wusa news + features arts + culture

1
WUSA
reports
NEWS + FEATURES
INDUSTRIAL RELATIONS: IMPROVEMENT OR IMPAIRMENT?
By Sally Millar
The Peak Oil Age
By Aaron Orlando
THE MACQUARIE FIELDS RIOTS: TRAGEDY, HATRED AND FIRE
By Daniel Willis
TERRORISM, MEDIA AND THE MYTHOLOGY OF HEROES
A fireside ramble through the eyes of a balloon glass
By Daniel Willis
(CHARACTER) ASSASSINATING POLITICAL ‘HEROES’
By John Finlayson
HERO-WORSHIP: Stalin And The Cult Of Personality
By Maddy Phelan
PROTESTORS: TO BE OR NOT TO BE
By Sally Millar
ARTS + CULTURE
I Need a Hero to Make Me Millions
By Alex McLean
IN SUPPORT OF VSU
By Michael Sweet
A Message from Your Local Bastard
By The Surly Kitty
THE AMAZING ADVENTURES OF YOU AND I
By Mitchell Jordan
10 Mins Sarah Blasko Will Never, Ever Get Back
HITTING THE HIGH (AND LOW) NOTES WITH DAN BULL
By Mitchell Jordan
OVER THE EDGE Writers Catherine Rey, Sonya Hartnett
and Anne Bartlett speak on Emotion and Excess.
By Mitchell Jordan.
Modular Gumbo An interview with Steve Pav
By Pete Kelly
The Art of Hero Worship [or how to prostrate yourself for supreme satisfaction]*
By Mariantonia Cara
SUPER HERO OR FELINE FELON?
by Maddy Phelan
IS SHE A WONDER?
By Monique Mueller
Literary Heroes.
By Centine Wilbers & Adam Norris
HORNBAGS OR HEROINES?
By Carla Weber & Mitchell Jordan
QUICK QUIZ
By Natalie Aylward
A WEIGHTY ISSUE: PHAT WITH AN F
By Miss Philippa
QUEEROES: SALVATION FROM MEDOCRITY
By Angela J Williams
20/20: Live in a Day – Theatre on Speed
By Lachlan Williams
STANDING IN THE SHADOWS OF AN AFFIDAVIT
By Lamar Jordan Ico
REVIEWS
CREATIVE
3
06
08
11
12
14
16
19
20
22
23
24
26
28
29
30
31
32
34
38
40
44
45
46
47
48
50
64
REGULARS
36
42
GIG GUIDE
Madame Helga
Publisher
Ben Coughlin
WUSA Northfields Ave
Gwynneville
Printed by MPD
18 - 22 Murray St,
Marrickville NSW 2204
Contributors:
Mitchell Jordan, Tom McLean, John Mu,
Michael Molkentin, Daniel Menges, Leigh
Couchman, Jeremy Prangnell, Joel Turner,
Sally Millar, Aaron Orlando, John Finlayson,
Maddy Feline, Monique Mueller, Michael
Sweet, Daniel East, Lamar Jordan Ico, Daniel
Willis, The Surly Kitty, Pete Kelly, Natalie
Aylward, Adam Norris, Angela J. Williams, Carla
Weber, Miss Philippa Mariantonia Cara, and
Centine Wilbers.
The Tertangala and WUSA recognise and
acknowledge the people of the Yuin Nation
as the traditional custodians of this land.
DISCLAIMER: Responsibility for WUSA’s
electronic and non-electronic publications
is taken by WUSA Council. The University of
Wollongong accepts no responsibility for
WUSA publications.
DISCLOSURE: The content of this publication is
made by and for the students of the University
of Wollongong. Views expressed are those
of individual authors and do not necessarily
relfect those of WUSA or the publisher.
As we've said like a million times before
the Tert is 'your voice on campus'... So we
wanna hear your opinions and suggestions
-- tell us what you think by writing to
[email protected].
2
ED. I’ve never really had a hero, with the possible exception of Teen Wolf
(come on he’s a kick-ass basketballer who can bite beer cans with his fangs
- what’s not to worship?!) Apart from that, I guess cynicism, or maybe realism,
pointed out the risk of pinning my dreams on mere mortals. Recently however,
and particularly with the sudden loss of our cheery, helpful and funny friend Jeff
Gilmore, I’ve been admiring one particularly heroic quality, which sometimes
seems hard to come by - being nice.
Niceness is scoffed at by many of us as a simplistic notion -- a person can’t
possibly be interesting, if they don’t have a chip on their shoulder, a cloud over
their head, a scowl on their face, a machete in their backpack and whipping
sarcasm spewing from their mouth. And don’t get me wrong I hate those airyfairy mass emails spouting feel-good propaganda about just one smile at a
stranger per week starting a ripple effect which will end world hunger, solve the
oil shortage, fix the ozone layer, save the north-American pika and lead to the
salvation of humankind as much as any Tert editor.
With this editorial however, I would like to acknowledge the way that people like
Jeff have brightened up my life and, before I shake hands with the local bastard
and concede defeat, make the rebuttal that you don’t need to be naive to be
good-quality,
Krissy K
“I have three rules which I live by: Never get less than 12 hours sleep, never
play cards with a guy who has the same first name as a city, and never go near
a lady with a tattoo of a dagger on her hand. Now you stick with that, and
everything else is cream cheese.” The basketball coach in Teen Wolf”
REPRESENTATIVE
REPORTS.
3
Presidents Report
Hey fellow students,
Tragically one of our staff members and friends of the Association passed away recently. He was
a young man with four children who dedicated his time to helping students. So in gratitude
to his devotion to the organization, the student council has decided to rename the new
book Bank, “The Jeff Gilmore Memorial Book bank” in his honour. The association will shortly
announce details for those who wish to participate in the renaming.
You may also have noticed the new office restructure is finally complete. We now have better
accessibility of services and our staff are now better equipped to deal with the concerns and
interests of students.
On a lighter note, you may have also noticed that WUSA has delivered in its promise to provide
free Tea and Coffee to students. To take advantage of this new service just simply come down
to the Glass house lounge. At the moment we have hot chocolate, tea, coffee, sugar and milk.
Everything you need to keep you awake in boring lectures.
In further good news, your student association was instrumental in the successful lobbying of
the state government in achieving a 4.5million upgrade to North Wollongong Train Station.
Parking is one of the major concerns of students on campus (just about everyone has been
there looking for a vacant parking spot for half an hour.) Hopefully the new easy access upgrade
will reduce parking congestion, as more students start to take trains as well as helping disabled
students cross the railway lines. The Uni has also agreed to change the parking restrictions in
the Western Car Park so things should start to look better soon.
If any of you have any concerns at all, or just want to get involved, come down to the WUSA
offices across from the duck pond lawn near security. We are friendly approachable people who
are simply here to represent and serve you.
Welfare Officer Report
Hmmmm well,
Despite the holidays being upon us things are still getting done here in your humble WUSA
offices. The free tea, coffee and hot chocolate dispenser is now installed in the glasshouse
lounge area, so if you’re feeling broke or are simply a tight-arse come down and refresh
yourself…
If you’ve only just enrolled or are simply unaware -- there is a free BBQ held every Tuesday
lunchtime where we’ll be happy to serve you as long as you don’t become a greedy bastard and
try to take two bread rolls at once! It has been rumoured that such actions have at various times
resulted in death, however these rumours are yet to be verified.
The WUSA offices have had a restructure, so come in and check out the new WUSA service
centre for cheap textbooks, cheap photocopying and if you’re feeling unfairly treated by your
landlord, centrelink, lecturer or tutor come in for advocacy.
WUSA President Ben Coughlin
Anthony Kneipp
Welfare Officer
4
Education Campaigns Coordinator Report
Women's Representative Report
The Education Action Collective have been very, very busy. We had
some excellent anti-vsu actions last semester, and are busy at the
moment planning for spring session.
Well they say nothing can keep a good girl down, but unfortunately
that’s just not true. I’ve been quiet for the last month or so, because I’ve
been ill. Its unfortunate but these things happen. But while I’ve been in
bed feeling limp and lifeless a few things have happened...
You have probably seen our presence and posters around campus.
VSU and other government education policy is something that effects
all of us.
This government do not act in our interests: they’ve taken over $5
billion out of higher education, increased hecs by 35%, abolished
our text-book subsidy and have given preference to full-fee paying
students. Just recently Brendan Nelson (Minister for Education) told
the ABC that a university education was a “privilege”. This is how they
justify taking away our rights and stripping back our uni’s whilst
increasing the costs to students enormously. VSU is the last straw. It is
an attempt to silence our opposition to their uni-destroying agenda.
In this kind of political climate, education activism is extremely
important. We need to work together to protect our rights, our
interests and the future of higher education.
So if you think that VSU, the budget and government decisions don’t
effect you, you’re wrong. If you think that you don’t benefit from
universal student unionism, you’re wrong again. And if you think that
there’s no need to be involved in education campaigns, you’re most
definitely wrong.
