harmonies of 'Cheap Thrills', coupled with the tongue in cheek 'Wannabe In LA' and the audacious new title track 'Heart On'. The old kept the audience pumping and thumping with 'I Gotta Feelin (Just Nineteen)' and 'I like to Move in the Night' and of course the unforgettable 'I Want You So Hard'. Even 'Cherry Cola' made it into the encore, leaving the audience on a high as Boots Electric and Sexy Mexy finally departed and the ugly lights were turned back on.


The only disappointment was a brief but flashy cover of the Stone's 'Brown Sugar' that they also played at the St Pats gig, and a lot of their other gigs, choking up the realisation that this one didn’t even go close to raising the bar they set back in 2007. Oh, and this time it was the day before Anzac Day which meant everywhere was closing at midnight and there was nowhere to rock on to after the show. I still made the best of it, rocking on in the cab on the way home, smelling like vomit, but still grinning after a night of energetic entertainment.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Music to define you (for 18 seconds)

Personalised ringtones might have saved Warnie some troubles
Personalised ringtones might have saved Warnie some troubles

I’m not the kind of person who stands in front of their mirror for an hour before they leave the house, constantly changing outfit. I’m more the slap it on and see what happens type. But when it comes to phone ringtones, I’m more self-conscious than Kevin Rudd in a New York strip club. I get nervous, indecisive and occasionally break out into a cold sweat.



I’m guessing most people don’t aren’t quite as pedantic, but surely I’m not the only one who deliberates for days, determined to find the perfect 18 seconds of ringing to convey where they’re at in life?



Since the advent of the cellular phone, monophonic classics like the 'Mexican Hat Dance' made way for polyphonic classics like the Violent Femmes' 'Blister in the Sun', which eventually led to mp3 classics like the 'Captain Planet theme song'.



 When you consider the endless possibilities, you’ve got to wonder why so many people choose generic, mundane tones.  You can tell a lot about a person based on their ringtone or message tone – for example:


Polyphonic hell
Polyphonic hell
  • Anyone with a  'Crazy Frog' or 'Hamster Dance' ringtone is clearly a wanker.
  • The screaming  “message....message...MESSAGE!” message tone that gets progressively louder indicates that person will probably become progressively more irritating
  • Homemade recordings (like children laughing, or something just as painful for everyone but the owner) could well signify a self obsessed narcissist
  • 'Low' by Flo Rida or 'Superman/Crank dat' by Soulja Boy are probably worse than Crazy Frog.  Avoid this person at all costs.
  • A ringtone of 'Strawberry Kisses' by Nikki Webster is a federally endorsed means of identifying paedophiles

 


I decided late last week that 
Thirsty Merc’s cover of Cold Chisel’s 'My Baby' had run its course. It was time for a change of soundscape.  


  The criteria:

  • It must be loud
  • It must contain an 18 second hook
  • It must be recognisable without being mundane

 A lot of the time ringtones and message tones are all about novelty.  That’s why I like using cover songs – interesting at first, but any more than 18 seconds and you’re usually sick of it and would rather hear the original.  While some people choose to have personalised tones for people in their address book, unless you’re Shane Warne, it’s really not necessary.



 My eventual choice of ringtone was 'Rubidoux' by the Cold War Kids. It’s energetic, distinctively Cold War Kids and has great lyrics.



Classy stuff, Fergie
Big girls wear pull-ups

While I was in the mood for change, I figured it was a good time to experiment with a new message tones as well.  There are some hard and fast rules around the use of message tones. Most importantly, they have to be kept short. I once worked with a middle-aged lady, who like an early 90s geek would load their geocities website full of flashing text and basketball-cursors, had not got a grip on the practicalities of the technology and had set Fergie’s 'Big Girls Don’t Cry' as her message tone. All 4 minutes and 28 seconds of it. Every time she got a message. Kill me now.



Admittedly, I’m experimenting with a message tone that goes for a whopping 8 seconds (7 longer than it really should). It has no real relevance to the text message medium, but it brings a smile to my face every time I hear it (check it out in the media player below).





Get a playlist! Standalone player Get Ringtones

PS. Who would ever buy a ringtone? They cost around $3-5. You can buy the (full) track from iTunes for $1.70...

Music to Listen to While Sleeping

Have you ever fallen asleep wearing headphones? Apparently, it happens to people so much, entrepreneurs sell things like this. Having fallen asleep to everything from Scandinavian black metal to early 90s gangsta rap, I've compiled a list of my three favourite records to sleep to.

