We had the second ultrasound last Friday. Bubs was very squirmy and gave the doc a bit of trouble (What is it with us and ultrasounds?) but eventually he was able to get all of the views required. It was such a relief as he ticked off the potential health problems. No spina bifida. No Downs syndrome. No major congenital heart defects. They have been a prob on Girl O' Sea's side. He/She (I refuse to say it but I will confess that I generally do say he) seems as healthy as we can hope. A great relief.
My favourite bit was a perfect shot of the soles of his/her feet. It was almost like bubs was in the monitor pushing back against the glass. Is it those feet that I feel kicking Girl O' Sea's tummy each night before we go to sleep? Is it too early to start wondering if he/she can kick off both feet? The AFL Draft Camp makes a father think of these things.
So that's 20 weeks down and 20 to go.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
A poor correspondent
Yes, I know. I have been seriously neglecting my blogging duties. I blame being a journalism student because I feel that the pressure is on to produce a wonderful bit of writing every time I sit down at the computer and one that extends to four or five hundred words. I intend to fight against these impulses. There is no need for quality, this is the internet!
One of the stated intentions of this blog was to muse upon impending fatherhood but as the fatherhood gets more pending there has been little musing. That will have to change.
So we are in our 16th week and Girl O' Sea is starting to show a little bit. Not enough to be guaranteed a seat on the tram, a moment for which she is desirous, but enough to be noticeable if you look hard enough. For me it is another little part of connecting with the little person. I had no idea what an abstract concept it is for guys in the first few months of pregnancy. The mums-to-be they have definite physiological signs that a baby is growing inside them, and some psychological ones as well, but for us blokes we are sort of operating on trust. We have seen the lines on the stick and we have seen our partners deal with the nausea and the exhaustion but we lack for something tangible to base our belief on. Something we can start loving.
It began for me, as I am sure it does with a lot of blokes, with the ultrasound. What a wonderful gift that is to parents-in-waiting. Those initial moments up the screen when the machine starts to do its job and you feel like you are diving down though a tunnel and then there it is. You can see something but you can't make head nor tail of it. Then the doc points out where the head is and the fact that there is no tail. Yay for evolution. And then there are two arms and two legs. And a brain with two sides reflecting the distinct personalities of its parents. And most special of all, a heart beat. There was a living being that I could start loving.
Unfortunately Girl O' Seas uterus didn't want to play the game on the day. It was contracted and the little person had its head jammed up in one corner. It didn't look comfy but apparently it's not unusual. It meant that we didn't get one of those perfect images of bubs floating in space but that's ok because the sound of that little heart beating away will stay with me forever.
One of the stated intentions of this blog was to muse upon impending fatherhood but as the fatherhood gets more pending there has been little musing. That will have to change.
So we are in our 16th week and Girl O' Sea is starting to show a little bit. Not enough to be guaranteed a seat on the tram, a moment for which she is desirous, but enough to be noticeable if you look hard enough. For me it is another little part of connecting with the little person. I had no idea what an abstract concept it is for guys in the first few months of pregnancy. The mums-to-be they have definite physiological signs that a baby is growing inside them, and some psychological ones as well, but for us blokes we are sort of operating on trust. We have seen the lines on the stick and we have seen our partners deal with the nausea and the exhaustion but we lack for something tangible to base our belief on. Something we can start loving.
It began for me, as I am sure it does with a lot of blokes, with the ultrasound. What a wonderful gift that is to parents-in-waiting. Those initial moments up the screen when the machine starts to do its job and you feel like you are diving down though a tunnel and then there it is. You can see something but you can't make head nor tail of it. Then the doc points out where the head is and the fact that there is no tail. Yay for evolution. And then there are two arms and two legs. And a brain with two sides reflecting the distinct personalities of its parents. And most special of all, a heart beat. There was a living being that I could start loving.
Unfortunately Girl O' Seas uterus didn't want to play the game on the day. It was contracted and the little person had its head jammed up in one corner. It didn't look comfy but apparently it's not unusual. It meant that we didn't get one of those perfect images of bubs floating in space but that's ok because the sound of that little heart beating away will stay with me forever.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Number 10 - At last
Modern Giant - The Band Has Broken Up (2007)
There have been two occasions in my life when I have heard a song on the radio that I thought was so blindingly good I was compelled to ring the station straight away to find out what it was. Funnily enough I can remember making the first of these calls but cannot remember what the song was. Perhaps it wasn't that good. The second time was The Band Has Broken Up. It was being played on FBI and I am sure I can remember where I was: in The Brown driving out of a carpark in Randwick. Perhaps you would make up a more rock'n'roll locale if we were working with fiction but these are the mundane recollections of my life remember.
Not that long ago I would have mounted a very strong argument against the possibility of what is essentially spoken word poetry ever becoming an important part of my musical life but I had never heard of Adam Gibson. Any man that starts a poem with the line "Midnight Oil, The Hummingbirds, The Clash" is going to grab my attention. The fact that it is backed by a great little rock tune, incidentally produced by Simon Holmes of the aforementioned Hummingbirds, doesn't hurt.
I am a sucker for nostalgia and what Gibbo does in this 4 and a half minutes is tell a story familiar to those of us that were in our 20s in Sydney during the 90s. I can recognise the life I did live, of parties in the inner west where "girls were enticing and pale" and lamentations for all the nights spent watching guitars that I should have spent playing them, and also the life I wanted to live, a life where I actually spoke to the girls at those parties and found out what was at the other end of the plane trips that all of my friends went on.
Most of all I wanted to meet a girl at The Hoey and disappear with her into the Burke St night just like Gibbo's character does at the end. Alas that never happened but who cares because I have had the pleasure of disappearing into the Burke St night with Girl O'Sea and that is all I need.
There have been two occasions in my life when I have heard a song on the radio that I thought was so blindingly good I was compelled to ring the station straight away to find out what it was. Funnily enough I can remember making the first of these calls but cannot remember what the song was. Perhaps it wasn't that good. The second time was The Band Has Broken Up. It was being played on FBI and I am sure I can remember where I was: in The Brown driving out of a carpark in Randwick. Perhaps you would make up a more rock'n'roll locale if we were working with fiction but these are the mundane recollections of my life remember.
Not that long ago I would have mounted a very strong argument against the possibility of what is essentially spoken word poetry ever becoming an important part of my musical life but I had never heard of Adam Gibson. Any man that starts a poem with the line "Midnight Oil, The Hummingbirds, The Clash" is going to grab my attention. The fact that it is backed by a great little rock tune, incidentally produced by Simon Holmes of the aforementioned Hummingbirds, doesn't hurt.
I am a sucker for nostalgia and what Gibbo does in this 4 and a half minutes is tell a story familiar to those of us that were in our 20s in Sydney during the 90s. I can recognise the life I did live, of parties in the inner west where "girls were enticing and pale" and lamentations for all the nights spent watching guitars that I should have spent playing them, and also the life I wanted to live, a life where I actually spoke to the girls at those parties and found out what was at the other end of the plane trips that all of my friends went on.
Most of all I wanted to meet a girl at The Hoey and disappear with her into the Burke St night just like Gibbo's character does at the end. Alas that never happened but who cares because I have had the pleasure of disappearing into the Burke St night with Girl O'Sea and that is all I need.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
I like editors
Here is a piece that I wrote for one of my subjects this semester. Chris Scanlon, my lecturer, has kindly edited it for me. It flows so much better
The Future Of Newspapers
Not sure if I am comfortable with the "journalist" tag yet but I'll get used to it.
The Future Of Newspapers
Not sure if I am comfortable with the "journalist" tag yet but I'll get used to it.
Number 9 - The difficult one
The Lucksmiths - Camera-Shy (2003)
As I feared, this has been the most difficult post to write. I spent two hours last night puzzling over it and working myself into quite a state of frustration. Girl O'Sea was well puzzled by my mood. The problem is that Camera-Shy isn't one of my Top 10 favourite songs of all time. I had chosen it to be representational of The Lucksmiths catalogue but when I went to write about it last night I was lost. It is all jangly guitars and cardigans and I love it for that but something is missing. Part of that something can be found in Great Lengths which evokes in me memories of a girl with whom I was in love but could not be with and all of the tears that flowed. And also in Untidy Towns, the first Luckies song that I heard and how finding their music changed my life in such a pleasurable way. And in The Music Next Door and how the inclusion of Louis and his guitar made a great band even better.
Need I go on? I think you can see where I am going with this. There is no ultimate Lucksmiths song for me but they have been so important to me for so many years that there was no way they were not going to make the list. So please indulge me and consider this to be like those times when an actor gets an Oscar for an OK role but you know it was really recognition for a whole career's work. But it still is a bloody good song.
As I feared, this has been the most difficult post to write. I spent two hours last night puzzling over it and working myself into quite a state of frustration. Girl O'Sea was well puzzled by my mood. The problem is that Camera-Shy isn't one of my Top 10 favourite songs of all time. I had chosen it to be representational of The Lucksmiths catalogue but when I went to write about it last night I was lost. It is all jangly guitars and cardigans and I love it for that but something is missing. Part of that something can be found in Great Lengths which evokes in me memories of a girl with whom I was in love but could not be with and all of the tears that flowed. And also in Untidy Towns, the first Luckies song that I heard and how finding their music changed my life in such a pleasurable way. And in The Music Next Door and how the inclusion of Louis and his guitar made a great band even better.
Need I go on? I think you can see where I am going with this. There is no ultimate Lucksmiths song for me but they have been so important to me for so many years that there was no way they were not going to make the list. So please indulge me and consider this to be like those times when an actor gets an Oscar for an OK role but you know it was really recognition for a whole career's work. But it still is a bloody good song.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Number 8 - On the home stretch now!
Weddings Parties Anything – For A Short Time (1997)
When a song makes you cry the first time you hear it then there is a good chance that it will take a special place in your heart. I don’t know if this is Mick Thomas’ best song but I cannot ignore it for the emotional impact it has every time I hear it. I first heard it at the Metro in Sydney and it must have been ’97 because the album was just being released.
Thomas is a storyteller in his songs and, almost as importantly, in his introductions. He sets the scene for each of his new songs. He lays out the bones of the story so that the listeners can build their own understanding of the lyrics. This has always appealed to my forensic nature. I am not one to ponder hidden meanings.
The story he told on that night affected many because we could see ourselves in it. The band had met an Aussie girl while they were touring in Canada. They had spent a drunken evening together and as they were all heading to Holland had organised to catch up there. The girl had not shown up and they had just assumed she had made other plans. They returned to Australia and on a subsequent tour had played in Newcastle, the girl’s hometown, where they were handed a letter. It was from the girl’s family. She had been killed not long after meeting them and her last communication with her family was all about how she had met the Weddoes and how excited she was.
Which of us couldn’t imagine ourselves playing pool with Mick and Wally in Halifax or Calgary and then ringing our mates and family back home to tell of the tale? Maybe, for us in the audience, it was some sort of notice that despite the feelings of invincibility that you have in your 20s fate could play a hand? A decade on and now my emotions are driven by thoughts of what her family must have gone through. Mick’s lyrics:
Tell me how long is a short time, is it longer than two hours,
Or a bit less than a weekend. Is it shorter than a year?
Is it the time it takes to not complete your business with a person,
With a friend you make in transit,
To a daughter held so dear.
I knew I would struggle to fully express how this song affects me. Somehow it touches a bit of my soul that I don’t have the abilities to describe. Perhaps to fully understand you would have to be standing there beside me at one of Mick’s gigs. A part of the choir of Weddoes tragics. I’d even teach you the extra chorus that’s not on the original recording. I’ll be the big bloke with a tear in my eye.
When a song makes you cry the first time you hear it then there is a good chance that it will take a special place in your heart. I don’t know if this is Mick Thomas’ best song but I cannot ignore it for the emotional impact it has every time I hear it. I first heard it at the Metro in Sydney and it must have been ’97 because the album was just being released.
Thomas is a storyteller in his songs and, almost as importantly, in his introductions. He sets the scene for each of his new songs. He lays out the bones of the story so that the listeners can build their own understanding of the lyrics. This has always appealed to my forensic nature. I am not one to ponder hidden meanings.