Our collective voice is the only way we can oppose the government
and get our interests on their agenda. Together we are so much
stronger.
So get involved!
Come to our Education Action Collective meetings:
Every Wednesday (during session)
5:30 in the WUSA Glasshouse Lounge (bld 11)
Contact me for more info:
[email protected] or ph. 0408 266 144
Jenna McConnachie
Education Campaigns Coordinator
The political situation has changed; a new senate will take their seats
and this could be a good thing or the end of life as we know it.
The women of Australia have been speaking out on matters such as
abortion, breast cancer and the fact they have no time anymore. (A
feeling I know and “love” like going to the dentist for a filling.) They
have spoken out on the fact no one has time to find a partner, let alone
time for procreation, by any forms or means. Something I fully agree
with. Men of Australia its time for you to do your part, make some girl
feel special and give her the time of day, buy her a present or go out
on a date.
MAKE TIME FOR THE GOOD THINGS.
I have over the last few weeks of sickness pondered what the meaning
of life is, decided I need to go out more and experience life. I’ve
watched way too much daytime TV. There is only so much Dr Phil and
Oprah you can watch before you want to take over the world. A woman
can make a million dollars with a single passion and anything can be
achieved with hard work.
When I lost 2 friends this semester I came to learn the meaning of this
thing we call life and when I thought maybe my own life was at risk,
I thought about it even more. I made a decision and I hope it is one
that the rest of the UOW population will join me in. I am not going to
waste time - I know what I want and I’m going to take it. I’m no longer
going to close my mouth and sit on the fence, Lets face it all you get
is splinters.
This report is not so much about telling you that Week 4 is Women’s
Week and that the Women’s Collective will start meeting at 12.30 on a
Wednesday as of next term; it not about telling you to become more
active in the UOW life by reading this and getting up on a soap box
every time you hear someone speaking about how the government
shouldn’t fund abortion through Medicare, when someone speaks
on the pros of domestic violence or why should the women of UOW
have there own space ... Girls, Women, Womyn, Ladies or Chickie babes,
whatever you like to be called this report is about telling you to grab
life with both hands, make sure you look after yourself, go to the doctor
and have that check up and of course sink your teeth into Uni work.
And if you have time fall in love and have that giddy high we all call
life. It might be the best thing you have ever done. And while your out
there send some good thoughts my way, and maybe a nice bloke or
too as well. While life is crazy and complicated most of the time, it is
also way too short.
Dedicated to my homeboy Jeff, our lives will be brighter for knowing
you and for you touching our lives and minds.
Justine
5
Rep Report
Environment Representative
howdy howdy howdy, what a busy session autumn session 2005
‘twas! After much reflection on the VSU activity that occurred, all in all
I can say that it was pretty darn successful. So proud of the education
collective and of everyone who attended the on campus rallies – lets
keep the momentum going… we need to hit the ground running next
session, with the next NDA on August 10, so if you haven’t already
joined the education collective, you should do so and come along to
some meetings…
Last semester saw the Environment Collective get up and running
again. We worked towards organizing the Wollongong contingent
heading down to the National Environment Conference that ran from
the 10th to the 15th July at Monash Uni.
What else…. Jess Moore [Environment officer] and I will be attending
the Students of Sustainability conference 2005 from the 10-15 July. The
conference runs for a week or so and Jess and I will gain plenty of ideas
and info to get the enviro collective up and cruising again [as well as
freezing to death as we’ll be camping in Melbourne in July…] Yay!
For those queer students out there, get excited for sexuality/queer
week held in week 6! Presently we’re trying to get together a mini
queer zine for sexuality week, so if you have anything that you would
like to contribute then email me: kmj86@uow...
As weeeeellll, remember if you have anything that you want the
council to be aware of or think that we should be doing something
that we aren’t, then come in and see us in the office, or utilise some
technology and email us. As one of the gen reps on council, that’s what
I’m here for! sunshine and snow peas, karlee j
On campus the Collective has been heavily involved in the Stop VSU
Campaign. The legislation to abolish Universal Student Unionism
poses a direct threat to the whole environment movement. This is
because students have always been a strong part of environmental
justice campaigns, nationally and in our local area, such as the
indigenous struggle at Sandon Point.
In addition we’ve been working towards increasing recycling facilities
on campus and the number of covered bike racks under video
surveillance to offer students riding to uni increased protection and
security.
If you have an interest in environmental issues I encourage you to get
involved and do something about it! This semester the collective will
be meeting at 12:30pm every Tuesday, outside the Glasshouse. You can
also call or drop by the WUSA offices or email [email protected]
ow.edu.au.
Until next time petals,
Jess Moore
6
There is a saying that was a favourite
of my legal studies teacher in high
school: “Power tends to corrupt;
absolute power corrupts absolutely”.
It seemed quite profound at the time
as he explained the separation of
powers and the need for a two house
government system to prevent all
the power being in the hands of a
single party. This is why my skin
creeps and my radars are out at
the situation of a Liberal majority in
both lower and upper houses. The
government is in a position to pass
just about anything it wants to and
the repercussions for our country
are going to be huge.
The Prime Minister and the Minster for
Employment and Workplace Relations, Kevin
Andrews, announced their plans for Industrial
Relations reform at the end of May. These
reforms centre around a push for Federal
control of industrial relations and individual
agreements negotiated between each
employer and each employee directly. This will
replace the state awards that currently control
the wages and conditions of workers in many
sectors including non-government and
tertiary education systems, retail, transport,
manufacturing, building and construction,
clerical and administration and many more.
The Government suggests that this will
cut down on paper work and streamline
the award system,
while removing the
discrepancies that
may exist between
states.
INDUSTRIAL RELATIONS:
IMPROVEMENT OR IMPAIRMENT?
These reforms will amount to a minimum set
of conditions set by the Federal Government
and the onus placed on individual employees
to negotiate with their employers regarding
overtime, maternity and paternity leave and
any other areas not specifically outlined
by the new award. They will also require
individual employees to bargain for anything
beyond the minimum set of conditions.
Under the proposed reforms, the Government
plans to establish the Australian Fair Pay
Commission which will periodically set
minimum wage levels and to introduce
7
the Australian Fair Pay and Conditions
Standard which will determine annual leave,
maximum hours of work and parental leave.
The government suggests these changes will
“protect workers in the bargaining process”*
however, from my skeptical point of view, this
seems just another way to elbow out and
reduce the power of unions. The changes will
mean that workers will lose their collective
bargaining power by making individuals
negotiate their own conditions, while in
comparison, by nationalising the Industrial
Relations system, the government has the
overarching power to control wages across
the country.
The government suggest that these changes
will also “increase workplace productivity”*
which is great for those who own the business
but the underlying cost is to the worker who
is forced to go above and beyond in the hope
that they can then negotiate a better contract.
The Government will not be legislating on
notice of termination, long service leave, jury
service, superannuation or overtime, leaving
the employee to independently negotiate
their way back up to anywhere near their
current agreements. A concrete example?
Currently, the Sydney Catholic Education
Office award bases its basic salary on yearly
increments. The result of the changes will
see long term teachers who are currently on
higher tiers having to negotiate their way
back to such incomes. This is just one of many
disadvantages faced by a single section of a
single sector.
In addition, sectors who rely on any
government funding, such as the education
sector, fear that if they continue employing
people on the current conditions awarded
to them, their funding may dry up. Australian
Council of Trade Unions (ACTU) Secretary
Greg Combet claims the government “plans
to cut public funding to universities by
$280 million and cut TAFE funding by $1.2
billion unless they adopt hard line workplace
relations policies that include offering all staff
individual contracts with inferior conditions
and introducing more casual employment”.º
The reforms also have implications for the
rights of students and workers within the
affected sectors.
While the Government is not about to “remove
the right to join a union”*, the unions are
going to be swamped by individual cases and
generally limited to do anything to support
the collective. The ACTU are also concerned
that the government will violate worker’s
rights under the new system and suggest that
workers will most likely receive lower wages
and poorer conditions. The reforms are also
intended to have a very broad application.
Does anyone else wonder about how much
power our Federal Government really wants
or needs when it makes statements such as
“it is estimated that a national workplace
relations system will cover 85% of all
Australian workers.”
70% believing the entire change is a bad idea.
In addition, 62% believed wages will reduce,
64% thought job security will be at risk and
55% supported union campaigns against the
changes.^
But with the Liberals in both houses, like
VSU, this might be another one that slips
through the cracks no matter how much we
protest or how unsure the country is. It will
be interesting to see how much difference
the protests, union meetings and possible
strike action will make. Does the current
government actually care what the people
want?