3. KYUSS- Sky Valley




The quintessential Kyuss line-up's only album before imploding. Sky Valley is perhaps the album most responsible for the post-humorous popularisation of Josh Homme's pre-Queens progeny. An ode to the nothingness of the desert, the genius of the Homme/Brant Bjork writing team was finally realised on Sky Valley. Tracks like 'Demon Cleaner' and 'Supa Scoopa and Mighty Scoop' are neo-lulabies for the disaffected hoardes of Gen Xers, John Garcia's hypnotic wail drawing you ever closer to the land of nod.

2. Melvins- Lysol



Fuck Mike Patton. The Melvins are the founders of modern day alternative music. Before Mike Patton signed these dudes to Ipecac, hell, before Kurt Cobain got these guys on Atlantic, they ruled. Lysol stands up as one of the very few one-song-albums that doesn't come across pretentious or overly self-indulgent, the Melvins' mellowness will convince you to lie down, if only for a minute. Interweaving anarchronistic covers of Alice Cooper and Flipper, Lysol is the Melvins devoid of the monolithic sound featured on the Houdini albums. I'm generally out like a light before Buzz utters the immortal first line of Flipper's Sacrifice "Can you hear the war cry/It's time to enlist".
1. Sleep- 'Dopesmoker'



You know a band's legit when they name themselves after a verb. If I had to guess Sting would be spiky as a pineapple and Rush would be running around, slightly behind schedule with a million things to do. Sleep's magnum opus Dopesmoker is like a rohypnol/valium drug cocktail, that shit will leave you unconcious. If the 10 minute intro (the album is one song long, that song clocks in at 63 minutes) of reverberating guitar chords and behind the beat drums doesn't lull you into submission, Matt Pike's eventual vocals that sound like a Tibetan monk in the grips of a major weed psychosis will surely have you reaching for a pillow.

Mungo van music critic



What kind of music critic are you?
Lazy, infrequent, and not all that insightful.

Who for?
4Zzz gives me free tickets & preview Cds, I write up my reactions on the blog.

Do you write about anything other than music?
Have done personalised gig guides in the past, but not much lately. Low/ No readership tends to sap your enthusiasm for that sort of thing.

How do you critique music?
The main thing I try to keep in mind is what I want to read. I dunno, it is important give things a human element, but there's so much hyperbolic writing out there that, apart from expressing the writers enthusiasm, say shit all about the subject. They don't explain why the different albums/artists/ singles are different compared to others in the genre, or fall back on lazy 'sounds like's.

I try to separate & pay attention to the individual elements of a song (IE vocals, bass, guitars, drums etc), think about their relationships and tensions, where the structures divert from the norm of the genre, and the overall effect.

But then I never can come up with anything that quite conveys it, and say "oh this kinda sounds like xxx, but not". So bully for that last paragraph.

What kind of music do you cover?
Ah, whatever gets chucked my way mostly.

Do you have a choice in the music you cover?
Not really, which can be interesting. Because my writing is held against 4zz's name, I can't be overly pithy or mean, due to defamation laws, not wanting to damage ZzZ's relationship with organisers/ labels etc. But it's good, stops me from being too lazy, and makes me explain my point diplomatically.

Why do you critique the music you do?
The opportunity is there to experience new bands and discover new sounds, with people enabling you to do it for free. It's not too hard of a choice to make personally.

Why do you critique music?
To be embarrassingly frank: I dropped out of school when I was 15, so have no real qualifications/ "book smarts". I write to show myself that I can, just as well as the next person. Music is an area I feel confident in my knowledge, so I'm starting to write about that, eventually building up my skills to a point where I'm confidant in tackling Uni.

Do you receive much feedback from your readers?
Nothing constructive, just faint praise.

Where do you fit in with other music critics?
One of a million other isolated voices, muttering quietly to themselves in the internet.

What is your opinion of other music critics, do they have influence?
Absolutely. Have been reading a lot of Julian Cope lately, who has a very thorough but casual writing style, and is able to give context to the music he talks about by talking about the artists lives and environments, and describes music in a way that sounds like nothing you've heard, which drives you to seek it out. I'd like to capture a little bit of that.

Do you think music critics are as important as they were 20-30 years ago to the music industry?
I believe that they're as important as ever, but that the quantity of bloggers drowns out some voices out there.