The story he told on that night affected many because we could see ourselves in it. The band had met an Aussie girl while they were touring in Canada. They had spent a drunken evening together and as they were all heading to Holland had organised to catch up there. The girl had not shown up and they had just assumed she had made other plans. They returned to Australia and on a subsequent tour had played in Newcastle, the girl’s hometown, where they were handed a letter. It was from the girl’s family. She had been killed not long after meeting them and her last communication with her family was all about how she had met the Weddoes and how excited she was.
Which of us couldn’t imagine ourselves playing pool with Mick and Wally in Halifax or Calgary and then ringing our mates and family back home to tell of the tale? Maybe, for us in the audience, it was some sort of notice that despite the feelings of invincibility that you have in your 20s fate could play a hand? A decade on and now my emotions are driven by thoughts of what her family must have gone through. Mick’s lyrics:
Tell me how long is a short time, is it longer than two hours,
Or a bit less than a weekend. Is it shorter than a year?
Is it the time it takes to not complete your business with a person,
With a friend you make in transit,
To a daughter held so dear.
I knew I would struggle to fully express how this song affects me. Somehow it touches a bit of my soul that I don’t have the abilities to describe. Perhaps to fully understand you would have to be standing there beside me at one of Mick’s gigs. A part of the choir of Weddoes tragics. I’d even teach you the extra chorus that’s not on the original recording. I’ll be the big bloke with a tear in my eye.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Number 7 - Anybody reading these things?
Painters and Dockers - Nude School (1988)
Oh dear. I’ve just spent 15 minutes Googling the subject “nude school” and now I am expecting a knock on the door from a nice man from the Federal Police. But what will he charge me with? Will it be a suspicion of searching for inappropriate images of kiddies or liking the music of a bunch of pretentious art school types from the 80s? Guilty as charged your honour, on the second count that is.
As I perused RAM, that’s Rock Australia Magazine for you uncool or young people out there, during the mid to late 80s there were two bands who always caught my attention: TISM and Painters and Dockers. I had never heard a single song from either of them but something in their attitudes always appealed. I too wanted to be in a band full of patronising art school smart arses that produced pop songs laden with in-jokes that only other art school smart arses would understand. How I dreamed… and then one day I did get to hear a Painters and Dockers song and it was very witty and a bit punk and it had a horn section. A bloody horn section! I’ve love brass! And then I saw the clip and it was fantastic. And then I bought the album and it was very average, but that doesn’t matter because I got one song out of them.
I’ll let you in on a little secret. I am a horrible daydreamer. Ok, that is probably not a secret for some of you but one of my favourite daydreams is about being invited on stage by my best mates (insert appropriate band here) who are headlining Homebake. They want me to do the final song of the night. You now the type I mean, the cover that will send the crowd absolutely berko. The one where members of every other band that has played end up onstage as well and that shit hot guitarist from Band A plays on the same song as that great drummer from Band B. And I do the singing and I stage dive and I am adored. 9 times out of 10 that song is Nude School and I rock the joint. I love that daydream. Might go there right now.
Thank you and goodnight!
PS – for the info of Penthe it was the ‘Rockin’ The Rails’ initiative that saw them play at Ringwood station. I can’t believe you didn’t love them. You big city kids were so spoiled.
Oh dear. I’ve just spent 15 minutes Googling the subject “nude school” and now I am expecting a knock on the door from a nice man from the Federal Police. But what will he charge me with? Will it be a suspicion of searching for inappropriate images of kiddies or liking the music of a bunch of pretentious art school types from the 80s? Guilty as charged your honour, on the second count that is.
As I perused RAM, that’s Rock Australia Magazine for you uncool or young people out there, during the mid to late 80s there were two bands who always caught my attention: TISM and Painters and Dockers. I had never heard a single song from either of them but something in their attitudes always appealed. I too wanted to be in a band full of patronising art school smart arses that produced pop songs laden with in-jokes that only other art school smart arses would understand. How I dreamed… and then one day I did get to hear a Painters and Dockers song and it was very witty and a bit punk and it had a horn section. A bloody horn section! I’ve love brass! And then I saw the clip and it was fantastic. And then I bought the album and it was very average, but that doesn’t matter because I got one song out of them.
I’ll let you in on a little secret. I am a horrible daydreamer. Ok, that is probably not a secret for some of you but one of my favourite daydreams is about being invited on stage by my best mates (insert appropriate band here) who are headlining Homebake. They want me to do the final song of the night. You now the type I mean, the cover that will send the crowd absolutely berko. The one where members of every other band that has played end up onstage as well and that shit hot guitarist from Band A plays on the same song as that great drummer from Band B. And I do the singing and I stage dive and I am adored. 9 times out of 10 that song is Nude School and I rock the joint. I love that daydream. Might go there right now.
Thank you and goodnight!
PS – for the info of Penthe it was the ‘Rockin’ The Rails’ initiative that saw them play at Ringwood station. I can’t believe you didn’t love them. You big city kids were so spoiled.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Are we up to 6 yet?
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds – Deanna (1988)
What a gloriously shambolic few minutes of sonic pleasure this is. I romanticise its production in my head. It is very late at night in the studio. The last of the horse has been jacked up. Nick suggests they give that new tune a shot. Harvey is together enough to play drums and bass and acoustic, perhaps not a once. Not even he is that good. Blixa sits in the corner and does what Blixa does best – just makes up cool noises. Kid Congo whacks out some riffs and Cave weaves in some great organ sounds and makes up the lyrics as he goes along. They have a big sing-a-long, often out of key, and get it done in three takes. Cave collapses unconscious into the drum kit and sleeps there. A classic is born.
I’m sure there is probably a more accurate account of proceedings out there somewhere but I like my version. The H must have played some part. How else can you explain a line like “I cum a deaths head in your frock”? WTF??? Somebody might be able to point out my ignorance by showing that it is a homage to an obscure French poet from the 19th century but again I like my rock’n’roll version.
For me Deanna marks the beginning of my favourite period of Cave’s work - his angry preacher period. To see him prowl the stage proselytising made you understand the power of the revivalists. He converted me every time. I lit his cigarette one night and for the second I looked into the eyes of the man I was a part of it all. And then he turned away and I think I giggled like a schoolgirl. And so it goes…
What a gloriously shambolic few minutes of sonic pleasure this is. I romanticise its production in my head. It is very late at night in the studio. The last of the horse has been jacked up. Nick suggests they give that new tune a shot. Harvey is together enough to play drums and bass and acoustic, perhaps not a once. Not even he is that good. Blixa sits in the corner and does what Blixa does best – just makes up cool noises. Kid Congo whacks out some riffs and Cave weaves in some great organ sounds and makes up the lyrics as he goes along. They have a big sing-a-long, often out of key, and get it done in three takes. Cave collapses unconscious into the drum kit and sleeps there. A classic is born.
I’m sure there is probably a more accurate account of proceedings out there somewhere but I like my version. The H must have played some part. How else can you explain a line like “I cum a deaths head in your frock”? WTF??? Somebody might be able to point out my ignorance by showing that it is a homage to an obscure French poet from the 19th century but again I like my rock’n’roll version.
For me Deanna marks the beginning of my favourite period of Cave’s work - his angry preacher period. To see him prowl the stage proselytising made you understand the power of the revivalists. He converted me every time. I lit his cigarette one night and for the second I looked into the eyes of the man I was a part of it all. And then he turned away and I think I giggled like a schoolgirl. And so it goes…
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Number 5 in this series (but number 1 in my heart)
Billy Bragg – Waiting For The Great Leap Forwards (1988)
The yellow of the cassette’s cover made it stand out on top of the pile. I picked it up to have a look. “Billy Bragg. Yeah, I’ve heard of that bloke. Worker’s Playtime. Any good?” It was Brisbane, 1990, and I was finally beginning to broaden my musical tastes away from the standard MMM Oz rock fare. JJJ was still a few months from starting and I had never really connected with ZZZ, so the street press and the recommendations of friends drove my musical explorations. The aforementioned pile of cassettes was in the home of a girl I worked with and had a crush on. As she was deeply smitten with someone else the love remained unrequited but she did lend me that tape. I remember it was a Friday night and as I got on the train for the trip back to Ipswich I popped it in my Walkman and pressed play. For a lovelorn young fella being given a tape that contains songs such as She’s Got A New Spell and Must I Paint You A Picture by a girl on whom you have a crush, well, it can lead to some moments of fantasy. “Maybe she does have feelings for me after all and this is her way of showing it.” I was driven to writing some bad poetry there and then. I still have it somewhere.
Somewhere towards the end of the train trip, and the end of the tape, an electric guitar starts up, that unmistakable Bragg sound, and is soon joined by piano. Billy’s lyrics are almost spoken as he starts discussing life, love and politics (again). Eventually a beat is added when someone starts tapping a drumstick on the edge of a snare. The playing steadily builds in volume and then what had seemed to be an introspective manifesto becomes a joyous celebration of the possibilities of life. The band, the backing singers, Billy shouting at us “that in a perfect world we’d all sing in tune but this is reality so give me some room!” I must have listened to Waiting For The Great Leap Forwards three or four times in a row before I got off the train that night and hundreds of times since. It never fails to make me smile. That girl never did fall in love with me but she is one of my best friends 20 years later and I wouldn't change that for the world. And she gave me Billy. “Baby I’m struttin’!”
The yellow of the cassette’s cover made it stand out on top of the pile. I picked it up to have a look. “Billy Bragg. Yeah, I’ve heard of that bloke. Worker’s Playtime. Any good?” It was Brisbane, 1990, and I was finally beginning to broaden my musical tastes away from the standard MMM Oz rock fare. JJJ was still a few months from starting and I had never really connected with ZZZ, so the street press and the recommendations of friends drove my musical explorations. The aforementioned pile of cassettes was in the home of a girl I worked with and had a crush on. As she was deeply smitten with someone else the love remained unrequited but she did lend me that tape. I remember it was a Friday night and as I got on the train for the trip back to Ipswich I popped it in my Walkman and pressed play. For a lovelorn young fella being given a tape that contains songs such as She’s Got A New Spell and Must I Paint You A Picture by a girl on whom you have a crush, well, it can lead to some moments of fantasy. “Maybe she does have feelings for me after all and this is her way of showing it.” I was driven to writing some bad poetry there and then. I still have it somewhere.
Somewhere towards the end of the train trip, and the end of the tape, an electric guitar starts up, that unmistakable Bragg sound, and is soon joined by piano. Billy’s lyrics are almost spoken as he starts discussing life, love and politics (again). Eventually a beat is added when someone starts tapping a drumstick on the edge of a snare. The playing steadily builds in volume and then what had seemed to be an introspective manifesto becomes a joyous celebration of the possibilities of life. The band, the backing singers, Billy shouting at us “that in a perfect world we’d all sing in tune but this is reality so give me some room!” I must have listened to Waiting For The Great Leap Forwards three or four times in a row before I got off the train that night and hundreds of times since. It never fails to make me smile. That girl never did fall in love with me but she is one of my best friends 20 years later and I wouldn't change that for the world. And she gave me Billy. “Baby I’m struttin’!”
Friday, June 26, 2009
#4
The Cure – Boys Don’t Cry (1979)
I felt so sorry for my brother-in-law. He’s an ex-bikie with the requisite tatts and has spent his life working in railway workshops and abattoirs. For him to attempt to have a D and M with his then teenage brother-in-law about how it was ok for men to show their feelings must have been one of the most embarrassing moments in his life and shows how scared he was of my mother.
It was early 1987 and her name was Noreen. My first ever girlfriend. We had met at McDonalds and our love had burnt bright, at least I had thought so, for a month or so but then she dumped me. I was inconsolable. My only refuge was 2 minutes and 34 seconds of Robert Smith genius. I remember that the tape had been stolen from a party. Not by me but by an associate, a metal head, not unusual for an Ipswich teenage boy at the time, who had discarded it in disgust as being for poofs. Being reasonably secure in my sexuality I had taken it home and fallen in love with the melancholy of it all. So when my heart was broken I had my soundtrack already prepared.