By Sally Millar
NSW Industrial Relations Minister, John Della
Bosca, has openly promised resistance to
the Federal Government’s push for national
control but like many, he feels that the High
Court may not be as impartial as would be
necessary for the government to be stopped
on this matter. He claims “a national workplace
relations system will mean employers have to
spend time and money negotiating complex
individual agreements with their workers,
rather than being able to employ staff under
a clearly defined award.”˜
The reforms plan to eliminate unfair dismissal
claims for any company that employs less
than 100 people or as the Government states
it: “to fix Labor’s ‘unfair’ unfair dismissal laws.”*
It also leaves anyone who had been employed
for less than six months out on their own. This
may benefit employers, which is great for
them but it also leaves employees with a lot
less job security.
But it can’t all be bad… right? Even just a
quick glance over the proposal will give you
a clear indication of who is going to benefit
from these changes. The small business
employer and employers in general will be
given much more freedom which could result
in more short term positions and less pressure
on employers.
Current polls suggest that the public is far from
convinced, with polls showing 72% opposed
to removing protection from unfair dismissal,
82% concerned about the reduced ability to
collectively bargain with their employer and
* These quotes are taken from the 26/05/2005 media release by
Minister Kevin Andrews, Department of Employment and Workplace
Relations. To see this and the details of the reform package go to: http:
//www.dewrsb.gov.au/ministersAndMediaCentre/mediacentre/
detail.asp?keywords=&title=&creator=&type=&month=&year=&i
ndex=&show=3359
^ Results quoted from http://www.actu.asn.au
º Quoted from http://www.actu.asn.au/public/news/1117503604_
27600.html
˜ NSW Office of Industrial Relations http://www.industrialrelations.ns
w.gov.au/pubs/issue+16+-+march+2005.html#news
8
The Peak Oil Age
By Aaron Orlando
The American invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq didn’t make sense to me until I
understood the reason. It’s not just oil. It’s peak oil.
If you’ve never heard of peak oil, get ready to hear a lot more in the next few years. Humans have
consumed half of the available oil on the planet, and the rate at which we can produce oil is about to
peak, after which it will decline.
Simple economics dictates that when supply diminishes, and demand increases, prices go up.
We are currently experiencing the $60 barrel of oil, with predictions of $3 for a litre of petrol at the
pump in a few years. And that’s just demand side-pressure, before peak oil has kicked in.
Demand is increasing and this will continue. Energy consumption in China is predicted to rise by
over 4% a year until 2020, with India, Brazil and Mexico not far behind at 3%. To make things worse,
emerging affluence among the middle classes of developing nations often means the emulation
of western lifestyles, heavy on oil consumption.
The term ‘peak oil’ is based on a prediction by geophysicist M. King Hubbert who, in the
1950s made a mathematical model predicting that the total amount of oil extraction would
conform to a bell curve, known as the Hubbert Peak. He predicted the US oil extraction
would peak around 1970.
The theory was widely dismissed and derided in 1970 by oil analysts who noted that
the US was experiencing record rates of oil extraction.
However, US extraction and production rates fell the next year and have been in
decline ever since. Hubbert’s theory is now generally accepted, with the next
peak in question being global oil production – peak oil.
Dr. Colin Campbell is regarded as the leading expert on the study of peak
oil. A geologist who has worked for many of the major oil companies, he
is a co-founder of the Association for the Study of Peak Oil and Gas
(www.peakoil.net).
9
He feels that we have used about 49% of available oil reserves, and are
soon to experience the following peak in oil production. He notes that
the peak in oil production will not be apparent, but will be indicated by
the resulting slide in production, resulting in lower standards of living.
commute by car, you could be in trouble. Rising rates of bankruptcy are
normal during periods of high inflation. Some have gone as far as to
predict that there will be a reverse migration from the suburbs to the
inner cities, turning the suburbs into the new slums.
Thus, we have seen the end of the first half of the oil age, which has
lasted 150 years, and with oil consumption at an all time high and set to
increase, it will be a much quicker and a more expensive second half.
Other expectations of the western lifestyle may disappear completely.
Cheap airfares will be gone. Imported goods will become increasingly
expensive. The maintenance of roadways will become cost prohibitive.
The effects of peak oil are far-reaching and go well beyond paying more
at the pump.
Readers who note that the burning of oil contributes to global
warming through CO2 may see a silver lining in the peak oil scenario.
Unfortunately, upon closer inspection, it is more of a grey, coal smog,
even if the oil-consuming vehicle is replaced by an electrically powered
alternative.
In western societies we’ve grown accustomed to a standard of living
provided by cheap oil. As children we grow up with the dream that one
day we’ll own a house, we’ll hop on a plane for vacation, enjoy cheap
food from the supermarket and drive everywhere we go.
With the onset of peak oil, this lifestyle may not be possible for much
longer – becoming a dream for most.
Virtually everything we consume is reliant on oil at one stage in its
production. Higher oil prices means everything will become more
expensive and some things will be priced beyond our reach.
Food, the most basic necessity, is not just casually associated with oil
- but what’s on our plates might as well be made of it.
It has been estimated that ten calories of oil energy has been expended
for every calorie of food we consume. The so-called “Green Revolution”
which began in the 1940s created a western society capable of
producing more agricultural products through the use of modern
mass farming techniques, based on the internal combustion engines of
tractors, harvesters and pickers.
Fertilisers and pesticides made of oil formed the backbone of the
revolution. Oil is used to make and run the farm equipment necessary to
harvest massive agribusiness enterprises. Oil harvests and ships the farm
products to processing plants, which are run on oil-generated energy.
Processed foods are made with and placed in packages made with
hydrocarbons, and shipped in trucks to supermarkets. We drive to the
store and back on gasoline. And that is just the food related products.
The production of metal is energy intensive. Plastic is made of oil. Some
textiles are made of oil, and all require oil in order to be produced and
distributed. All of these products are shipped in planes, boats, trains
and trucks that run on oil. In fact, look around you now and try to find
something that does not rely on oil at some stage in its production.
The end result of a spike in oil prices means that everything is going to
get more expensive. Everything includes the consumer price index, the
cost of living index, the producer price index and the commodity price
index – the four horsemen of inflation.
If you, like many Australians, are on a fixed income with a mortgage, and
The world has hundreds of years of coal left to generate power, and
this may be the only practical source of centralised power as oil prices
increase. And that means a net increase in CO2 and methane gas
emissions.
Governments will also move to nuclear energy to solve the crisis caused
by peak oil.
Another scarier scenario is the exploitation of oil reserves previously
considered too unsafe, uneconomical and involving too much
environmental degradation. These include heavy oil, tar sands and shale
oil.
Heavy oil is a variety of crude high in sulphur, bitumen and clay, which
has made its extraction and processing too expensive to be economically
viable in a market flooded by conventional oil. As prices spike, these
fields will become open to exploitation. The economic viability of heavy
oil under high oil price schemes does not mitigate the environmental
risks associated with the extraction and processing of heavy oil.
Heavy oil is extracted through open pit mining, and the raw material
is flooded with water to separate the oil from other materials, creating
massive amounts of toxic slurry. Unlike conventional oil, which is
pumped through pipes to processing plants, heavy oil is processed in
situ, meaning it needs to be processed at the site where it is discovered,
even if it is an environmentally sensitive area.
Another difficulty is that the extraction of heavy oils is
water and energy intensive. Steam is pumped into
the raw material to separate bitumen from oil.
This process requires volumes of water and
an energy source to heat the oil, usually
natural gas. The process has been likened
to chasing dirty energy with a clean
one.
This does not bode well for the
Orinoco region in Venezuela. It has
90% of the world’s proven heavy oil
10
reserves located in this relatively pristine jungle, and the Orinoco River
is available as a source of water to process the heavy oil and as a toxic
slurry dump. It seems another natural ecosystem is slated for destruction
by our thirst for oil.
the construction of great cities, civic projects and monuments, defeat of
foes, and the flourishing of arts and sciences, you could always count on
a couple of moralising paragraphs about what they didn’t see coming
that did them in.
Interestingly, Venezuela, under the leadership of leftist President Hugo
Chavez recently placed an order for over 100,000 Kalishnikov assault
rifles and a new fleet of warplanes. US Secretary of Defence Donald
Rumsfeld is on the record saying, “I can’t imagine why Venezuela needs
100,000 AK-47s.” Increasingly aligned with Fidel Castro, President Chavez
controls one fifth of the US crude supply and perhaps the future of oil.
One wonders that Mr. Rumsfeld isn’t more imaginative.
The problems faced by those civilisations were not insurmountable. It
was their inaction, or their failure to assess the problem that was fatally
inadequate. This time we face the crisis on a global scale, with societies
whose infrastructure is most heavily based on oil to face the largest
shock, and furthest fall.
Another candidate for environmental destruction is a region of Alberta,
Canada, home to the Athabasca Tar Sands. Also a mix of oil and sand, it is
already home to multiple open pit mines. Large natural gas pipelines are
under construction to provide the energy required to process the oil.
Australia is currently re-exploring schemes for exploiting shale oil
reserves. Shale oil is derived from bituminous shale that produces
petroleum upon distillation via a chemical process known as retorting.
Again, the process is energy and water intensive, and produces a
carcinogenic type of waste rock that is actually 30% more voluminous
than when it was extracted from the open-pit mine.