What, in your opinion, is the role of the music critic in 2009?
Honesty and passion, that treats artists with due regard but not reverence. But that's always been in high demand and low supply.

What advice would you give someone who wants to be a music critic?
How the fuck should I know? I need the advice.

Mud Wrestling Is Better Than The Blues


Bluesfest is about more than just the headlining act. But when the headlining act stinks more than five days worth of churned up mud it’s still a big disappointment. Yes, that’s right, Ben Harper sucked.

Harper headlined the mojo (main) stage on Saturday and Monday night of this year’s festival. He opened both nights to a crowd so packed it was just as suffocating outside the tent as inside. It was a crowd that was happy to ignore the continuous downpour of rain and the knee-deep festering mud as they eagerly awaited the arrival of said superstar. Before the set was even half over the enthusiasm had waned. You could walk freely under the tent, and most people were more entertained by groups of people mud wrestling outside. Myself included.

Old Ben is not yet forty and has been on the music scene for over fifteen years now, so I don’t think I can attribute age or ability to the fact that he has totally lost touch with what makes a good live set. There was no 'Shimmer and Shine' to his performance. He looked like a man who didn’t want to be there, simply going through the motions.

What made it worse was he didn’t even play songs the crowd new. It was the same set both nights. There was no 'Diamonds on the Inside', no 'Brown Eyed Blues', no 'Better Way', no 'Both Sides of the Gun', and not even 'Fight Outta You' made a play. The focus was entirely on his upcoming album White Lies for Dark Times. Maybe it’s because he’s playing with Relentless7 now instead of The Innocent Criminals, but it’s news to me that there is a rule stating just because you’ve got a new band you can’t play your old stuff. Wake up and smell the mud Mr Harper, it’s all over your face. You’re at bluesfest, not a promo tour for your latest album that hasn’t even hit the shelves.

Perhaps it should have been expected. Ben Harper has always done things his way. He’s wrapped up in his own world of music, playing what he wants, when he wants, and is applauded for it. I think it’s selfish. Good music is about more than being a talented singer/songwriter/guitarist. Especially when you’re playing live. It’s about being able to share your music with your fans in a way that will resonate with them. Sure you can’t call him a sell-out, but I’m amazed he manages to sell out concerts when he drags himself on stage with no energy or charisma and then plays a full set of songs that nobody knows and nobody cares about.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

While smearing Olay Total Effects on your face



I realise that I am slowly receding into the past with my music of choice. And yes, I also realise that any reader who was actually alive in the 60’s and 70’s (my mother included) would harrumph at me: “You weren’t there Jo; you have no idea what the time was like”. Well sue me for appreciating the somewhat distilled moments of other generations. Thanks to MY generation, I can Google, YouTube and iTunes the shit out of the Baby Boomers and choose whatever tickles my fancy. Furthermore, with Leonard Cohen’s recent tour hitting Brisbane, The Who having just left Australia and Simon and Garfunkel on their way; who could blame me for wanting to retreat into the past with Bob Dylan.

And while we’re in the 40-50 year old bracket, I decided to spin my iTunes to Dylan while applying anti-ageing cream to my face. Olay Total Effects, to fight the seven signs of ageing. I’m only 20, and have since realised that intense anti-ageing cream actually burns your face if you don’t need it. However, my logic seemed mentally sound at the time; the earlier I start with the creams, the longer I stay looking young. So yes, in hindsight, I was very wrong.

But I don’t think I am wrong in feeling I have the right to appreciate the artists of my parent’s generation. And I am not the only one. 10 albums under the Bob Dylan trademark have been released since 2000. The most recent, Together through Life
, was released this year. 52 Bob Dylan albums have been released since his first self titled album debut in 1962. My particular playlist are the tracks from 1995’s MTV Unplugged, which includes All Along the Watchtower and The Times They Are A-Changin’.

I think there might be a market out there for Bob Dylan's music.

And really, this is not a dig at current popular music. I am just as happy to listen to anything on the radio, as long as it’s not shit. I do however find there is a definite magic about the music of the last 60’s and 70’s. This magic is helped by the images of Woodstock and the glorified stories of my parents singing songs of protest in marches, with the subtle insinuations that they were completely stoned at the time. They make it all seem a lot more important than any grasp we have on our own lives today.

In fact, I blame my parents for my love of nostalgia. Even though I never experienced flesh and blood moments pre1989, the music makes me all fuzzy inside and I have this intense urge to be apart of that time in history. Oh yeah, and I really like them as well.