I lay on my bed with my ghetto blaster on my chest and played Boys Don’t Cry over and over again. Being in the pre-CD days I had to rewind it each time. I became so proficient that I could judge it to perfection so that when I pressed play that first chord would ring out true every time. I even transcribed the words into a letter that I sent her presenting my case about why we should get back together. It is heartening to think that I was a true teenager.
This melancholic state must have worried my mother who obviously missed a couple of the finer points in the lyrics. She, and most likely my sister, must have badgered my brother-in-law to say something to me about it. I remember him gingerly offering up something along the lines of “You know it’s ok for blokes to cry don’t ya?”
“Um yeah.”
“Right then. Ok. Um…”
Cue me retreating to my bedroom and pressing play. And 20 years later we have never spoken of it again.
I felt so sorry for my brother-in-law. He’s an ex-bikie with the requisite tatts and has spent his life working in railway workshops and abattoirs. For him to attempt to have a D and M with his then teenage brother-in-law about how it was ok for men to show their feelings must have been one of the most embarrassing moments in his life and shows how scared he was of my mother.
It was early 1987 and her name was Noreen. My first ever girlfriend. We had met at McDonalds and our love had burnt bright, at least I had thought so, for a month or so but then she dumped me. I was inconsolable. My only refuge was 2 minutes and 34 seconds of Robert Smith genius. I remember that the tape had been stolen from a party. Not by me but by an associate, a metal head, not unusual for an Ipswich teenage boy at the time, who had discarded it in disgust as being for poofs. Being reasonably secure in my sexuality I had taken it home and fallen in love with the melancholy of it all. So when my heart was broken I had my soundtrack already prepared.
I lay on my bed with my ghetto blaster on my chest and played Boys Don’t Cry over and over again. Being in the pre-CD days I had to rewind it each time. I became so proficient that I could judge it to perfection so that when I pressed play that first chord would ring out true every time. I even transcribed the words into a letter that I sent her presenting my case about why we should get back together. It is heartening to think that I was a true teenager.
This melancholic state must have worried my mother who obviously missed a couple of the finer points in the lyrics. She, and most likely my sister, must have badgered my brother-in-law to say something to me about it. I remember him gingerly offering up something along the lines of “You know it’s ok for blokes to cry don’t ya?”
“Um yeah.”
“Right then. Ok. Um…”
Cue me retreating to my bedroom and pressing play. And 20 years later we have never spoken of it again.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Song 3 of the you know what
Elvis Costello and The Attractions – (What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding (1979)
I think it’s the drums that initially got me. Pete Thomas seems to be having a manic episode. I’m not very good with picking production techniques but surely there are a couple of drum tracks in there. Can one man hit that many things that quickly? They start driving from the opening bar and I always feel as if my heart has taken on the same rhythm. My spirits rise and I want to man the humanist barricades and fight the good fight. I can never stop myself playing air drums like a loon. Nor can I stop myself theatrically, and untunefully, singing along to “And where is that harmony? Sweet harmony?” Generally at an embarrassingly loud volume.
I credit Hank Five for the introduction. It was in a car somewhere, sometime, on a compilation tape. He understood the genius of Mr MacManus well before myself. Of course the irony is that it’s a cover. I only got around to hearing the beautiful original version by Nick Lowe earlier this year. I love it almost as much but for different reasons. I now understand that Bill Murray was channelling Lowe and not Costello in Lost In Translation.
Check out this clip from Elvis’ TV show. Zooey, M Ward, Jenny Lewis, the master Pete Thomas dueling on the skins with his daughter Tennessee (and how cute is she with that fringe?), Elvis, even Dylan Jr wasn’t too bad. I would have totally lost my shit if I had been there.
I think it’s the drums that initially got me. Pete Thomas seems to be having a manic episode. I’m not very good with picking production techniques but surely there are a couple of drum tracks in there. Can one man hit that many things that quickly? They start driving from the opening bar and I always feel as if my heart has taken on the same rhythm. My spirits rise and I want to man the humanist barricades and fight the good fight. I can never stop myself playing air drums like a loon. Nor can I stop myself theatrically, and untunefully, singing along to “And where is that harmony? Sweet harmony?” Generally at an embarrassingly loud volume.
I credit Hank Five for the introduction. It was in a car somewhere, sometime, on a compilation tape. He understood the genius of Mr MacManus well before myself. Of course the irony is that it’s a cover. I only got around to hearing the beautiful original version by Nick Lowe earlier this year. I love it almost as much but for different reasons. I now understand that Bill Murray was channelling Lowe and not Costello in Lost In Translation.
Check out this clip from Elvis’ TV show. Zooey, M Ward, Jenny Lewis, the master Pete Thomas dueling on the skins with his daughter Tennessee (and how cute is she with that fringe?), Elvis, even Dylan Jr wasn’t too bad. I would have totally lost my shit if I had been there.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Song 2 in my Top 10.
The Go-Betweens – Lee Remick (1978)
Why Lee Remick? Why not Head Full Of Steam or People Say or Cattle and Cane or any of the other masterpieces that Robert and Grant produced? It’s a very simple reason really. Because it is SO simple - I could have written it. For one afternoon in 1978 Robert Forster was about as musically talented as I am. It has a piss easy chord structure that even I can play on the guitar and lyrics so basic that when stuck for a word to rhyme with gem he came up with, um, gem. And lots of ba ba ba ba bananananas to fill in the time. I swear if Hank Five and myself had persisted with our band aspirations we could have written something as good but probably only the one. Please don’t think I am comparing myself to Robert, I realise that I am certainly not worthy. If you were to own that first Abel Label single, and how I would love to (hint there for 40th birthday present shoppers), you would turn it over and find that by the time he had written Karen his genius was already shining through. So put it on, press play and jump around for 2 minutes and 31 seconds and enjoy its pure unadulterated naiveté.
“She comes from Ireland, she’s very beautiful. I come from Brisbane and I’m quite plain.” How very true.
Why Lee Remick? Why not Head Full Of Steam or People Say or Cattle and Cane or any of the other masterpieces that Robert and Grant produced? It’s a very simple reason really. Because it is SO simple - I could have written it. For one afternoon in 1978 Robert Forster was about as musically talented as I am. It has a piss easy chord structure that even I can play on the guitar and lyrics so basic that when stuck for a word to rhyme with gem he came up with, um, gem. And lots of ba ba ba ba bananananas to fill in the time. I swear if Hank Five and myself had persisted with our band aspirations we could have written something as good but probably only the one. Please don’t think I am comparing myself to Robert, I realise that I am certainly not worthy. If you were to own that first Abel Label single, and how I would love to (hint there for 40th birthday present shoppers), you would turn it over and find that by the time he had written Karen his genius was already shining through. So put it on, press play and jump around for 2 minutes and 31 seconds and enjoy its pure unadulterated naiveté.
“She comes from Ireland, she’s very beautiful. I come from Brisbane and I’m quite plain.” How very true.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
My Top 10 songs of all time: A 10 part series (who woulda thunk it)
With JJJ running its Top 100 Of All Time I have agonised over a selection of songs to make up my Top 10 of all time. Of course this list is only how I feel today and may well change by the week after next. I thought I might take the time to explain what each of the songs means to me. They are listed in chronological order of release. I'll post one a day.
Bruce Springsteen – Born To Run. (1975)
One reason I want to someday be a contestant on Rockwiz is so that Julia gets to asks me what my first ever gig was. I will nonchalantly answer that it was The Boss at QE II Stadium in 1985 on The Born In The USA tour. Much respect from the audience will ensue, I am sure. I still have the t-shirt and it fits Girl O’Sea a treat. She looks very rock and roll. I assume that it was that night, standing in the upper reaches of that stadium, that I first heard Born To Run. My memories of the evening have been dimmed with the passing of time but I do know that my adoration of Springsteen began then. What was there not to love? He was singing about growing up in a working class town, being bored and wanting to fall in love. For a 14 year old from Ipswich it was all I could do to stop myself yelling, “You are singing about me Bruce!” And Born To Run is the ultimate expression of that. The Boss wants to get away from the town which “is a death trap” with his girl Wendy and find out ”if love is wild, … if love is real.” From the opening drum roll you understand the passion and the drama. The song ebbs and flows like life but by the end, baby, you are Born To Run! Or at least ready for Mum to come and pick you up.
Bruce Springsteen – Born To Run. (1975)
One reason I want to someday be a contestant on Rockwiz is so that Julia gets to asks me what my first ever gig was. I will nonchalantly answer that it was The Boss at QE II Stadium in 1985 on The Born In The USA tour. Much respect from the audience will ensue, I am sure. I still have the t-shirt and it fits Girl O’Sea a treat. She looks very rock and roll. I assume that it was that night, standing in the upper reaches of that stadium, that I first heard Born To Run. My memories of the evening have been dimmed with the passing of time but I do know that my adoration of Springsteen began then. What was there not to love? He was singing about growing up in a working class town, being bored and wanting to fall in love. For a 14 year old from Ipswich it was all I could do to stop myself yelling, “You are singing about me Bruce!” And Born To Run is the ultimate expression of that. The Boss wants to get away from the town which “is a death trap” with his girl Wendy and find out ”if love is wild, … if love is real.” From the opening drum roll you understand the passion and the drama. The song ebbs and flows like life but by the end, baby, you are Born To Run! Or at least ready for Mum to come and pick you up.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
If you have no musical talent then become a reviewer.
“Six String Suicide” by Pete Ross and the Paesanos.
The greatest joy of owning an old car, let’s say a 1970 HG Kingswood station wagon, is cruising on an open highway, elbow in the breeze and some fine country tunes playing on the stereo. Yes, it is a clichéd image, I’ll grant you that, but oh so much fun. So when I heard the first few bars of Kiss Goodnight, the opening track on Pete Ross and the Paesanos debut album “Six String Suicide”, I was already imagining Girl O’Sea and myself driving off into the sunset.
The songs seemed to have everything that I look for in driving tunes. A strong vocal delivery? No problems there as Ross is blessed with a voice that wouldn’t be out of place in the Snarski family. Some gun players perhaps? The Paesanos are tight and versatile and include Monique Boggia’s wonderful work on the Hammond organ. Added to them are guest appearances by some of Melbourne’s finest including Matt Walker, Liz Stringer and Jen Anderson. All good so far.
We’ve already had our visual cliché so let’s have some lyrical ones as well because they are as important to good country as boots and a big hat. The second track is called Man In The Long Black Coat. Ah, the infamous “Man In Black” cliché that is taught day one in songwriter’s school. Later we have My Baby’s Gone in which we learn that the protagonist’s baby is, in fact, gone but he is intending too drive all night to get her back. Although no mention is made of the whereabouts of his dog I am still prepared to give this a big tick.
Ok, so we are progressing well, ticking all the boxes, and I’m checking the oil and water but then Mr Ross decides to do something a bit different, with good effect. A Thousand Miles Away starts off with acoustic guitar but is then joined by a new voice, singing in Italian. What progresses is a very Cave-esque duet between this new voice and Ross, singing in English. Duets are not uncommon in country music but usually not between men singing in different languages. It turns out that the new voice belongs to Ross’ father, Peter Ciani, who was something of an Italian pop star during the 1950s. Ciani co-produced the album with Ross and co-wrote a number of songs.
Ross also sings in Italian on two tracks and one of these, Sciuri Sciuri, provides a highlight. Apparently it is a traditional Sicilian folk song and its groove is so infectious that all you want to do is wrap one arm around Nonna, the other around big Uncle Joe and dance the night away.
For the most part I really enjoyed “Six String Suicide”. My only grumbles would be that in a couple of spots Ross didn’t seem to play to his strengths in his vocal delivery and the orchestration was a bit busy in places but I can see how that would happen, given all of those gun players he had in the studio.
That said, it still made me very happy and I look forward to having it on the stereo next time I’ve got my elbow in the breeze.
The greatest joy of owning an old car, let’s say a 1970 HG Kingswood station wagon, is cruising on an open highway, elbow in the breeze and some fine country tunes playing on the stereo. Yes, it is a clichéd image, I’ll grant you that, but oh so much fun. So when I heard the first few bars of Kiss Goodnight, the opening track on Pete Ross and the Paesanos debut album “Six String Suicide”, I was already imagining Girl O’Sea and myself driving off into the sunset.