If there is any reading between the lines to be done on peak oil, one
needs only to listen to the critics of the theory who argue that it is
over-hyped because we will soon be fully tapping into heavy oil and
tar sands.
While it is true that this might lessen the shock of peak oil, it will do
everything to increase global warming. We’ve got our head in the tarsand if we don’t do something to reduce oil consumption before we
burn through the heavy oils.
Processing heavy oils is designed to prolong the oil-based economy
and mitigate the shock of peak oil on economies heavily dependent on
oil, such as the United States. This will only postpone the inevitable, and
serve to destroy ecosystems and greatly worsen global warming.
One perspective is that ignoring the situation until it has become a crisis
strengthens the interests of big energy businesses who are positioned
to provide alternatives based on a centralised energy policy.
Centralised energy could indeed be the problem itself. Renewable
energy in the form of solar panels, wind generators, hydro-electricity and
developments such as the wave energy generator currently anchored
off Port Kembla are all steps in the right direction, albeit baby steps.
What was needed is large-scale investment in these schemes decades
ago.
Call me morbid, but when studying the great civilisations in history
class, I always looked forward to reading about their fall. After tales of
And fatalities are predicted in the world of peak oil. It is a lens through
which recent American military aggression can be seen as the opening
moves in a new era of global military Realpolitik based on the struggle
for dwindling energy reserves. Emerging superpowers such as China
and India may not be content to stand by and subside on the leftovers.
THE MACQUARIE FIELDS RIOTS:
11
TRAGEDY, HATRED AND FIRE
It was a Friday night and three young men in a stolen
car tore through the streets of Macquarie Fields, an
unmarked police car in hot pursuit. At exactly 3:08am,
the fleeing car veered out of control and smashed into a
telegraph pole. The passengers, Dyllan Rayward, 17 and
Matthew Robertson, 19, were both instantly killed. The
driver, Jesse Kelly, escaped.
Deborah talked to her nephew about what had happened.
In the following hours, news of the deaths swept through the suburb,
along with the rumour that the boys had been rammed by police in
the moments before the accident. Horror and outrage spilled on to
the streets and for four nights in a row, the youth of Macquarie Fields
emerged from their homes to do battle with what they saw as an
unjust and murdering police force.
Macquarie Fields is in many ways characteristic of the problems
facing our society. An area with concentrated public housing and
high unemployment, it is a place where many residents feel they are
alternately shunned and oppressed by the powers that be.
“It’s the coppers’. It’s not your fault, Jesse, please!” she said.“The coppers
did this to you so it was not your fault. You remember that, that they
rammed you, didn’t they?”
“Nah, I just lost it,” he replied.
“What’s there to do here, man,” said Steve Cook,
a 19-year-old resident. “Whatever you do the
cops come after you. You walk down the street,
you get harassed by the coppers.”
The police behaved for the most part
professionally, in what was undeniably an
ugly and violent situation. It is important to
remember, however, that the youths who were
fighting them were distraught and frustrated.
They come from a world of low employment,
absent role models and poor health care. Their
life is one of peer pressure and pack mentality,
forced, by circumstance, to band together.
The ensuing riots were nothing short of intense,
with several officers taken to hospital and
multiple arrests. The crowd hurled rocks, bricks
and petrol bombs. They drove cars at high
speed through police lines and used shopping
trolleys as battering rams. Four boys even set a
mattress alight, before charging headlong into
the waiting shields. Every time officers tried to
make an arrest the crowd would surge forward,
pulling the target back to safety.
By Monday night (the third since the deaths),
the violence had reached fever pitch. An angry
mob on Rosewood Drive clashed with about
100 riot police, just around the corner from the
scene of the accident. As they threw projectiles,
people in the crowd were heard to shout “You
killed our mates, you fucking pigs. You deserve to die too.” Some
residents even clapped and cheered as a policeman was knocked to
the ground, then bashed with a plank of wood. Finally they were driven
back, setting a car on fire to cover their retreat.
Jesse Kelly, the driver of the car, remained on the run for 12 days. Finally
he surrendered to police in Campbelltown, where he had been hiding
in the bush. The officers reported that he appeared relieved that it
was over but it was only after his arrest that the real story began to
emerge.
As part of an unconnected criminal matter, police had previously
bugged Jesse Kelly’s house and installed a covert surveillance camera.
At 3:17am, nine minutes after the accident, Jesse rang his aunt,
Deborah Kelly. Unaware that their conversation was being recorded,
It is perhaps telling that when a witness to the
accident, Jason Greeks, was bashed in front of
his children, the officer in charge of the station
that received the 000 call ordered his men not
to attend. While he has since been stood down
pending a disciplinary hearing, the fact that this occurred carries
significance.
“… what choice do they have now in Macquarie Fields?” said Mick
Kennedy, a former NSW Detective. “I was speaking to a friend this week
and we both agreed that if we had grown up there in this generation,
we would have ended up exactly the same: part of the mob.”
While the accident may have been a flashpoint, the violence that
exploded on the streets of Macquarie fields is reflective of a deeper
social struggle. Until the poorest and most disadvantaged are aided,
the problems recognised and then addressed, the spectre of violence
will always be waiting, for another death, another lie.
By Daniel Willis
12
TERRORISM, MEDIA AND THE
MYTHOLOGY OF HEROES
A fireside ramble through the eyes of a balloon glass
W
hatever your stance on it, terrorism is undeniably
an integral part of today’s society. From the
infamous ‘war on terror’ to obscure freedom fighters in
the mountains of Nepal, from ETA in Spain to the IRA,
terrorism, or at least it’s label, is everywhere.
The main problem the world faces is not just combating it but
deciphering how it works and what exactly it constitutes. There is not
a single definition of terrorism. In the United States, for example, the
State Department, FBI and CIA all have different official definitions.
The State Department defines terrorism as “the threat or use of
violence for political purposes by individuals or groups whether acting
for or in opposition to established governmental authority.” This
definition allows the State Department to conveniently classify groups
as terrorists in a manner which is politically expedient. For example,
revolutionaries in Mexico are terrorists, while counter-revolutionaries
in Nicaragua are not. A death squad operating in Argentina in the 70s
was a terrorist affair, while the strikingly similar CIA-trained Atlacatt
battalion in nearby El Salvador was perfectly acceptable.
In taking on the subject of terrorists, however, one thing fascinates me
the most: that men and women could find and adopt mythologies so
powerful that in fighting for them they would be willing to sacrifice
everything. Not just their homes and jobs but their lives and the lives of
their families. I don’t necessarily agree with their objectives, methods
or outcomes but I can’t help but admire that kind of dedication, in any
context.
The mythologies that drive terrorists are many and varied. Most centre
around three things – religion, land and politics. For those terrorists
fighting on a religious basis, their mythology is everywhere. Observe
a Hezbollah rally and you will be confronted by a forest of symbols.
Specific colours, banners, headwear, slogans, flags being burnt, chants
and so on. Organisations like Hezbollah have spiritual leaders in their
top echelons who lend moral authority to the on-the-ground fighters.
The religious mythology which surrounds these groups is reinforced
at every turn.
Those who are fighting purely for land often have their own folklore.
Zapata, a revered figure in Mexico, led the peasantry into revolt against
the government. Zapata’s achievements, whilst still impressive, have
become both epic and mythic in their scope. He fits the classic hero
mould: humble birth, battle against ‘evil’ (the oppressive government)
and finally his tragic betrayal and death.
Even those fighting on a purely political basis, such as the Maoist
rebels in Nepal, have their own mythologies surrounding their desired
political structure, their own dreams of utopia, their own stories of
battles won and lives sacrificed, of legendary figures rising from the
dust to crush their political masters.
Terrorists operate by exploiting certain mythic structures in society.
Their objective is to communicate with an audience, whether that
be an institution, race, nation or religion. They use a system of
representation. When somebody is killed in a terrorist attack, they are
almost always an innocent citizen. Apart from coincidence, their death
is deliberately unwarranted and untimely.
This is because the terrorist’s aim is to make the target group see the
victims as representational of themselves as a whole. In other words,
the person at home, watching on television, sees the deaths and
thinks to themselves if not for coincidence, that could have been me. This
identification is talked about by Jung. Jung saw it as part of Western
society’s Judeo-Christian mythology of the noble sacrifice.
By forcing the captive media-obsessed audience to put themselves in
the victim’s shoes, the terrorists are creating an atmosphere of extreme
fear. This in turn makes the target group far more likely to acquiesce
to their demands. It is a system based on the psychological principle
of negative reinforcement. The target group is constantly exposed to
a negative force (fear). When they do what the terrorists want, that
negative force is removed. If they go against the terrorists wishes once
more, the fear is reinstated.
The media plays a crucial part in this process. The terrorists need
the media to broadcast the events to their target audience. The
media needs to cover the events to inform and sell their product.
Unfortunately, in terms of achieve the latter goal, the media frequently
employs the same mythic structures as the terrorists themselves.