See Mum, it’s your fault! But you can have your Olay back it was crap.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Music to inspire rubix cube success



Maybe it was Lawrence Leung’s Choose Your Own Adventure that got me in the mood to play with a rubix cube again, or maybe it was just that the looming tension between the cube and I could go on no longer. I’ve never been able to solve one and it’s always pissed me off. Yeah, I’m sure I could look it up on YouTube and work it out in 5 minutes, but it’s just not the same...


I’ll be honest, I still haven’t solved it – but I did get bloody close, and the fact I didn’t get there had nothing to do with a lack of soundtrack. I suppose it’s testament to the over-the-top pomp and circumstance romanticism to which I ascribe the rubix cube that I chose Muse’s absurdly anthemnic ‘Uno’ to accompany my efforts.


With each twist and turn, I could feel Matthew Bellamy urging me on. I could be number one! Replace the blue with red, focus on the centrepiece. I could rule the whole world! Slide, rotate and repeat. I was having so much fun! But in the end, I threw it all away.


My mind has an arse, and it was kicked hard by a rubix cube. But I don’t care. It means nothing to me.

For Wine and Old Formal Dresses

I was born in the 80’s, 1989 to be specific. Which until recently was a ‘Thank god, I don’t have pictures of me wearing white overalls and a scrunchy at my 17th birthday- DAMN THE 80s!- moment. But wait, what’s this? 80s is retro now? Shit.

Lucky for me Cyndi Lauper
and The Go Go's are closet favourites. My love for them comes in right alongside my love for Romy and Michell's Highschool Reunion. However these nostalgic I-wasn’t-born-yet-but-I-should-of-been classics are usually only cracked out after a few wines with friends, alluring us to my wardrobe and trying on all my old formal dresses. Oh please, like we’re the only ones. Only then, when the dress(s) are on and we are dancing in my room to Whip It, can I really achieve a Pretty in Pink moment and party like its 1986. Whip it good.

However, on my recent travels through, oh I don’t know, Chelmer, I came across a song. It was on album number four of
Triple J’s Like a Version compilations. It was by Saosin. It was a cover of Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time. It rocked.

I’ve always been hesitant about covers. I usually find covers are just an artist's excuse to strip back a hit song of another artist. Somehow, they think their version will sound more deep and meaningful. And yes, sometimes that works. I’ve never appreciated Beyonce’s Crazy In Love
more than I did when I heard The Magic Numbers’ rendition. Their haunting harmonies actually made Crazy in Love sound musical; instead of another bootylicious princess pop song.

Most covers, however, are not as effective. Artists, instead of moulding their musicianship to the song, mould the song to their own taste and the original gets lost altogether. A prime example of this is
Angus and Julia Stone’s cover of Chumbawumba's Tubthumping. I did not think that such a distinctive (and ghastly, I might add) song could ever lose its identity. But it happened, with the Stone duo stripping it back so much that it sounded just like all their other songs, and nothing like the original. Who wants that??

Well, I do actually because I hate Tubthumping. But I love Time after Time. You just can’t deny that it is a good song. I’ll agree it’s been killed a bit. I blame singing teachers and their staple favourite songs for that. But Saosin manage to make the song sound current while retaining the melody. Saosin front man Cove Reber actually makes it sound sort of sexy, and less prom night with chiffon. An impressive feat for someone so boy-band I would usually cringe at the sight of them. Finally! The next generation of artists are matching the next generation of scrunchy wearers!

P.s. I promise I’ll never, ever say bootylicious again.

Music to listen to when you want to remember your friends just the way they are


"Do you remember the time, we first met?"


I will never again be able to listen to Michael Jackson's 1992 hit, Remember the Time without hearing the voice of a close friend. A friend who will soon no longer be with us. His voice was hoarse; each word delivered with so much pain it almost brought a tear to my eye.


"Do you remember the time, when we fell in love?"


Bravely, he struggled through the hurt to give me a message he so desperately wanted me to hear.


"Do you remember the time, we first met?"


“I will kill you. Don’t doubt me. I know you’ll get married soon enough, and I will kill you on your buck’s night. I will get my revenge.”


"Do you remember the time, when we fell in love?"


It was kind of hard to take him seriously, given the amount of spit and pop-rock lube caught up in his beard. There was something bittersweet in seeing my most formative role model be wrapped from head to toe in a body-length condom and a couple hundred metres of heavy-duty plastic wrap, struggling to avoid the torments of his closest friends. Ah, the joy of buck’s nights.