The songs seemed to have everything that I look for in driving tunes. A strong vocal delivery? No problems there as Ross is blessed with a voice that wouldn’t be out of place in the Snarski family. Some gun players perhaps? The Paesanos are tight and versatile and include Monique Boggia’s wonderful work on the Hammond organ. Added to them are guest appearances by some of Melbourne’s finest including Matt Walker, Liz Stringer and Jen Anderson. All good so far.
We’ve already had our visual cliché so let’s have some lyrical ones as well because they are as important to good country as boots and a big hat. The second track is called Man In The Long Black Coat. Ah, the infamous “Man In Black” cliché that is taught day one in songwriter’s school. Later we have My Baby’s Gone in which we learn that the protagonist’s baby is, in fact, gone but he is intending too drive all night to get her back. Although no mention is made of the whereabouts of his dog I am still prepared to give this a big tick.
Ok, so we are progressing well, ticking all the boxes, and I’m checking the oil and water but then Mr Ross decides to do something a bit different, with good effect. A Thousand Miles Away starts off with acoustic guitar but is then joined by a new voice, singing in Italian. What progresses is a very Cave-esque duet between this new voice and Ross, singing in English. Duets are not uncommon in country music but usually not between men singing in different languages. It turns out that the new voice belongs to Ross’ father, Peter Ciani, who was something of an Italian pop star during the 1950s. Ciani co-produced the album with Ross and co-wrote a number of songs.
Ross also sings in Italian on two tracks and one of these, Sciuri Sciuri, provides a highlight. Apparently it is a traditional Sicilian folk song and its groove is so infectious that all you want to do is wrap one arm around Nonna, the other around big Uncle Joe and dance the night away.
For the most part I really enjoyed “Six String Suicide”. My only grumbles would be that in a couple of spots Ross didn’t seem to play to his strengths in his vocal delivery and the orchestration was a bit busy in places but I can see how that would happen, given all of those gun players he had in the studio.
That said, it still made me very happy and I look forward to having it on the stereo next time I’ve got my elbow in the breeze.
Monday, June 15, 2009
A tale of how two pink lines can change your life.
So it all came down to a couple of pink lines. One pink line and life would continue but with a touch of disappointment and a growing sense of frustration. Two pink lines and, well, I am not sure what they will ultimately mean but undoubtedly our lives changed last night. After only a few months of trying Girl O'Sea is pregnant! 5 weeks we believe.
I know the consensus is that this type of news should be kept quiet until 12 weeks and the first ultrasound but I think that would defeat the purposes of this blog. I want to document every part of this little journey we are embarking on. I have intentionally not told any of our family members about the blog as I had hoped I would soon get this opportunity. We won't be informing them until the 12 weeks and I know that I can trust my friends who do read this to keep it under their hats till then.
The news is still sinking in. Girl O'Sea had been suspicious for a week and certain for a couple of days and then the good old "Discover One Step" confirmed it last night with its two pink lines. The due date will be sometime late February which seems such a long time away but we have so much to do. Well obviously Girl O'Sea has THE most to do but I have started worrying about things like getting a job.
I had always suspected that this next semester would be the last where we could afford to indulge my full-time study. It's now time for me to start focusing on how I am going to get a full-time journo gig next year. In a perfect world I'd land a traineeship at the ABC or The Age and stay in Melbourne but the chances of that happening are very slim. Something in Sydney would also be good but it is more likely we will need to head bush. That is a prospect that does hold some appeal for us. Girl O'Sea grew up in the country and I like the idea of the multi-tasking that seems to be the norm in small organizations. I wouldn't want to be there forever but it would be great training. I've checked out ads for jobs at papers in Young and Blayney today and had a bit of a daydream.
I'm not sure what this will mean for uni. If I get a gig in Melbourne I'll try and finish it part time through La Trobe but if we need to move then I'll try and transfer. Plenty of time to sort that out later. The focus must be on getting some stuff published. Busy times ahead.
I know the consensus is that this type of news should be kept quiet until 12 weeks and the first ultrasound but I think that would defeat the purposes of this blog. I want to document every part of this little journey we are embarking on. I have intentionally not told any of our family members about the blog as I had hoped I would soon get this opportunity. We won't be informing them until the 12 weeks and I know that I can trust my friends who do read this to keep it under their hats till then.
The news is still sinking in. Girl O'Sea had been suspicious for a week and certain for a couple of days and then the good old "Discover One Step" confirmed it last night with its two pink lines. The due date will be sometime late February which seems such a long time away but we have so much to do. Well obviously Girl O'Sea has THE most to do but I have started worrying about things like getting a job.
I had always suspected that this next semester would be the last where we could afford to indulge my full-time study. It's now time for me to start focusing on how I am going to get a full-time journo gig next year. In a perfect world I'd land a traineeship at the ABC or The Age and stay in Melbourne but the chances of that happening are very slim. Something in Sydney would also be good but it is more likely we will need to head bush. That is a prospect that does hold some appeal for us. Girl O'Sea grew up in the country and I like the idea of the multi-tasking that seems to be the norm in small organizations. I wouldn't want to be there forever but it would be great training. I've checked out ads for jobs at papers in Young and Blayney today and had a bit of a daydream.
I'm not sure what this will mean for uni. If I get a gig in Melbourne I'll try and finish it part time through La Trobe but if we need to move then I'll try and transfer. Plenty of time to sort that out later. The focus must be on getting some stuff published. Busy times ahead.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
I don't think they have a fucking clue: The future of Australian journalism
Well the first assignment for the semester has been handed in. A day late after a 10 day extension. So, pretty typical for me. I had another due today but that won't see the light of day until the wee small hours of Thursday I would expect.
I had a lot of fun doing the interviews for this first assignment especially speaking to John Westacott and Peter Meakin. Both are cranky old codgers who like to push the boundaries of professional ethics and produce news and current affairs programmes which I find difficult to watch but I got a real sense that they are probably good bosses. Both seemed genuinely concerned with the professional development of their staff and spoke with pride about their achievements. I wouldn't like to cross them though. Meakin's parting words to me were:
"Concentrate on the realities of the business, the nuts and bolts of the business and a bit less on what is going to get you into heaven."
Thanks Pete. I'll remember that the next time I am trying to set-up the local dry cleaner to see if he steals the $20 from my suit pocket.
So hopefully what follows makes sense. It doesn't have a title at the moment. How about:
I DON'T THINK THEY HAVE A FUCKING CLUE: The future of Australian journalism
Graduating from university and entering the workforce can be a demanding experience. Suddenly the theoretical discussions of academia are met by the practical realities of industry and quite often this can make for a bumpy transition. This is certainly the case for the increasing number of graduates coming out of Australia’s journalism schools.
Students who have spent years studying the theoretical role of the media in modern society and the place of ethics in journalistic practice are met by an industry that is concerned little with theories and more with practicalities such as can they tell a story? It must seem to these new media practioners that something is amiss in the relationship between the bodies supposedly looking after their professional development.
In a piece written for The Washington Times in 1992, British journalist and historian Paul Johnson argued that the media is potentially “a system of evangelism for dispersing the darkness of ignorance, expelling error and establishing truth.” These may be high-minded concepts, written almost two decades ago, but there seems to be some consensus between the academy and the industry that journalism does hold this important place in society. Differences appear when discussion turns to how much bearing this should have on the actions of junior journalists.
This may seem like a modern turf war for the hearts and minds of the next generation of journalists but the reality is that friction over the role of journalism schools has occurred since their inception more than a century ago. What makes this relevant for discussion now is the changing face of journalism. As more people seek their news from alternative media sources, mostly online, the role of the journalist in society is becoming blurred.
The journalists’ union, the Media Alliance, has an existing Code of Ethics which, in part, describes journalism as having a privileged role in society. This is a role that carries with it power but also a responsibility to be accountable to those who give it their trust. The question to be asked is whether that notion has any relevance to new journalists in these modern times?
Lawrie Zion, La Trobe University’s journalism co-ordinator, believes that “journalism graduates who do end up on big mainstream publications often don’t appreciate that they do have a lot of power.” La Trobe offers a number of courses within its journalism degree that look at the media and ethics and attempt to imbue its graduates with some idea of the responsibilities that may come with possible future roles.
“If you want to be extreme about it, journalists who are on prominent programmes are in a sense unelected by the public but are acting to some extent, or a large extent of the time, on the public’s behalf,” said Zion.
As managing director of the ABC, Mark Scott is the boss of many of the journalists on those prominent programmes referred to by Zion. Prior to taking up his role at the ABC Scott was a senior newspaper editor at Fairfax. In 2004 The Australian asked him for his opinion on journalism graduates.
"I've had a number of people who've sat before me in interviews out of communications schools and what they've given me is a lot of ideology on the powerful role of the media in society and how they want to join this powerful institution. Well, I'm not actually looking for that," he said at the time.
Asked recently if his views had changed, Scott said that in general he was happier with the readiness of graduates. He went on to say that he recognised the need for some academic examination of the media but warned that that “if the skew is wrong in that, then I’m not sure if people are really setting themselves up for a great career in the profession.”
While they may be in the minority, some members of the journalism profession do feel that the journalism schools are taking the correct approach with balancing theory and practice. Ian Royall is currently the Managing Editor of In Paper Magazines at The Herald Sun and was, until recently, its cadet supervisor.
When asked about his experience of dealing with the journalism schools, Royall said that he believed they dealt well with the issues of trust and the responsibilities of the Fourth Estate. “I think that there is more awareness of university trained graduates then there might have been of school leavers,” he said.
While Mark Scott may see graduates as having inappropriate attitudes as a result of their journalism school experience other members of the industry blame these attitudes on something a more basic. Naiveté.
“I don’t think they have a fucking clue. I think they’re outrageously naive. They think they’re cynical but they are outrageously naive but that’s probably a nice thing. You need a good fresh view of it all.”
These are the forthright views of John Westacott. In his role as the Director of News and Current Affairs at the Nine Network Westacott is responsible for the professional development of many young journalists.
“You need to be reasonably high-minded about it to choose this as a job in the first place but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I hope we all enter this industry starry eyed with a desire to be first, fast and factual. I don’t think the journalism schools add or subtract from any of that,” said Westacott.
3AW presenter Neil Mitchell also feels that naiveté is a natural part of a journalists early progression. “We all enter the industry intending to change the world or save it. That is terrific. I wouldn't change that but lessons are learnt fairly quickly,” he said.
That was the case for James Dowling, a recent graduate of La Trobe University who is now working for the Progress Leader newspaper. Dowling believes that in general most young journalists he knows approached the industry with an attitude “more on the naive side than the cynical side. I think a lot of people go in as being idealistic.”
“Now, a couple of years in, I think a ‘privileged role’ is putting on airs to what we actually do but there is definitely a responsibility that comes with the role. I had a fair bit of support from editors and sub-editors who worked closely with me but it did dawn upon me, along the way, that in the end it is a 9 to 5 job, just like other jobs.”
For many young journalists, such as Dowling, the differences between university theory and workplace practice are highlighted nowhere greater than in the fluid area of professional ethics. This is an area that goes to the heart of the notions of responsibility and trust. While most media professionals are keen to claim that they and their organisations fully support ethical journalism some in the industry do not hesitate to make it known that they feel that some of the standards are there to be tested.
One of these is Peter Meakin, the Seven Network’s head of news and current affairs. When asked what he felt about the ethics training provided to journalism students Meakin replied, “If you were looking for a job at Seven I would be asking you what your story ideas are and there would be very few questions on your knowledge of the Code of Ethics and what you are not prepared to do for ethical reasons. By and large we want people who are hungry and people who are going to push the boundaries, not people who are going to be inhibited by their conduct.”
“Part of a journalist’s job is to create grief. To focus on people who don’t want to be focussed on. What Al Gore called ‘inconvenient truths’. And it’s not about keeping your nose clean. That’s not the first priority. There is more to journalism than the priesthood.”