Take the case of Leon Klinghoffer. On 7th October 1985, four members
13
of the Palestinian Liberation Front hijacked an Italian cruise liner
off the coast of Egypt. Leon, a 69-year-old American confined to a
wheelchair, was on board the ship with his wife in celebration of their
36th wedding anniversary. During the course of the stand-off, he was
shot and his body thrown overboard.
The media coverage which followed this incident was nothing short
of intense. When Marilyn, Leon’s widow, got off the liner at Port Said,
police had to escort her back on to the ship where her husband had
just been murdered in order to save her from the media pack that
awaited her arrival. Her every word, action, expression, even choice of
clothing was dutifully reported by the press. The mythic creation was
apparent in these clearly defined set of expressive symbols woven into
the copy.
Her story and that of her husband were immediately chosen by the
press and using these techniques, slotted into pre-defined mythical
structures. In other words, the more real and personal media outlets
could make her story, the more the public would identify with it
and place themselves in her shoes. This in turn would cause people
to watch more television and buy more newspapers, caught up in a
frenzy of empathetic self-obsession.
Leon himself was quickly fitted into the mould of the classic hero. He
was born in a relatively poor suburb. He worked hard at an average
job his whole life, got married, had kids. He survived two strokes and
fought hard to recover from them, still confined to a wheelchair at the
end of his life. Newspapers and TV stations were swamped with endless
sound bites, testifying to his dedication, innocence and honesty. The
President, Ronald Reagan, rang Marilyn on more than one occasion.
This is important because it was the final nail in the mythic coffin,
lending an ultimate and weighty authority to the structure which the
media had built around Leon Klinghoffer. One can picture the cogs
inside the average American humming quietly, satisfied that if the
President thinks this man was hero, then it must be so. Reagan was
even explicit in his statement of the fact: “Their father was an American
hero of whom everyone could be proud” he told the New York Times.
This cynical use of mythical archetypes by the press has serious, if
unintended, short and long term consequences. They are, in effect,
doing the terrorists’ job for them. By employing saturation coverage
of an attack they are communicating the terrorist message to their
target audience extremely effectively. Critical argument has focused
too strongly on this element of the equation. It is not the most
important aspect. People miss the fact that when the media ram home
a mythical or personal angle to such stories, they are implementing
the identification process with far more precision and impact than the
terrorists ever could by themselves.
Communication is certainly important but without the identification
process to generate fear, it is useless. Unfortunately, the media to a
large extent is not self-reflexive. It is driven by multiple motives and as
any business, has money to earn and shareholders to please.
Terrorist or freedom fighter? Good or evil? The media are just as
complicit as the government or the actors themselves. Listen to music
and read some poetry. Step outside and see the mythology for what it
is: a tool wielded for the benefit of those who would exploit its power
over the human psyche.
Pour me a glass of red, will you?
By Daniel Willis
14
(CHARACTER)
ASSASSINATING
POLITICAL ‘HEROES’
This article aims to look past the romanticised histories
of various political leaders in order to see them for who
they were.
Vladimir Ilich Lenin - Leader of Russia 1917-1924.
The leader of the Bolshevik faction of the Russian Social Democratic
Workers Party (renamed the Communist Party) and, after the October
Revolution, the ruler of Russia until his death in 1924. He is credited
with playing a large role in the first ‘successful’ socialist revolution.
In the lead up to the revolution Lenin changed his beliefs numerous
times in order to gain popularity with the masses and after the
revolution laid the base for the notorious Stalin. He set up a highly
bureaucratic system which allowed Stalin to gain absolute power
within the Communist Party, set up the precursor to the KGB (the
secret police) and set out to crush all opposition outside of the party.
While Lenin held power, people who supported the ideals of socialist
revolution were slaughtered at Kronstadt and in the Ukraine and were
locked up all over Russia. Yet some believe Lenin was innocent in all
this and that it was Stalin that caused the red-fascist state that was
known as the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR).
Benito Mussolini - President of Italy, 1922-1943.
The first self declared fascist leader of a country. Not much to say
except to clarify the claim that ‘at least he got the trains to run on time’.
This was actually propaganda put out by Mussolini. It is surprising
that so long after this fascist was hanged by uprising Italians in 1945,
people still believe his claim.
Adolf Hitler - Nazi Fuhrer of Germany, 1933-1945.
Came to power in a Germany with massive social unrest and an
economy that was failing. He used propaganda and terror squads
to consolidate power. He played on traditions of anti-Semitism and
blamed Jews and communists for causing Germanys problems,
including their defeat in the first ‘world’ war. He created full employment
through massive construction and rearmament programs that would
have driven the country broke if it were not for his plan to attack other
countries for their resources. He killed six million Jews and the West
pretty much allowed him to do so. Through poor strategies, forced
onto his generals, he was a failure as a military commander and was
almost entirely responsible for Germany’s failure to conquer the Soviet
Union. Despite his massive failures he is still worshipped by people in
countries throughout the world.
Mohandas Gandhi - Indian Independence campaigner and nonviolence poster boy.
Gandhi is credited as saying that “Nonviolence is the greatest force at
the disposal of mankind. It is mightier than the mightiest weapon of
destruction devised by the ingenuity of man.” While I admire Gandhi’s
non-violent stance, it has been severely overrated. The India that
Gandhi was trying to win-over was being ruled by England, which
had just come out of the second ‘world’ war, where it suffered serious
damage to its people, towns and economy. Do people honestly believe
that England could have afforded to keep a country half way across the
globe under its rule? The costs of keeping India colonised would have
meant less money to spend at home keeping a rebellious working
class in line and a risk of revolution. Indian ‘independence’ still allowed
companies, that were already in India, to keep making money off the
poor, without the cost of State upkeep. This hasn’t changed over the
last fifty years as Gandhi wanted an independent India, united across
religions. We now have India and Pakistan (part of Gandhi’s India)
Wolves mascot on sex charges: little red riding hood identity suppressed
pointing nuclear weapons at each other. He wanted the abolition of
the Caste system but they have just swapped one system for another.
Gandhi wasn’t too successful, just romanticised by the ruling class and
middle class lefties because, in the end, his ideas are acceptable as
they’re not too threatening.
Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara - Argentinean born revolutionary and a face
that spawned a thousand t-shirts.
An upper class youth who threw off his privileges to become a
revolutionary who took part in Fidel Castro’s Cuban take-over. After
failed stints as head of the national bank and Minister for Industry,
Guevara left Cuba and tried to create a revolution in Bolivia, where he
also failed (after being shot by CIA assisted troops). As a result of his
failures, he became a martyr for the idea of a romantic revolutionary, as
he gave all for the cause. Should he be idolised? It has been suggested
that Guevara’s ‘Motorcycle Diaries’ contains homophobic, racist and
anti-Semitic writings. He was involved in violent retribution against
opponents and he failed in his attempts at revolution - unless you count
a dictatorship that has locked away, shot and ‘disappeared’ opponents
a success (I don’t want to hear about how good the health care system
is; people need more than health care). Guevara is a revolutionary idol
for the romantic aspect, not for his beliefs or successes.
Usama Bin Laden - Head of Al-Qaeda terrorist network
Has some support throughout the world, especially in some Islamic
countries particularly mistreated by the USA. A multi-millionaire
15
who, with indirect support from the USA, fought the Soviet Union
during their invasion of Afghanistan and went on to wage a jihad
against America (not that he is in any position to call a jihad, as he
is not a spiritual leader of Islam). Has gained support mainly because
of his stance against the USA. In the Middle East, the USA is seen to
be perpetuating poverty and benefiting from people’s suffering,
supporting corrupt dictatorial regimes and at the same time showing
bias towards Israel over Palestine. I am unaware of any policy of Bin
Laden’s that would actually benefit poor Arabs, as his beliefs are
mostly nationalist and fundamentalist, while also having little to do
with Islam.
You - Your own leader, all the time
As it would seem that all leaders (especially the famous ones) have had
little success in making this world a better place, my suggestion is that
you refuse to allow anyone to be your leader (especially me). Make
your own decisions about how you think that life should be. Talk it over
with friends and colleagues and don’t allow anyone to rule in your
name. If power was decentralised, then no Hitlers could take over and
Gandhi’s idea of a Caste-less (or classless) society could be realised as
no person would be of a higher position then anyone else. Sure things
are more complicated than that but once all of you act as your own
leader and centralised power is abolished, then these complications
could be worked out. So get cracking.
By John Finlayson
16
Stalin’s personality cult was a tool
for gaining and maintaining power.
It was hero-worship at its most
extreme and absurd, but how did
he manage to deceive all of Soviet
society? The devastating truth is
that by the end of the purges, there
was no opposition left.
The cult of personality is not unique to Stalin’s
reign; it is a common feature of totalitarian
dictatorships. Propaganda is utilised to cast a
single leader as the people’s saviour, especially
in states which have recently experienced the
turmoil of revolution. It works in a similar
way to the celebrity-mania we see today
– the individual’s actions are constantly
documented, their face appears everywhere,
and people lose their minds.