"Do you remember the time?"


With the film clip reeling in at over nine minutes, MJ’s soulful epic was the perfect background to the debauchery of the night. For nine minutes, he fought. For nine minutes, he struggled to avoid various sex toys. For nine minutes he screamed with all the strength he could muster his intentions for revenge. It’d be easy to say we defiled Michael Jackson’s music that night, but sadly, he defiled his own music a long time ago now.

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Sorting through cat poop for coffee beans


The first time I listened to C. W. Stoneking I didn’t think it was possible that that sort of sound could come from a white man. Surely that bluesy jazz with a twist of Caribbean calypso can only come from a black man? I was about as surprised as the first time I heard that the world’s most exclusive coffee comes from the excrement of a small Indonesian mammal that looks like a cat.

It’s true. The most expensive coffee in the world, Kopi Luwak, is made from coffee berries that have been fed, digested, and defecated by an Asian Palm Civet. It is claimed that a civet’s stomach enzymes add to flavour of the coffee. Here I was thinking people just enjoyed drinking shit.

Vietnam, Malaysia, and other parts of Southeast Asia all have similar coffee farming practices. So if Kopi Luwak is not unique, what’s the novelty value? The answer to this question is as beyond me as the reason people listen to the overly polished pop princess jingles of Miley Cyrus and BeyoncĂ©. Then again, they’re probably the same people who think eggs are a chicken’s period.

As for C. W. Stoneking, his take on hokum blues emerged on the Australian commercial music scene in 2006, about 70 years too late to ever be chart toppers. His music has a clammy humidity that swelters in the mind conjuring simple deliriums like sitting in an old wooden rocking chair watching the world go by. The heavy layering of comedic farce makes it impossible to take old C. W. seriously, but at the very least leaves you intrigued. To me he is one of those rare coffee beans found among the kitty litter. I expect his music might even bring a smile to the rest of us who are trawling through poop all day in order to serve the rich white class a $50+ cup of coffee.


Thursday, April 2, 2009

Battle hymns to scream when going to war with Centrelink


1. Black Flag- 'Rise Above'

So you've just applied for some form of government assistance, you've heard that Centrelink is a shitstorm. When I applied, I was told "don't ask them what you can get, tell them what you need". When filing an application you tell yourself that you won't be dragged down to the level of the narrow-minded pen pushers and snivelling bureacrats, just like Greg Ginn and co did on the first track of their first full-length, Damaged. Henry Rollins tearing out his throat to convey a sermon of turning the other cheek, determination and mental strength is as pertinent today applied to the context of dealing with a government organisation as it was in '81 when LA punks were victimised by the city's police. For those who demand a bit more flavour from their war chants, Rollins re-recorded the song with the help of Public Enemy's Chuck D.

2. Agoraphobic Nosebleed- 'Die and Get the Fuck Out of the Way'



Get a playlist! Standalone player Get Ringtones



Like a sleazy lothario, Centrelink hasn't called long after it promised it would. You're acutely pissed off, then you call them and that's when you really start to understand what all your friends warned you about. When you call, you get put on hold. And left on hold. When you finally talk to someone, they transfer you. You get put on hold again. When you talk to someone who knows anything about your case, they inform you that someone has forgotten to get you to fill out a form or hand in a document. Because you need to understand, dealing with Centrelink employees isn't the same as dealing with regular humans. And this means that their failure to do so will force you to return to a Centrelink office.

3. Slayer- 'Raining Blood"




Slayer's 1986 classic pumps through the veins of every disgruntled person that enters a Centrelink office, even if those people have never heard the song. Entering with a maniac bloodlust and a desire to splash internal organs over the beige walls and cheap carpet, the applicant is forced to take a seat, only then do they realise they're "Trapped in purgatory/A lifeless object, alive". As the uncomfortable chair you're sitting in kneeds your buttocks and contorts your spine, you begin to grow engrossed in the soap operas on a nearby television set, only to realise that "Awaiting the hour of reprisal/Your time slips away".

Though from the weeks and months of agitation, annoyance and encounters with arseholes, your plight is recognised and Centrelink begin to deposit money into a bank account for you. Although there's an ever-present fear that the slightest change in your situation could start the entire process again, you form an uneasy truce with Centrelink, because you're paid in full.