Meakin does not feel that pushing these ethical boundaries in any way affects the viewing public’s ability to trust the output of his programmes. “Of course it’s a lot easier to get your message across if they trust you,” he said.
Chris Smyth is the Dean of the media school at Perth’s Murdoch University and has co-authored a book dealing with the ethics of journalism. When he was asked to comment on Meakin’s approach Smyth said, “that is the reason why we teach the way we do. To try and instil, at least at some point in the development of a young journalist, a more sophisticated approach to dealing with ethics.” He worries that young journalists are at the most risk of being coerced into questionable ethical behaviour because they do not feel comfortable saying no to senior staff.
Over at the Nine Network, John Westacott does not share Meakin’s views. “I don’t think you can have too much training on ethics. We’re held in a dim view by society but that’s probably because we fuck up a lot. And the public has rated us down with used car salesmen and below politicians. So any reinforcement of ethical standards is good,” he said.
Westacott, along with others such as the editor of The Courier-Mail, David Fagan, believes that ethics training is important at university for instilling a sense of the professional values expected in the industry. “This must then be constantly reinforced in the newsroom,” said Fagan.
In some organisations, including the Nine Network, this process occurs in the form of informal mentoring where a senior journalist takes responsibility for assisting a cadet. For News Limited cadets, such as those under Fagan’s charge at The Courier-Mail, the process is more structured.
Lucinda Duckett, is a senior manager at News Limited and was formerly in charge of its cadet programme. “Each cadet is assigned a tutor, a senior journalist, who is trained in how to best support the students. They mark their work and provide feedback to the cadet.” James Dowling went through this system and was grateful for the support given by his cadet counsellor. “Ours was a sub-editor who had a strong background in ethics, so you could bring up any ethical dilemmas or any other dilemmas you had with her,” he said.
One option for building a bridge between theoretical and practical ethical training is the use of internships. Zion strongly supports this for his students at La Trobe because he says it means “the students are getting exposed to the workplace while they are still at university and they can then reflect on what is happening. They are not just getting work experience, they are getting experience of the workplace.”
While mentoring and internships are presently seen as important tools in the development of the professional values of young journalists, questions are being raised about their viability in the future. Neil Mitchell and Ian Royall both worry that if current trends continue, with relation to newsroom downsizing, then the opportunities may no longer be there for the on the job training of junior journalists.
This may force a new thinking on the way young journalists are trained in Australia. Professor Ian Richards, from the University of South Australia, was addressing the issue as far back as 2005 and suggested a new spirit of bi-partisanship.
“In the long run, industry and academia have to join forces or we’ll all be losers. Journalism is facing many challenges today and those who love and care for journalism need to rise above petty jealousies and prejudices and look to our common interests.”
I had a lot of fun doing the interviews for this first assignment especially speaking to John Westacott and Peter Meakin. Both are cranky old codgers who like to push the boundaries of professional ethics and produce news and current affairs programmes which I find difficult to watch but I got a real sense that they are probably good bosses. Both seemed genuinely concerned with the professional development of their staff and spoke with pride about their achievements. I wouldn't like to cross them though. Meakin's parting words to me were:
"Concentrate on the realities of the business, the nuts and bolts of the business and a bit less on what is going to get you into heaven."
Thanks Pete. I'll remember that the next time I am trying to set-up the local dry cleaner to see if he steals the $20 from my suit pocket.
So hopefully what follows makes sense. It doesn't have a title at the moment. How about:
I DON'T THINK THEY HAVE A FUCKING CLUE: The future of Australian journalism
Graduating from university and entering the workforce can be a demanding experience. Suddenly the theoretical discussions of academia are met by the practical realities of industry and quite often this can make for a bumpy transition. This is certainly the case for the increasing number of graduates coming out of Australia’s journalism schools.
Students who have spent years studying the theoretical role of the media in modern society and the place of ethics in journalistic practice are met by an industry that is concerned little with theories and more with practicalities such as can they tell a story? It must seem to these new media practioners that something is amiss in the relationship between the bodies supposedly looking after their professional development.
In a piece written for The Washington Times in 1992, British journalist and historian Paul Johnson argued that the media is potentially “a system of evangelism for dispersing the darkness of ignorance, expelling error and establishing truth.” These may be high-minded concepts, written almost two decades ago, but there seems to be some consensus between the academy and the industry that journalism does hold this important place in society. Differences appear when discussion turns to how much bearing this should have on the actions of junior journalists.
This may seem like a modern turf war for the hearts and minds of the next generation of journalists but the reality is that friction over the role of journalism schools has occurred since their inception more than a century ago. What makes this relevant for discussion now is the changing face of journalism. As more people seek their news from alternative media sources, mostly online, the role of the journalist in society is becoming blurred.
The journalists’ union, the Media Alliance, has an existing Code of Ethics which, in part, describes journalism as having a privileged role in society. This is a role that carries with it power but also a responsibility to be accountable to those who give it their trust. The question to be asked is whether that notion has any relevance to new journalists in these modern times?
Lawrie Zion, La Trobe University’s journalism co-ordinator, believes that “journalism graduates who do end up on big mainstream publications often don’t appreciate that they do have a lot of power.” La Trobe offers a number of courses within its journalism degree that look at the media and ethics and attempt to imbue its graduates with some idea of the responsibilities that may come with possible future roles.
“If you want to be extreme about it, journalists who are on prominent programmes are in a sense unelected by the public but are acting to some extent, or a large extent of the time, on the public’s behalf,” said Zion.
As managing director of the ABC, Mark Scott is the boss of many of the journalists on those prominent programmes referred to by Zion. Prior to taking up his role at the ABC Scott was a senior newspaper editor at Fairfax. In 2004 The Australian asked him for his opinion on journalism graduates.
"I've had a number of people who've sat before me in interviews out of communications schools and what they've given me is a lot of ideology on the powerful role of the media in society and how they want to join this powerful institution. Well, I'm not actually looking for that," he said at the time.
Asked recently if his views had changed, Scott said that in general he was happier with the readiness of graduates. He went on to say that he recognised the need for some academic examination of the media but warned that that “if the skew is wrong in that, then I’m not sure if people are really setting themselves up for a great career in the profession.”
While they may be in the minority, some members of the journalism profession do feel that the journalism schools are taking the correct approach with balancing theory and practice. Ian Royall is currently the Managing Editor of In Paper Magazines at The Herald Sun and was, until recently, its cadet supervisor.
When asked about his experience of dealing with the journalism schools, Royall said that he believed they dealt well with the issues of trust and the responsibilities of the Fourth Estate. “I think that there is more awareness of university trained graduates then there might have been of school leavers,” he said.
While Mark Scott may see graduates as having inappropriate attitudes as a result of their journalism school experience other members of the industry blame these attitudes on something a more basic. Naiveté.
“I don’t think they have a fucking clue. I think they’re outrageously naive. They think they’re cynical but they are outrageously naive but that’s probably a nice thing. You need a good fresh view of it all.”
These are the forthright views of John Westacott. In his role as the Director of News and Current Affairs at the Nine Network Westacott is responsible for the professional development of many young journalists.
“You need to be reasonably high-minded about it to choose this as a job in the first place but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I hope we all enter this industry starry eyed with a desire to be first, fast and factual. I don’t think the journalism schools add or subtract from any of that,” said Westacott.
3AW presenter Neil Mitchell also feels that naiveté is a natural part of a journalists early progression. “We all enter the industry intending to change the world or save it. That is terrific. I wouldn't change that but lessons are learnt fairly quickly,” he said.
That was the case for James Dowling, a recent graduate of La Trobe University who is now working for the Progress Leader newspaper. Dowling believes that in general most young journalists he knows approached the industry with an attitude “more on the naive side than the cynical side. I think a lot of people go in as being idealistic.”
“Now, a couple of years in, I think a ‘privileged role’ is putting on airs to what we actually do but there is definitely a responsibility that comes with the role. I had a fair bit of support from editors and sub-editors who worked closely with me but it did dawn upon me, along the way, that in the end it is a 9 to 5 job, just like other jobs.”
For many young journalists, such as Dowling, the differences between university theory and workplace practice are highlighted nowhere greater than in the fluid area of professional ethics. This is an area that goes to the heart of the notions of responsibility and trust. While most media professionals are keen to claim that they and their organisations fully support ethical journalism some in the industry do not hesitate to make it known that they feel that some of the standards are there to be tested.
One of these is Peter Meakin, the Seven Network’s head of news and current affairs. When asked what he felt about the ethics training provided to journalism students Meakin replied, “If you were looking for a job at Seven I would be asking you what your story ideas are and there would be very few questions on your knowledge of the Code of Ethics and what you are not prepared to do for ethical reasons. By and large we want people who are hungry and people who are going to push the boundaries, not people who are going to be inhibited by their conduct.”
“Part of a journalist’s job is to create grief. To focus on people who don’t want to be focussed on. What Al Gore called ‘inconvenient truths’. And it’s not about keeping your nose clean. That’s not the first priority. There is more to journalism than the priesthood.”
Meakin does not feel that pushing these ethical boundaries in any way affects the viewing public’s ability to trust the output of his programmes. “Of course it’s a lot easier to get your message across if they trust you,” he said.
Chris Smyth is the Dean of the media school at Perth’s Murdoch University and has co-authored a book dealing with the ethics of journalism. When he was asked to comment on Meakin’s approach Smyth said, “that is the reason why we teach the way we do. To try and instil, at least at some point in the development of a young journalist, a more sophisticated approach to dealing with ethics.” He worries that young journalists are at the most risk of being coerced into questionable ethical behaviour because they do not feel comfortable saying no to senior staff.
Over at the Nine Network, John Westacott does not share Meakin’s views. “I don’t think you can have too much training on ethics. We’re held in a dim view by society but that’s probably because we fuck up a lot. And the public has rated us down with used car salesmen and below politicians. So any reinforcement of ethical standards is good,” he said.
Westacott, along with others such as the editor of The Courier-Mail, David Fagan, believes that ethics training is important at university for instilling a sense of the professional values expected in the industry. “This must then be constantly reinforced in the newsroom,” said Fagan.
In some organisations, including the Nine Network, this process occurs in the form of informal mentoring where a senior journalist takes responsibility for assisting a cadet. For News Limited cadets, such as those under Fagan’s charge at The Courier-Mail, the process is more structured.
Lucinda Duckett, is a senior manager at News Limited and was formerly in charge of its cadet programme. “Each cadet is assigned a tutor, a senior journalist, who is trained in how to best support the students. They mark their work and provide feedback to the cadet.” James Dowling went through this system and was grateful for the support given by his cadet counsellor. “Ours was a sub-editor who had a strong background in ethics, so you could bring up any ethical dilemmas or any other dilemmas you had with her,” he said.
One option for building a bridge between theoretical and practical ethical training is the use of internships. Zion strongly supports this for his students at La Trobe because he says it means “the students are getting exposed to the workplace while they are still at university and they can then reflect on what is happening. They are not just getting work experience, they are getting experience of the workplace.”
While mentoring and internships are presently seen as important tools in the development of the professional values of young journalists, questions are being raised about their viability in the future. Neil Mitchell and Ian Royall both worry that if current trends continue, with relation to newsroom downsizing, then the opportunities may no longer be there for the on the job training of junior journalists.
This may force a new thinking on the way young journalists are trained in Australia. Professor Ian Richards, from the University of South Australia, was addressing the issue as far back as 2005 and suggested a new spirit of bi-partisanship.
“In the long run, industry and academia have to join forces or we’ll all be losers. Journalism is facing many challenges today and those who love and care for journalism need to rise above petty jealousies and prejudices and look to our common interests.”
Thursday, April 9, 2009
A Life Less Wes
Oh to have the time to live your life like a character in a Wes Anderson film. I love the whimsical nature of his films. Such a beautiful take on life. And what great soundtracks.
http://tenenbaumfail.tumblr.com/
http://tenenbaumfail.tumblr.com/
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Theology 101
I have spent large sections of the last 24 hours in deep, though possibly not incisive, theological discussion with one of the new brothers-in-law. The evangelical one as opposed to the Low Church Anglican. I have enjoyed questioning his knowledge in the same manner as I do talking to experts in most fields. He holds degrees in Theology and Marine Biology (Yes, I have annoyed him with Seinfeld references). His theological thinking seems to be broad and reasonably accepting although Catholicism and Islam are not popular.