Car crash man accused of whip attack: victims ‘looked like steer’
17
Behind the open adulation, however, is a
sinister motive. Personality cults aim to
portray leader and state as indivisible. A
people who believe the loss of a leader
would cause the collapse of the nation
are easily hoodwinked into accepting the
leader’s decisions. Near unanimous support
often leads a simple man astray. Whilst many
believed Stalin was a kind and just ruler, the
same man was busy wielding his almighty
power, with horrifying results.
While the cult of personality may have
cemented Stalin’s power, he had been busy
for many years previously, steering Soviet
society in his desired direction. He created
the conditions necessary for a personality
cult through a transformation of social and
cultural life. The freedom and egalitarianism
that marked Lenin’s post-revolution order was
completely dismantled as Stalin reinstated old
hierarchies and social rigidity with a renewed
fervour. The family once again became
an institution of traditional values, while
divorce, abortion and homosexuality were
condemned. Order and discipline dominated
social policy, and labour codes dictated the
behaviour of workers. Overall social life in the
USSR became militarised and backward.
Direct party control after 1934 also influenced
cultural life. All art was required to express
the socialistic spirit. Education returned
to traditional forms, and religion suffered
greatly in the atheistic state. The empasis
for historians was on nationalism, restating
Stalin’s importance in the past, and the
promotion of folk heroes and great leaders in
order to justify Stalin’s dictatorial position. In
effect a simplified version of history was fed
to the lower echelons, and as a result support
for Stalin grew.
Stalin engineered the perfect totalitarian
state, but he could not have done it without
the “Great Terror” – the devastating purges
and show trials of the 1930s. These effectively
wiped out all opposition to his rule. Originally
the purges were sparked by the assassination
of Kirov, a leading Leningrad party member.
Stalin turned this to his advantage by
prosecuting his political enemies for the
crime, and continuing throughout the
30s to remove most of the old Bolsheviks
by force. This involved a public show trial
and confession, and the result was usually
execution. Unpublicised purges were also
conducted in the lower ranks of the party,
in the military and in the secret service. The
result was a greatly intensified support for
Stalin in the new party – by 1938, the any
detectable opposition had been exiled or
eliminated. Naturally, those who had been
spared became loyal Stalinists. The purges
indicated the creation of a wholly totalitarian
state, perfect for the development of a
personality cult.
So what did Stalin-worship actually involve?
Here’s a citation from A.O Avdienko, and
author of the time.
I shall be eternally happy and joyous,
all thanks to thee, great educator Stalin.
Everything belongs to thee, chief of our great
country. And when the woman I love presents
me with a child the first word it utters will be:
Stalin.
O great Stalin, O leader of the people,
Thou who broughtest man to birth
Thou who fructifies the earth,
Thou who restorest to centuries
Thou who makest bloom the spring,
Thou who makest vibrate the musical
chords…
Thou, splendour of my spring, O thou,
Sun reflected by a million hearts.
After Stalin’s speeches applause often
continued for hours because nobody wanted
to be the first to stop clapping. It is interesting
to note that Stalin presented himself as
a humble and modest man. Government
orders dictated that his portrait be hung
in every home and public building, but he
claimed the vast and extensive personality
cult was a spontaneous reaction on the part
of the people, showing love to the leader
they believed in. He was a father figure, both
stern and reassuring. When children in Gulags
were asked who their father was, the would
answer “Stalin”. He was a god among mortals
– but perhaps he was also something solid
for the people to cling to in times of violence
and uncertainty. Maybe this was why so
many were unwilling to believe Stalin was
responsible for the engineered atrocities
that occurred in his reign. Soviet society was
blindfolded, by choice or coercion.
A personality cult rarely lives beyond the
death of its idol, and when Stalin died 1953,
the Soviet people appeared to wake from
a deep sleep of ignorance. Three years later
Nikita Khrushchev delivered a report known
as the “Secret Speech” to the 20th Party
Congress. Titled On the Personality Cult and
its Consequences, the speech called for a
return to Leninism, which had been positive
and progressive, while it condemned Stalin
for violating Party norms and bastardising
the communist ideal. From divine saviour
to corrupt criminal, the collapse of the
personality cult revealed the truth behind
Stalin’s leadership. It is strange to think that
so cruel and manipulative a man, with little
to no regard for human life, could be revered
and adored by so many, but this leads to one
conclusion: there is nothing more dangerous
than unlimited power, and as we have seen,
a very effective way to bestow this power is
hero-worship.
www.answers.com/topic/cult-of-personality-2
www.answers.com/topic/on-the-personality-cult-and-itsconsequences
www.historyguide.org/europe/cult.html
List of places renamed after Stalin
during his lifetime. (Original names
were restored after his death in 1953
or after destalinisation in 1961).
Oras¸ul Stalin, 1951-1961 - Bras¸ov, Romania
Qyteti Stalin, 1950-1990 - Kuçovë, Albania
Stalin, 1949-1956 - Varna, Bulgaria
Stalinabad, 1929-1961 - Dushanbe, Tajikistan
Stalingrad, 1925-1961 - Volgograd, Russia
Stalingrad - Karviná-Nové Meˇsto near Ostrava,
Czech Republic
Staliniri, 1934-1961 - Tskhinvali, Georgia
Stalino, 1924-1961 - Donetsk, Ukraine
Stalinogorsk, 1934-1961 - Novomoskovsk, Russia
Stalinogród, 1953-1956 - Katowice, Poland
Stalin Peak, 1932-61 - Kommunizma Peak
Stalinsk, 1932-1961 - Novokuznetsk, Russia
Stalinstadt, 1953-1961 - Eisenhüttenstadt, East
Germany
Sztálinváros, 1951-1961 - Dunaújváros, Hungary
Sydney water must choose salt or sewage : Bondi beach to provide both
18
submit to
the tertangala
send stuff we
can publish to :
[email protected]
to find out about upcoming
editions and themes log on to
wusa.uow.edu.au and follow
the links to join the media
collective mailing list
19
PROTESTORS: TO BE OR NOT TO BE
By Sally Millar
No matter what your opinion of the Schapelle Corby trial is, to me, there doesn’t seem to be any sense in punishing
uninvolved Indonesians by requesting the return of tsunami relief aid or sending threats to the embassy. I do
personally believe that everyone has the right to an opinion and protesting their disagreement is fine but I think
these needs to be within parameters of sense and responsibility. Intrigued by the split between those who attend
protests (and/or support the idea of protest) and those who are entirely against protestors, I decided to get out and
about and find the two sides to the story.
PRO PROTESTING
ANTI PROTESTING
“I think that protests give people the chance to get their opinions
out into the public. It’s a way of spreading awareness, especially to
the people who might not know what is happening and wouldn’t
think about it otherwise. Plus it’s a way of getting people who are in
a position to do something more about it, like politicians, to sit up
and take notice that they are a lot of people that are unhappy about
something.”
“I think that they should be doing something more productive. They
spend all that time shouting and hanging around and it makes things
difficult for other people rather than giving a good impression. They
would be better off doing things to fix up local problems instead of
worrying about big things that they aren’t really going to be able to
make any difference in.”
“It’s all about getting together and showing that there are a lot
of people who feel this way. Like, the fact that so many people
attend shows that they really feel passionately about it. It shows the
enthusiasm we have to change things and make sure that businesses
and politicians aren’t getting away with things. Sort of like people
power. Accountability.”
“I think protestors have just lost their power these days because they
have such a bad reputations. You see a bunch of them and they just
look like any other lot you’ve seen so you don’t even notice what they
are talking about. The only thing I think when I see them is that they
should be out getting jobs and not lazing about protesting. I always
think they are probably on the dole or just students or otherwise they
would be too busy working somewhere.”
“As long as its peaceful, I think it’s a good way to get the message out.
I don’t think violent protests help much because then you’re just as
bad as them. But getting together and getting publicity for a cause
is sometimes the only thing you can really do. We don’t all have the
power of the money to do much more than get the message out there
and then try to change the minds of those who can do something.”
“They aren’t doing anything to really change anything. Sure they might
get the message out their but then what? They would be better off if
they spent their time doing something from the inside or out actively
doing something like planting trees or cleaning up parks or something.
The smarter ones should study and get on the inside and work from
there. Then they would actually be making a difference.”
“I guess if you know there is something you can definitely do like if
it is under your control you should go down those avenues. But if
it is something controlled by the government and there really isn’t
anything you can do, like you know you can’t get into parliament and
your votes aren’t doing anything, then the most logical thing would be
to protest so as to get your message heard.”
“Protesting is so over used now. Like since the sixties, everyone is
protesting about everything and now no-one really cares. For example,
I can walk past a rally and I might read their banners but then if you
asked me later I couldn’t tell you what they were talking about. It just
doesn’t have any real impact on me, like unless its something I already
cared about and then so what, it doesn’t change anything. If I didn’t
care to start with, why would a protest change that? And if I did, then
so what? The protestors don’t change anything anyway.”