I am in no position to question his faith or to extol the virtues of my own atheism/humanism though. For me the consideration of my own faith, or lack there of, is something that is of minor relevance in my normal life. His life revolves around this questioning and has done for many years. I am in no position to mount a worthy argument. The enjoyable thing is that I feel no need to. I enjoy asking the questions and he enjoys answering them. The fact that the discussions can be had over a glass of red wine makes it all the easier.
I have been listening to The Aerial Maps tonight. I wonder if I will ever be able to explain to the brother-in-law how for some, such as myself, our faith comes to life in that perfect beauty sometimes found in 15 seconds of song or in the wind on a wintry beach? Those moments when the world seems to slow and you never want life to end. Moments when you feel no need to rejoice in anything other than the present.
Each to his own I suppose.
I am in no position to question his faith or to extol the virtues of my own atheism/humanism though. For me the consideration of my own faith, or lack there of, is something that is of minor relevance in my normal life. His life revolves around this questioning and has done for many years. I am in no position to mount a worthy argument. The enjoyable thing is that I feel no need to. I enjoy asking the questions and he enjoys answering them. The fact that the discussions can be had over a glass of red wine makes it all the easier.
I have been listening to The Aerial Maps tonight. I wonder if I will ever be able to explain to the brother-in-law how for some, such as myself, our faith comes to life in that perfect beauty sometimes found in 15 seconds of song or in the wind on a wintry beach? Those moments when the world seems to slow and you never want life to end. Moments when you feel no need to rejoice in anything other than the present.
Each to his own I suppose.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
7.30 Report or Entertainment Tonight?
I am slightly concerned about the direction being taken by The 7.30 Report in recent times.
Are we having some slow news days? Perhaps the team needs some story suggestions? This is what I would like to see.
Red Kez skewering The Ruddster over poorly publicised chats with senior Chinese officials.
Or perhaps asking Stephen "I am the epitome of 'unrepresentative swill'" Fielding about his very existence.
How about trying to explain what the fuck is going to happen with the world's economy or why we have had three 30 degree days in a row, in Melbourne, in April?
By the way, I pray on every warm day that the air conditioning has broken down in Andrew Bolt's office. Getting warmer is it Bolts? Melt you bastard, melt. Sorry somewhat tangential there.
What have I been getting instead? Puff pieces with actors and comics. Ricky Gervais, Bill Nighy, Dylan Moran.
I'll admit that I have watched and enjoyed them all but this Kerry O'Brien, Red Kez, the man we all look to when we feel the need to watch a senior politician squirm on national television. We need him doing what he does best.
Why was Wayne Swan on Lateline with Tony Jones admitting that Treasury had cocked up their forecasts? Even for a news junkie like me that is on too late. How about doing it in prime time when the nation is watching with one of our most respected journalists?
What would I know? I am only a second year journalism student. Perhaps they teach us that in third year?
Are we having some slow news days? Perhaps the team needs some story suggestions? This is what I would like to see.
Red Kez skewering The Ruddster over poorly publicised chats with senior Chinese officials.
Or perhaps asking Stephen "I am the epitome of 'unrepresentative swill'" Fielding about his very existence.
How about trying to explain what the fuck is going to happen with the world's economy or why we have had three 30 degree days in a row, in Melbourne, in April?
By the way, I pray on every warm day that the air conditioning has broken down in Andrew Bolt's office. Getting warmer is it Bolts? Melt you bastard, melt. Sorry somewhat tangential there.
What have I been getting instead? Puff pieces with actors and comics. Ricky Gervais, Bill Nighy, Dylan Moran.
I'll admit that I have watched and enjoyed them all but this Kerry O'Brien, Red Kez, the man we all look to when we feel the need to watch a senior politician squirm on national television. We need him doing what he does best.
Why was Wayne Swan on Lateline with Tony Jones admitting that Treasury had cocked up their forecasts? Even for a news junkie like me that is on too late. How about doing it in prime time when the nation is watching with one of our most respected journalists?
What would I know? I am only a second year journalism student. Perhaps they teach us that in third year?
Monday, March 30, 2009
An interview
I might as well post some of the pieces I have done for Rabelais, our uni paper. Well perhaps the ones where an intimate knowledge of campus politics is not required. It sounds like we might have some new neighbours. A rather ramshackle punk band judging by what I can hear. They need some work.
Here is a piece I did on a comic playing at the Comedy Festival.
So you’re asking yourself who the hell is Jim Jeffries? You know, the comedian. Still nothing? Well, in Britain he has done four years at the Edinburgh Fringe, appeared on numerous television programmes and been a hit on YouTube, literally. Footage of him being punched in the head by a punter while performing has been viewed almost 300,000 times.
In the US he has just completed a special for pay TV giant HBO, a prestigious gig for any comic, and is involved in a feud with the Osbornes. Still never heard of him? It is all the more unusual when you consider he is a bloke from Sydney.
Jeffries is quick to admit that it is his own fault that he doesn’t have a better profile in his homeland. “Fair enough I haven’t put the time in over here…so I can’t expect to just swan in and expect a tickertape parade,” he said in an accent that betrays a number of years living in Manchester.
Jeffries’ material isn’t for the sensitive. Sex and religion dominate his story telling style and expletives punctuate every sentence. He was anointed “Britain’s Most Offensive Comedian” by Q magazine, a title he embraces mainly because it helps sell tickets. “I’m not going for dirty. I’m going for laughs. It just so happens that I have a dark sense of humour, so most of it’s going to be dirty or slightly twisted,” he said.
Jeffries comes across as a keen student of the art of stand-up and is proud to be considered one of the “smutty” comics, a group in which he includes icons such as Richard Pryor, Billy Connolly and Lenny Bruce. He feels that comedy festivals often focus on “intelligent” comedy, featuring “acts who play the keyboards and talk about badgers and gnomes,” while ignoring his type of comedy.
Jeffries is in Australia to perform at his first Melbourne International Comedy Festival. “I’ve got to be honest, I’m quite nervous about doing Melbourne,” he said. “I’d hate to do badly in Australia. You don’t want to disappoint anybody.” You get the feeling that Jeffries is putting a lot of pressure on himself to carry over his success to his homeland.
Don’t expect to see him on Rove or Good News Week though. The invitations haven’t been forthcoming. He thinks producers are terrified that he is “going to start swearing or raping animals or something.”
Here is a piece I did on a comic playing at the Comedy Festival.
So you’re asking yourself who the hell is Jim Jeffries? You know, the comedian. Still nothing? Well, in Britain he has done four years at the Edinburgh Fringe, appeared on numerous television programmes and been a hit on YouTube, literally. Footage of him being punched in the head by a punter while performing has been viewed almost 300,000 times.
In the US he has just completed a special for pay TV giant HBO, a prestigious gig for any comic, and is involved in a feud with the Osbornes. Still never heard of him? It is all the more unusual when you consider he is a bloke from Sydney.
Jeffries is quick to admit that it is his own fault that he doesn’t have a better profile in his homeland. “Fair enough I haven’t put the time in over here…so I can’t expect to just swan in and expect a tickertape parade,” he said in an accent that betrays a number of years living in Manchester.
Jeffries’ material isn’t for the sensitive. Sex and religion dominate his story telling style and expletives punctuate every sentence. He was anointed “Britain’s Most Offensive Comedian” by Q magazine, a title he embraces mainly because it helps sell tickets. “I’m not going for dirty. I’m going for laughs. It just so happens that I have a dark sense of humour, so most of it’s going to be dirty or slightly twisted,” he said.
Jeffries comes across as a keen student of the art of stand-up and is proud to be considered one of the “smutty” comics, a group in which he includes icons such as Richard Pryor, Billy Connolly and Lenny Bruce. He feels that comedy festivals often focus on “intelligent” comedy, featuring “acts who play the keyboards and talk about badgers and gnomes,” while ignoring his type of comedy.
Jeffries is in Australia to perform at his first Melbourne International Comedy Festival. “I’ve got to be honest, I’m quite nervous about doing Melbourne,” he said. “I’d hate to do badly in Australia. You don’t want to disappoint anybody.” You get the feeling that Jeffries is putting a lot of pressure on himself to carry over his success to his homeland.
Don’t expect to see him on Rove or Good News Week though. The invitations haven’t been forthcoming. He thinks producers are terrified that he is “going to start swearing or raping animals or something.”
Monday, March 23, 2009
A premier
I'm from Queensland.
I'm from Sydney.
I sometimes confuse myself when I am asked. To be honest I offer up the information, unbidden, more often than I am asked, perhaps in an effort to make myself different from those around me.
I am not sure how I decide which truth to tell. I feel more at home in Sydney but I feel that I need to come from somewhere. A place in the world that I can point at and say "It began there" even if I may never really belong anywhere ever again.
I haven't traveled north of the Sunshine Coast since I was a child. I am a Queenslander whose boundary ends at the Noosa River. I have no affinity with the vast expanse beyond but I suspect this is the case with many from "The Great South East". Does that make me less of a Queenslander?
Now my weather reports are full of unusual place names like the Mallee and the Grampians. Not the Wide Bay or Darling Downs of my youth or even the Hunter and Highlands of my Sydney years. Strange unexplored lands that I have no connection with. Maybe one day.
Until that day I am still from Queensland. A state that voted in the first ever popularly elected woman premier on Saturday. My knowledge of her isn't the best but I like what I see. I think she is an honourable woman. That's good enough for me.
I'm from Sydney.
I sometimes confuse myself when I am asked. To be honest I offer up the information, unbidden, more often than I am asked, perhaps in an effort to make myself different from those around me.
I am not sure how I decide which truth to tell. I feel more at home in Sydney but I feel that I need to come from somewhere. A place in the world that I can point at and say "It began there" even if I may never really belong anywhere ever again.
I haven't traveled north of the Sunshine Coast since I was a child. I am a Queenslander whose boundary ends at the Noosa River. I have no affinity with the vast expanse beyond but I suspect this is the case with many from "The Great South East". Does that make me less of a Queenslander?
Now my weather reports are full of unusual place names like the Mallee and the Grampians. Not the Wide Bay or Darling Downs of my youth or even the Hunter and Highlands of my Sydney years. Strange unexplored lands that I have no connection with. Maybe one day.
Until that day I am still from Queensland. A state that voted in the first ever popularly elected woman premier on Saturday. My knowledge of her isn't the best but I like what I see. I think she is an honourable woman. That's good enough for me.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Coulda been a hero.
There is only a couple of seconds left on the clock in the final quarter and your team is down by 3 points. A 50 metre free is awarded and the ball is chucked to you by a back pedalling umpire who is headed off to a point about 25 from goal on a 45 degree angle.
Isn't this the scenario that every kid dreams of? In the dream they kick true and the goal umpire doesn't even have to move. The siren goes and their team mates carry them off the field.
Young Jack Redden had the chance to live that dream tonight for the Lions against Essendon.
Unfortunately for us all he learnt that dreams don't always come true. I really felt for the young fella. He must have been gutted. Hopefully he will have plenty of other chances to be the hero.
Isn't this the scenario that every kid dreams of? In the dream they kick true and the goal umpire doesn't even have to move. The siren goes and their team mates carry them off the field.
Young Jack Redden had the chance to live that dream tonight for the Lions against Essendon.
Unfortunately for us all he learnt that dreams don't always come true. I really felt for the young fella. He must have been gutted. Hopefully he will have plenty of other chances to be the hero.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Sunday at the pub
Another bit of my Melbourne dream fell into place on Sunday night.
There were two main elements that drew me to these southern climes: football and music.
I spent last football season in despair as I watched my boys battle valiantly but, for the most part, futilely. They always seemed to be missing something, other than the obvious six or seven goals on the scoreboard. Hopefully the kicks up the arse they are surely receiving from Vossy on the training track will put them in good stead for '09. No matter how they go though that part of my Melbourne dream will never be completed until I stand at the 'G, on that last Saturday in September, at full time and sing the club song. May that day come soon.