“Its all about putting pressure on people, like politicians or big
corporations because we are all just individuals but if we get together
and tell them that we protest against what they are doing, they
might worry about losing votes or customers and so they might
make changes. I personally think boycotts are the most effective on
corporations because if you get them worried about not getting your
money, that’s the only thing they understand. They want to protect
their pockets so they might start to listen. I reckon the government
could do more to boycott importing from some countries to show that
we don’t like their human rights violations.”
“I guess I think that protesting is not about to change anything and
that they should just accept that the government is voted in so
most people must be pretty happy with what they do. I mean, this is
the second time Howard is in so that shows that most people must
like him. I think the protestors are in the minority or otherwise they
wouldn’t have to even be protesting because most people would be
agreeing with them. They should just accept that they can vote for
whoever they want but then they have to respect the outcome, just
like we would have to respect it if their people got in.”
20
I Need a
Hero to
Make Me
Millions
By Alex McLean
I’ve decided to make it big in
Hollywood. “How exactly do you
plan to do this?” I hear you ask.
Well, my dim-witted friends, I’ll tell
you: comic book adaptations. I’ve
noticed lately that all a film needs
to be successful at the box office
- no matter how impossibly shit the
film actually is - is to be adapted
from a well-known comic. This is
great for me seeing as comic books
(and subsequently the film versions)
are so ridiculously derivative they
practically write themselves.
I can’t wait to be raking in the millions. I
just love to picture all those poor, struggling
writers sitting in their run down apartments,
staring at their antiquated typewriters
waiting for the moment of inspiration that
will save them from their joyless existences. If
only they knew how easy it was to regurgitate
a blockbuster onto a blank piece of paper and
in return receive a handsome pay packet. Oh
well, their loss …
The Plan
In my journey towards Hollywood stardom
I have only hit one minor snag: I don’t have
the money to buy the movie rights to a comic
book. A problem to which I have already
found a solution: I am going to make my own
comic. After that I’ll wait until it’s got a decent
fan base, then I’ll pitch a movie treatment to a
studio. Success is inevitable.
I’ve spent many weeks studying the comic
book market. I’ve gone to conventions,
dressed up as batman, visited some websites
and I’ve even paid some jocks to shove me
into a locker. With the information I attained
I was able to make a report and formulate a
plan.
The first and most important thing I need to
do is not invent a character, or a story, or any
of that creative mumbo-jumbo. The first thing
I have to do is insist that what I am doing is
not a comic book … it’s a graphic novel. This
gives what I do credibility in the eyes of the
comic book (graphic novel!) nerd. Once this
credibility is attained then my fan base can be
allowed to grow. Only after I have examined
the expectations of the market can I begin the
creative(ish) process.
The Research
The most important nugget of information
I uncovered was that the fanatics who wait
in line to buy these glossy slices of fiction
do so to distract themselves from their
boring, internet café, online gaming, sexually
frustrated existences. Maybe I’m being a little
harsh. My point is that these people expect
certain things from the creators of these
comics. The hero has to be cool, masculine
and powerful. It also doesn’t do any harm
to write in an attractive female love-interest
with impossibly-sized breasts. I did some
research into Marvel Comics creator Stan
Lee and discovered that he based a lot of his
Fire UN, says Trump : Rumsfeld ‘Already did’
super hero characters on aspects of his own
personality. I tried to do this with myself and
the only character I could come up with was
“Awkward man”. His amazing super power is
the ability to get ridiculously drunk, dance like
an orangutan to the covers band at his local
RSL and get forcibly ejected after vomiting
on a senior citizen. Neither cool, masculine or
powerful. Although his morning-after breath
is strong enough to render an entire city block
uninhabitable.
The Power
Given that I cannot base a character on
myself, I must instead try to find a cool super
power and base a character around that. But
what super power is cool enough? Flight? Too
boring. X-ray vision? Too immature. Lasers?
Too sci-fi. Morphing? Too sexually ambiguous.
What I wanted was a power that is so cool
that no villain would ever have a chance
of defeating my superhero. Then it came
to me: Cognitive control of the space-time
continuum. In layman’s terms: the ability to
control time with your mind.
Imagine how cool it would be to have this
power. Criminals wouldn’t stand a chance;
they’d be trying to rob a bank and all of a
sudden Mr. Hindsight (Pretty cool name, huh?)
turns up and changes the path of time so that
the would-be bank robbers were never born.
Think the exact opposite of the death penalty.
This power also makes it possible for him to
fix the evils of mankind through the ages. He
21
could reverse the holocaust and make five
million Jews spring to life, put a stop to the
greenhouse effect and, most importantly of
all, stop Eddie McGuire from ever having a
television career.
I know super heroes aren’t supposed to
use their powers for personal gain but I’m
sure if a certain time travelling super being
was to “accidentally” go back to 1975 and
“accidentally” buy shares in a little known
software company called Microsoft then noone would be able to complain. The resulting
millions of dollars would allow Mr. Hindsight
to live the life that, let’s face it, makes being
a superhero worthwhile. I think it most
appropriate that if I were to create a superhero
he would be a jet-setting millionaire playboy,
allegedly romantically tied to a number of
vivacious and famously beautiful actresses
and socialites. This also means that he would
live in a gigantic mansion, waited on hand
and foot by a sardonic, elderly manservant.
See? All that and I barely had to think at all.
What did I say about these things writing
themselves?
The Passion
Now, onto the love-interest. She needs a
name that is both sexy and also a corny pun
that ties into the comic’s main theme of time
travel. Too easy: Déjà Vu. She is a twenty-fouryear old Spanish-American lawyer-in-training
who spends most of her time studying until
she is introduced the wonders of the daredevil lifestyle through a chance encounter
with Mr. Hindsight. The tragic thing about
their seemingly inevitable relationship is
that every time it seems like they are about
to get together, our hero is forced to change
the path of time to thwart evil-doers and, as
a nasty side effect, their relationship is sent
back to square one. That’s sure to keep the
fans both frustrated and wanting more.
The Beginning
My superhero needs a back-story. How did he
attain his superpowers? Well, interesting story.
He was working for N.A.S.A. on a mission to
dump millions of pounds of toxic waste on
Mars. This mission caused many protests from
Mars wilderness protection groups, the most
prevalent of which being W.O.M.R.P (Warlocks
for the Ongoing Maintenance of the Red
Planet). During the mission, the warlocks
banded together and placed a powerful curse
upon our hero. Just as his shuttle exited the
earth’s atmosphere was hit by solar wind
which caused a failure of electrical equipment
and triggered the mass explosion of the toxic
waste barrels. The curse, the cosmic radiation
and the toxic waste all came into contact
with our hero at the exact same time and the
combination of the three changed the makeup of his DNA and turned him into the super
being we all know and love. Is that derivative
enough for you?
The Nemesis
My research showed that the most popular
comic book super villains had a touch of
flamboyance. They are flawed individuals with
a few inexplicable idiosyncrasies. They are fun
to watch. They are loved and loathed. It’s these
sorts of things that stop them from getting
boring. After poring over my statistics I came
up with the character of Apocalypse Dude.
Apocalypse Dude’s ability is to cause the end
of the world by flicking his fingers. Because
of this he has always gotten what he wants
just by holding his hand up in the air and
saying “Don’t tempt me. I’ll blow everyone
and everything away, DON’T THINK I WON’T!”,
he is an immature ego-maniac with a taste for
fast cars, fast women, and banana smoothies.
He and Mr. Hindsight first become enemies
when he blackmails Déjà Vu into going on a
date with him. He then forces her to pay for
the meal and the movie (and complains to
the manager of the restaurant about the lack
of banana smoothies on the desert menu). Mr.
hole, I’m sure it will be argued heatedly on
many an internet chat site) Apocalypse Dude
can still remember being beaten by our hero
and vows to get him back.
The Overwhelming Success
There is no doubt in my mind that fans all
over the world will revere this comic. The
inevitable blockbuster film deal will be
enough to see me on easy street for the rest
of my life. The parade of sequels that follow
will only serve to line my already beefy wallet
with tons on hundred dollar bills. I can’t wait
to be a decrepit old lecher, settling a divorce
with my seventh wife, complaining about
my disgusting public, drinking the finest
champagne and laughing at all the suckers
who toiled so many hard hours every day just
to get by. It’s all just one movie deal away.
“I’ve spent many weeks studying
the comic book market. I’ve gone to
conventions, dressed up as batman,
visited some websites and I’ve even paid
some jocks to shove me into a locker”
Hindsight, being the consummate gentleman
he is, takes exception to this and challenges
Apocalypse Dude to a duel. The ensuing
battle (They both promise not to use their
powers) results in the defeat of Apocalypse
Dude, the complete destruction of the city
and the accidental death of Déjà Vu. Mr.