Music is another matter though. From almost the moment I arrived in Melbourne I have been exposed to great gigs. Billy Bragg, a reformed Weddoes, Arcade Fire, Flogging Molly. Some of my favourite artists but they were all gigs I felt I could have seen in Sydney. Even the absolutely wonderful Still Flyin', who we saw at the East Brunswick Club a couple of weeks ago and Girl O' Sea described as one of the best concerts ever, felt like an event. What I was still searching for was a truly local experience and on Sunday I got that.
Girl O' Sea and myself jumped on the deadly treadlies and pedaled off to The Retreat in Brunswick to see Anthony Atkinson and the Running Mates. I have been a fan of Atko's music since he was in The Mabels and I think his songwriting has only gotten better on his solo albums. The Running Mates comprising half of The Lucksmiths only makes it better.
We walked in to find an unexpected support act playing. Gary Olson from US band Ladybug Transmitter. We had seen him on stage as part of the Still Flyin' musical collective only a week or so before but knew nothing of his Ladybug stuff. We were blown away some beautiful breezy pop music and this wasn't even with his normal band! Just a group of ring ins. A group that admittedly did include three quarters of the aforementioned Lucksmiths and a former member of Architecture In Helsinki. I hope he is able to come back soon with his full band and in the mean time I will be buying everything he has ever released.
As a side note, poor Girl O' Sea unknowingly committed one of the great gig going faux pars by wearing a band shirt that related to one of the acts playing. It is a beautiful, green coloured, head turning Still Flyin' shirt that I am very jealous of and should have been a source of admiration from all and sundry. Unfortunately for Girl O' Sea, Gary's secret support gig meant that there were numerous members of Still Flyin' in the room and when Isabel, in an attempt to show some serious R-E-S-P-E-C-T to somebody in the audience with great musical taste, pointed out the shirt from the stage all eyes turned towards us. Girl O' Sea could not burrow any further into her chair. Poor pet was a touch embarassed.
Ok, so my description so far gives the idea that it was another event. International band plays secret gig. Fair enough call. But Gary finished and left. The crowd thinned out a bit and Atko began to set up. Big, boofy, bearded Anthony. He's a primary school teacher by day. At one of the local schools in these here parts. His "Public and Proud" badge on his guitar strap gives an indication of what sort of school he works at. Atko is never going to have the mainstream popularity of somebody like Paul Kelly or the rusted on support enjoyed by somebody like Mick Thomas or have that wandering minstrel thing that his mate Darren Hanlon has, but he doesn't need that. He writes wonderful pop songs that speak from the heart about relationships and footy and cricket and politics. All of that stuff which means something to me. I don't care if the rest of the world gets him or not, I do. And I saw him play at a local pub on a Sunday night in February with my wife and I had a tear in my eye.
On the treadly coming home it felt as if Melbourne was the only place life could feel this good.
There were two main elements that drew me to these southern climes: football and music.
I spent last football season in despair as I watched my boys battle valiantly but, for the most part, futilely. They always seemed to be missing something, other than the obvious six or seven goals on the scoreboard. Hopefully the kicks up the arse they are surely receiving from Vossy on the training track will put them in good stead for '09. No matter how they go though that part of my Melbourne dream will never be completed until I stand at the 'G, on that last Saturday in September, at full time and sing the club song. May that day come soon.
Music is another matter though. From almost the moment I arrived in Melbourne I have been exposed to great gigs. Billy Bragg, a reformed Weddoes, Arcade Fire, Flogging Molly. Some of my favourite artists but they were all gigs I felt I could have seen in Sydney. Even the absolutely wonderful Still Flyin', who we saw at the East Brunswick Club a couple of weeks ago and Girl O' Sea described as one of the best concerts ever, felt like an event. What I was still searching for was a truly local experience and on Sunday I got that.
Girl O' Sea and myself jumped on the deadly treadlies and pedaled off to The Retreat in Brunswick to see Anthony Atkinson and the Running Mates. I have been a fan of Atko's music since he was in The Mabels and I think his songwriting has only gotten better on his solo albums. The Running Mates comprising half of The Lucksmiths only makes it better.
We walked in to find an unexpected support act playing. Gary Olson from US band Ladybug Transmitter. We had seen him on stage as part of the Still Flyin' musical collective only a week or so before but knew nothing of his Ladybug stuff. We were blown away some beautiful breezy pop music and this wasn't even with his normal band! Just a group of ring ins. A group that admittedly did include three quarters of the aforementioned Lucksmiths and a former member of Architecture In Helsinki. I hope he is able to come back soon with his full band and in the mean time I will be buying everything he has ever released.
As a side note, poor Girl O' Sea unknowingly committed one of the great gig going faux pars by wearing a band shirt that related to one of the acts playing. It is a beautiful, green coloured, head turning Still Flyin' shirt that I am very jealous of and should have been a source of admiration from all and sundry. Unfortunately for Girl O' Sea, Gary's secret support gig meant that there were numerous members of Still Flyin' in the room and when Isabel, in an attempt to show some serious R-E-S-P-E-C-T to somebody in the audience with great musical taste, pointed out the shirt from the stage all eyes turned towards us. Girl O' Sea could not burrow any further into her chair. Poor pet was a touch embarassed.
Ok, so my description so far gives the idea that it was another event. International band plays secret gig. Fair enough call. But Gary finished and left. The crowd thinned out a bit and Atko began to set up. Big, boofy, bearded Anthony. He's a primary school teacher by day. At one of the local schools in these here parts. His "Public and Proud" badge on his guitar strap gives an indication of what sort of school he works at. Atko is never going to have the mainstream popularity of somebody like Paul Kelly or the rusted on support enjoyed by somebody like Mick Thomas or have that wandering minstrel thing that his mate Darren Hanlon has, but he doesn't need that. He writes wonderful pop songs that speak from the heart about relationships and footy and cricket and politics. All of that stuff which means something to me. I don't care if the rest of the world gets him or not, I do. And I saw him play at a local pub on a Sunday night in February with my wife and I had a tear in my eye.
On the treadly coming home it felt as if Melbourne was the only place life could feel this good.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Australia Day
"No occasion in our history echoes the hopes, values and sentiments of Australians more than the day on which our nation rejected the foreign injustices of our past and asserted our own belief that, in this country, we are all born equal."
Above is a sentence from the profile for a Facebook group called 'Move Australia Day to May 27'.
The creator, along with 137 members and AFL legend Ron Barassi, feel that the date of the 1967 referendum should be the appropriate day to celebrate our national pride.
I have two issues with this proposal.
The first relates to the importance placed on the 1967 referendum. There is no argument that it was a significant moment in the lives of Aboriginal Australians. For the first time the Commonwealth government was allowed to make laws specifically regarding them and they were to be included in any future national census. A significant occasion without doubt but still only another step in a long struggle to be recognised as human beings in their own nation. They like all other Australians had been citizens of Australia since 1948 when Australian citizenship became differentiated from being a British subject and their right to vote was confirmed by the Commonwealth in 1949 although it took to the early 60s before they were allowed to vote in all State elections.
Since 1967 there has been Mabo and Wik and Keating's Redfern speech and finally the Apology. All significant moments in a journey that continues. A journey that one day may include proper compensation or a treaty. I don't think we can grab the 27th of May 1967 and say it was the singularly most important day in that journey.
My second issue is that it would seem to be replacing one exclusive day with another. How does white Australia's relationship with Aboriginal Australia affect how somebody of Vietnamese, Lebanese or Sudanese heritage sees themselves in their new country? Yes it is now a part of their common heritage as Australians but does it compare in significance with the abolition of the White Australia policy under the Whitlam and Fraser governments? Surely those reforms could be equally seen as when "our nation rejected the foreign injustices of our past and asserted our own belief that, in this country, we are all born equal."
I must admit that Australia Day in its present form holds little significance for me. I appreciate the chance to burn meat on an open flame and drink beer but I don't do that with any more nationalistic verve than I do on any other day.
If we do indeed need a day to celebrate what is, despite its many failings, quite a bloody good place to live then I have two suggestions.
Either we actually grow up as a nation and become a republic giving ourselves a fantastic opportunity to change the date amongst other things, or we change the date to the day we officially became a nation, January 1st.
But I suspect that would get howled down because that already is a public holiday. And there my friends is the rub.
Above is a sentence from the profile for a Facebook group called 'Move Australia Day to May 27'.
The creator, along with 137 members and AFL legend Ron Barassi, feel that the date of the 1967 referendum should be the appropriate day to celebrate our national pride.
I have two issues with this proposal.
The first relates to the importance placed on the 1967 referendum. There is no argument that it was a significant moment in the lives of Aboriginal Australians. For the first time the Commonwealth government was allowed to make laws specifically regarding them and they were to be included in any future national census. A significant occasion without doubt but still only another step in a long struggle to be recognised as human beings in their own nation. They like all other Australians had been citizens of Australia since 1948 when Australian citizenship became differentiated from being a British subject and their right to vote was confirmed by the Commonwealth in 1949 although it took to the early 60s before they were allowed to vote in all State elections.
Since 1967 there has been Mabo and Wik and Keating's Redfern speech and finally the Apology. All significant moments in a journey that continues. A journey that one day may include proper compensation or a treaty. I don't think we can grab the 27th of May 1967 and say it was the singularly most important day in that journey.
My second issue is that it would seem to be replacing one exclusive day with another. How does white Australia's relationship with Aboriginal Australia affect how somebody of Vietnamese, Lebanese or Sudanese heritage sees themselves in their new country? Yes it is now a part of their common heritage as Australians but does it compare in significance with the abolition of the White Australia policy under the Whitlam and Fraser governments? Surely those reforms could be equally seen as when "our nation rejected the foreign injustices of our past and asserted our own belief that, in this country, we are all born equal."
I must admit that Australia Day in its present form holds little significance for me. I appreciate the chance to burn meat on an open flame and drink beer but I don't do that with any more nationalistic verve than I do on any other day.
If we do indeed need a day to celebrate what is, despite its many failings, quite a bloody good place to live then I have two suggestions.
Either we actually grow up as a nation and become a republic giving ourselves a fantastic opportunity to change the date amongst other things, or we change the date to the day we officially became a nation, January 1st.
But I suspect that would get howled down because that already is a public holiday. And there my friends is the rub.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Down
When Girl O' Sand told me about the phenomenon of post-wedding day depression I laughed. I obviously laughed too soon. I have had a horrible week of feeling sorry for myself. I think that the cases that Girl O' Sand read about were more about the revelation that you were no longer the centre of attention. I can see how that could become addictive but for me it is different.
For a couple of days last week every single person in the world that is special to me lived in Melbourne, but then they left.
As much as I love Girl O' Sand I really need my mates as well. Maybe it is just that I am so tired from the months of preparation. Perhaps it will all be well once we have our week of laying on a beach. Maybe I just have too much time on my hands. Uni going back will fix that.
I hope this doesn't last too long.
Why doesn't everybody want to live in Melbs?
For a couple of days last week every single person in the world that is special to me lived in Melbourne, but then they left.
As much as I love Girl O' Sand I really need my mates as well. Maybe it is just that I am so tired from the months of preparation. Perhaps it will all be well once we have our week of laying on a beach. Maybe I just have too much time on my hands. Uni going back will fix that.
I hope this doesn't last too long.
Why doesn't everybody want to live in Melbs?
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Wife, wife, wife
I am now a husband.
I referred to Girl O' Sand twice today as wife. Both times to complete strangers. I loved the way the word formed in my mouth but still I doubted whether I was able to use such a term. It still seems a touch unreal. The simple gold band on my finger is still foreign and I find myself toying with it often. It is not uncomfortable, just different.
I will comment on the big day properly later but now I am too full of fine Greek food to concentrate. The Hellenic Republic is a new restaurant near us and we took The Father-In-Law there tonight, in part to thank him for a very generous wedding gift. The food was great and the Greek wine was like a fine pinot but just a touch different. Exceptional. A fantastic night was had by all. An interesting man the FIL. I like him a lot.
I referred to Girl O' Sand twice today as wife. Both times to complete strangers. I loved the way the word formed in my mouth but still I doubted whether I was able to use such a term. It still seems a touch unreal. The simple gold band on my finger is still foreign and I find myself toying with it often. It is not uncomfortable, just different.
I will comment on the big day properly later but now I am too full of fine Greek food to concentrate. The Hellenic Republic is a new restaurant near us and we took The Father-In-Law there tonight, in part to thank him for a very generous wedding gift. The food was great and the Greek wine was like a fine pinot but just a touch different. Exceptional. A fantastic night was had by all. An interesting man the FIL. I like him a lot.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Do I need to sleep?
I do not want to go to sleep because when I wake up it will be my wedding day. I love Girl O' Sand so much and I do not doubt that we are doing the right thing but I am very nervous about the day itself. We have planned so long for this. What if we have forgotten something? I must find some way of relaxing and just enjoy the day. Sleep might help.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Helplessness
So mother arrived at our house as crook as Rookwood, as they would say in the Emerald City. A severe case of travel sickness laid her very low. A trip to a doctor was required for a shot. We hadn't had to deal with Melbourne's medical fraternity prior to this but I was lucky to find a wonderful doctor in Northcote. She was so friendly and helpful. I can really understand how dramas occur at medical institutions. The sense of helplessness is quite intense when somebody you love is in distress but there is nothing you can do. Luckily for me mother was fixed up quick sticks and today was back to her perky best.
I on the other hand was anything but perky. So very tired. We did achieve a lot today. The assistance we received from everybody around us was incredible. I have some misgivings about asking people to back up again tomorrow but they seem to really enjoy it. The love of friends and family is incredible. We have a new crew of assistants arriving as well. Fresh cannon fodder for the battle which is the marriage of Man O' Sand to Girl O' Sea.
Only 1 sleep. Shit.
I on the other hand was anything but perky. So very tired. We did achieve a lot today. The assistance we received from everybody around us was incredible. I have some misgivings about asking people to back up again tomorrow but they seem to really enjoy it. The love of friends and family is incredible. We have a new crew of assistants arriving as well. Fresh cannon fodder for the battle which is the marriage of Man O' Sand to Girl O' Sea.
Only 1 sleep. Shit.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
The eye of the storm
Well I survived the bucks with but a few bruises and a day of up and down emotions on the Monday due to the after effects of chemical indulgence. I am obviously not as young as I once was.
I am experiencing a very brief period where I can sit down and relax. Girl O' Sand is off being beautified and enjoying high tea with her mother and sisters. OFITW, who looked after me so very well on the weekend, is again reveling in his role as best-of-men by playing taxi driver to numerous out of town arrivals. The fact that he had never been to our fine metropolis prior to last evening has not held him back. He is attacking the streets with gusto. His only fear is having to do a hook turn in the city but I cannot fault him for that as I am yet to perform one of those manoeuvres.
His latest venture is to pick up my parents from the airport. I am tired and a little grumpy. Never a good state of mind in which to face my mother. It will be hard. I wish Girl O' Sand was here.
2 sleeps to go.
I am experiencing a very brief period where I can sit down and relax. Girl O' Sand is off being beautified and enjoying high tea with her mother and sisters. OFITW, who looked after me so very well on the weekend, is again reveling in his role as best-of-men by playing taxi driver to numerous out of town arrivals. The fact that he had never been to our fine metropolis prior to last evening has not held him back. He is attacking the streets with gusto. His only fear is having to do a hook turn in the city but I cannot fault him for that as I am yet to perform one of those manoeuvres.
His latest venture is to pick up my parents from the airport. I am tired and a little grumpy. Never a good state of mind in which to face my mother. It will be hard. I wish Girl O' Sand was here.
2 sleeps to go.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Another reason I am glad I don't live in The Swich
So it is almost time for me to hop on a plane to Sydney for my buck's weekend. Suddenly it all seems so real. We have prepared for the wedding for so long that it has seemed a touch unreal up until now. It has just been Girl O' Sand and myself working on little projects like dresses and rings and booze. All of it concerning just the two of us but now others are becoming involved. It isn't just us sharing some sort of delusion, it is real.
In the area where I grew up, a fairly typical outer suburban satellite city which we will call The Swich, the stories of buck's parties generally involved considerable consumption of the local lager, a young lady who performed a burlesque cabaret act and the groom-to-be making the acquaintance of the local constabulary. The interaction with Queensland's finest generally occurred when they came across the lucky fellow naked and chained to a post on a major intersection. These stories may be apocryphal, I was fortunate enough to leave said city without experiencing one of these fun night's out, but the frequency with which they are told would have me believe them.
Most of the attrocities seemed to be the work of the groom's "best man". Now being the inclusive chap that I am, I have three best men. Each an old and dear friend and somewhat symbolic of, but certainly not restricted to, certain stages of my life. Hank Five, has been an amigo since my mid-teens, Ambrose, was one of my first friends I made in the scary new world of Sydney in my mid-twenties, and Oldest Friend In The World (OFITW), is just that. We were childhood next-door-neighbours and I cannot remember life without him being in it. Unfortunately due to the tyranny of distance Hank Five cannot make it this weekend. Ambrose is the sensitive type and being the father of a one year old has no energy for shennanigans anyway, so I fear not his presence. OFITW is another case though. Still a single man he is always keen for various forms of indulgence and, despite having left The Swich as a teenager, he is well indoctrinated to its social customs. He has assured me that all conduct will be discreet and modest but still I must keep my wits about me.
It occurred to me today that I had often day dreamed about my buck's party, as part of the much larger getting married day dream. I often drift off into my own imaginary world. I think it often involved the private room at Tetsuya's and lots of great booze. Alas that is not to be. Far too expensive. Instead it is going to be paintball, something I have always wanted to try, a few beers in a sunny beer garden somewhere and a big feed of Chinese. It should be fun. Unfortunately some very good friends cannot make it from interstate but I will get to see them all next week.
Sunday hopefully will be spent in the water at Bondi, the place where I feel most alive.
In the area where I grew up, a fairly typical outer suburban satellite city which we will call The Swich, the stories of buck's parties generally involved considerable consumption of the local lager, a young lady who performed a burlesque cabaret act and the groom-to-be making the acquaintance of the local constabulary. The interaction with Queensland's finest generally occurred when they came across the lucky fellow naked and chained to a post on a major intersection. These stories may be apocryphal, I was fortunate enough to leave said city without experiencing one of these fun night's out, but the frequency with which they are told would have me believe them.
Most of the attrocities seemed to be the work of the groom's "best man". Now being the inclusive chap that I am, I have three best men. Each an old and dear friend and somewhat symbolic of, but certainly not restricted to, certain stages of my life. Hank Five, has been an amigo since my mid-teens, Ambrose, was one of my first friends I made in the scary new world of Sydney in my mid-twenties, and Oldest Friend In The World (OFITW), is just that. We were childhood next-door-neighbours and I cannot remember life without him being in it. Unfortunately due to the tyranny of distance Hank Five cannot make it this weekend. Ambrose is the sensitive type and being the father of a one year old has no energy for shennanigans anyway, so I fear not his presence. OFITW is another case though. Still a single man he is always keen for various forms of indulgence and, despite having left The Swich as a teenager, he is well indoctrinated to its social customs. He has assured me that all conduct will be discreet and modest but still I must keep my wits about me.
It occurred to me today that I had often day dreamed about my buck's party, as part of the much larger getting married day dream. I often drift off into my own imaginary world. I think it often involved the private room at Tetsuya's and lots of great booze. Alas that is not to be. Far too expensive. Instead it is going to be paintball, something I have always wanted to try, a few beers in a sunny beer garden somewhere and a big feed of Chinese. It should be fun. Unfortunately some very good friends cannot make it from interstate but I will get to see them all next week.
Sunday hopefully will be spent in the water at Bondi, the place where I feel most alive.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
The vows
So now the vows are locked in. I am actually quite happy with them. I have never considered myself any sort of poet so writing our own were never really an option for me. I lack the focus needed. I am a rambler, as any reader of this blog would be aware. We cut and pasted and now have something which seems to have suitable gravitas.
Deciding on the wording of the vows has made me think about how important those six lines of text are. I have never made a vow that I intended to keep before. Being a confirmed atheist is fine as an adult but I found that after making the realisation that I was a godless heathen as a 12 year old, I needed to make the right sounds to keep the powers at be (ie my mother and various members of Catholic religious orders) happy. My fingers were often crossed. I plan to keep my hands in full sight during our ceremony.
We even had a dry run of the service today in order to get the musical timing right. I almost teared up and I don't think it would have taken much for Girl O' Sand to do the same. We will both be a mess on the day I suspect.
I am presently trying to lock in the musical selection for the moments when the band is not playing. How do I keep everybody happy and on the dance floor? Let's just say the selection will be eclectic and I am constantly trying to smother my inner music snob. I am sure I will not remember a moment single note after the night. As long as everybody has fun I will be happy.
10 sleeps to go.
Deciding on the wording of the vows has made me think about how important those six lines of text are. I have never made a vow that I intended to keep before. Being a confirmed atheist is fine as an adult but I found that after making the realisation that I was a godless heathen as a 12 year old, I needed to make the right sounds to keep the powers at be (ie my mother and various members of Catholic religious orders) happy. My fingers were often crossed. I plan to keep my hands in full sight during our ceremony.
We even had a dry run of the service today in order to get the musical timing right. I almost teared up and I don't think it would have taken much for Girl O' Sand to do the same. We will both be a mess on the day I suspect.
I am presently trying to lock in the musical selection for the moments when the band is not playing. How do I keep everybody happy and on the dance floor? Let's just say the selection will be eclectic and I am constantly trying to smother my inner music snob. I am sure I will not remember a moment single note after the night. As long as everybody has fun I will be happy.
10 sleeps to go.
Friday, January 2, 2009
An interesting period
The days are getting fewer. Only 15 till the wedding. The last two weeks have gone so fast.
Life has been up and down a bit lately. Xmas and the stresses of counting down to the big day will do that to you.
Unfortunately Girl O' Sand and myself broke out good run and had our first real fight. A combination of lack of sleep, wedding stresses and too much boozing on my part. Thankfully we sorted it out quickly but I do not want to go through that too often. Over indulgence on my part has probably been a bit too regular in recent weeks.
A high point of the recent past has been a visit by The Low Five. They hitched the Hyundai to our post for a couple of days. Lil' Anton once again proved that a 7 year old can be the smartest one in the room. He may never get the chance to pull on the baggy green for Australia but if his current cricket fixation continues I can see him dissecting the game in print in a way that the likes of Roebuck and Haigh can only dream about.
It was nice to get a chance to chat about writing with Hank Five. We don't often get the chance to talk face to face anymore. I just finished reading his Masters work as well. I found it very uncomfortable to read in parts but I think that is what he meant it to be, especially for those that know him well. It is an ambitious bit of writing. If it wasn't for his explanation I think a lot of it might have been lost on me but I hope I do understand at least some of it properly. The pressure is now on him to reproduce the quality in his best-man's speech.
The countdown continues.
Life has been up and down a bit lately. Xmas and the stresses of counting down to the big day will do that to you.
Unfortunately Girl O' Sand and myself broke out good run and had our first real fight. A combination of lack of sleep, wedding stresses and too much boozing on my part. Thankfully we sorted it out quickly but I do not want to go through that too often. Over indulgence on my part has probably been a bit too regular in recent weeks.
A high point of the recent past has been a visit by The Low Five. They hitched the Hyundai to our post for a couple of days. Lil' Anton once again proved that a 7 year old can be the smartest one in the room. He may never get the chance to pull on the baggy green for Australia but if his current cricket fixation continues I can see him dissecting the game in print in a way that the likes of Roebuck and Haigh can only dream about.
It was nice to get a chance to chat about writing with Hank Five. We don't often get the chance to talk face to face anymore. I just finished reading his Masters work as well. I found it very uncomfortable to read in parts but I think that is what he meant it to be, especially for those that know him well. It is an ambitious bit of writing. If it wasn't for his explanation I think a lot of it might have been lost on me but I hope I do understand at least some of it properly. The pressure is now on him to reproduce the quality in his best-man's speech.
The countdown continues.
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