Hindsight puts everything back to normal
but for some unexplained reason (major plot-
US pilots jailed for beer binge: fuel ‘too expensive’
22
IN
SUPPORT
OF VSU
by Michael Sweet
The biggest lie about VSU that you
will see around campus is “This
service will not exist under VSU”.
It will exist, as will everything else.
Very little will change.
Other ‘misunderstandings’ about the effects
of VSU are:
The Unibar will close. No, it won’t. The Unibar
makes a profit from students already. The
Unibar will continue to exist.
Student’s will lose their ‘voice’. No. Students
are free to organise under VSU.
Counseling services will cease to exist. No,
counselling will continue to be funded by the
university
And the Truth:
When we have VSU, will we still have
childcare? Yes
How about food? Yes, food outlets will
continue to serve food
Will bands come to the uni? Yes, they will
How about clubs and societies? Clubs can
continue to join up members. Societies are
free to associate, as always
Will there still be uni movies? Yes
What of the post office and the bookshop?
Yes, they will still be there
If the services we take for granted will
continue at the uni, then what is the fuss
about? It is all about the money. Your money.
UOW charges students a flat fee of $350 to
$450 (for a new student) to come to uni. If you
do not pay, then you cannot stay. Most of this
money goes to UniCentre, a company that
runs some of the student services around uni.
A little of your money, about $50, goes to
WUSA, the students’ association. WUSA
employ a few staff, have a paid and elected
president and a paid editor for the Tertangala,
the student magazine.
The rest goes to a little-known place stuck
over the north side of campus, the University
Recreation and Aquatic Centre (URAC).
URAC has a pool, squash courts, and a big
gymnasium to work out in but so does Beaton
Park Leisure Centre situated near Werona
campus, about a kilometre from uni.
So who loses?
Your money mainly goes to pay a whole
bunch of people’s wages. If VSU goes through,
guess who will lose their jobs? Now guess
who is noisiest about how bad VSU will be for
you, the students paying the bill? The same
people.
Compulsory Student Service Fee - the
unfairest tax of all
That $350 to $450 is the most undemocratic
tax you could pay.
You pay the same no matter whether you are
on the DOLE, or driving a Maserati.
As a full time student you pay the same
whether you are on campus one day a week,
or seven. You pay whether you use any and all
of the services provided, or none.
At the moment, for course fees, we have HECS.
When you get a job you pay back some of the
cost of your uni degree - the more you earn,
the more you pay. Reasonably fair, wouldn’t
you say?
“Service Fees” are the unfairest flat tax
of all. They must be paid in advance and
discriminate against the poor in favour of
the rich.
What if you are on the dole and want to
better yourself by getting an education and a
decent job? How can you afford Service Fees
on top of text books and course materials and
whatever else you need to start uni? Answer:
You can’t.
What if all you want to do as a single mum is go
to uni, then go home to look after your kids?
You have no time for all that great subsidised
stuff on campus, like... cheaper gym fees.
Result: You still have to pay money you can’t
afford for other people’s good times.
What if you are a student who wants only to
study, work hard and get good grades? You
guessed it, you still have to pay.
What if you are ‘well off’? You pay the same, of
course and if you are smart, you can be one
of the few students to actually benefit from
Service Fees. You can get elected.
Once elected to a club, society or association,
you can start making the system work for
you. You can organise things so that you are
paid to go to ‘conferences’ in say, Adelaide,
or Canberra. If you have a political drum to
thump, you can get students to pay for the
drum and for the brass band as well. You can
organise bus tours and private parties or just
plain old misappropriate funds.
Really, though, there isn’t much of that. Only
a few students get much benefit from the
money flowing into Service Fees.
What really happens is that UniCentre and
URAC are used to receiving a handout from
students. They get this handout no matter
whether they do a good job or a bad one.
There is nothing that makes UniCentre or
Sport and Rec particularly accountable for the
dollars that students are forced to give them,
because UniCentre and URAC has already got
your money. Up front.
You may have noticed recently that UniCentre,
WUSA, and Sport and Rec have been making
a bit of an effort to sell themselves. They
are attempting to show that they matter
to students, and how much they need a
handout. They are trying to show you what
you get for your money. It won’t last. You don’t
get much.
UniCentre, URAC, and WUSA are full of nice,
well-meaning people.
Yet if VSU is defeated, those organisations will
go back to being well-meaning, bloated, and
self-indulgent.
VSU is fair, equitable, and a winner for
students. Support VSU.
[In my next article I will detail how UniCentre,
URAC, and WUSA must change to meet the
challenges that await them under VSU. I will
show how to maintain and improve student
life and amenities. I will tell you why this must
happen so that the University of Wollongong
can demonstrate relevance and social value.]
23
A Message from Your
Local Bastard
Hey, you. Yes you; the one with the expression of mild
confusion and the clean shirt. You need people like me.
You don’t like me very much, but that’s okay – I don’t
really do much worth liking. If you knew exactly who
I was you wouldn’t even be reading this. You’d have
turned to the reviews already and muttered under your
breath about how annoying it is they let bastards like
me roam the streets unhampered by radio collars or
hobbling chains.
Most will continue on, accepting it as part of the drudge that comes
from not being a celebrity; others apply a writ of ‘Fuck It’ and join the
gang, inflicting themselves hither and yon, perpetuating the whole
dismal rosary of frustration and annoyance. And the only good result –
the prime steak of this equation (assuming life is a cow – which would
suggest that the rest of us are the lips, anuses, tendons and random
cartilage that composes the Sausage of Universal Despair) - are those
who are motivated to stand against all of the Shits who are steadily
killing everything good and decent in life.
But you need me. Because what I do is make heroes.
In a world where it seems the only universal phrase is Cogito Ergo
Doleo – I think, therefore I’m depressed – where all philosophies say
that god is dead and would be irrelevant even if he wasn’t, and that
life is pointless and futile, there can be no greater mercy or sense of
purpose than the existence of people who try to make things better,
if only within the reach of their own hands. With no grand dreams of
saving the world, but just their little patch of it. They are the antithesis
of everything we are – these damned people whose simple, needless
kindness exists as a beacon shining in the darkness, leading the way
to Something Better. They are the flowers that bloom from the shit
and trash of humanity despite our best efforts. And as frustrating as
it is, I’m also sort of grateful for it, because even bastards need goals
to aspire to.
Not big, loud, over-the-top superhero types. I’m not a radioactive
spider or an international terrorist organisation for cowboys to
wave their banners against. My business is in producing those little
day-to-day heroics that are so common that nobody thinks they’re
anything special, but are a whole fuck-off lot harder than they look.
The best description of what I am is a fountain of non-stop, lowgrade unpleasantness. Do you know those kits you buy at Tandy, that
generate enough electricity from citrus fruit to power a clock? It’s like
that, only less charged with immaculate potential. It’s my lot to provide
the background ugliness that pervades every life on this planet; the
Muzak of the Fear.
I’m the fat bastard on his fourth Double Whopper who inspires you
to take better care of your body. I’m the deadbeat with no future that
makes going to class a more attractive prospect than one more drink.
I’m the obnoxious drunk heaving into the potted fern, the guy who
yells at retail staff when my every whim is not catered to exactly, your
shitty father and the petty, deadeyed bureaucrat with fewer joys in
life than haemorrhoid remedies. Every shyster, thief, sleazebag, landrapist and emotionless drone you’ve ever met or heard of; they are my
siblings and children and we don’t even hate you. We just don’t care.
You may quite rightly say that this nothing to be proud of. But, being
the self-aggrandising bastard that I am, I then say fuck you. Sure it is.
Each and every day, countless millions of people wade hip-deep in
tiny little miseries that, like so many chiggers in the burlap pants of
everyday life, inflict small but constant bites on the thighs of humanity.
So, bear this in mind the next time you’re made to smile when you
otherwise wouldn’t have, or a small action infects your life that day
with trace amounts of simple contentment. As well as thanking
whoever it was that did so, spare a thought for the miserable bastards
of the planet, without whom none of this would be possible. And while
you may say that without us, there would be no need to chase after
such fleeting moments, I say to you that too much candy will make
anyone sick. We are an essential part of the process of being happy,
because without our busy little bastardries to compare your pleasures
to, they would be completely meaningless.
So, you’re welcome. Fuck you and goodnight.
The Surly Kitty
24
THE AMAZING
ADVENTURES OF
YOU AND I
By Mitchell Jordan
Forget Marvel Comics and their
range of super human goodies and
baddies, a new band of heroes are
emerging. These characters inhabit
a land where the pages aren’t glossy
or expensive, don’t have spin off
figurines sold separately and will
probably never inspire Hollywood
films.
The comic culture has changed greatly over
the decades. Though the first evidence of
comics can be seen in prehistoric Egyptian
hieroglyphics, it was during the 1940s which
they flourished. Work produced within this
period fell into three genres: science fiction,
detective and jungle adventures. But all this
was to change with one word: Superman.
From 1940-45, over 400 superheroes were
created, all modelled on Superman.
But not all comics are concerned with
superheroes. For every person with some
special power or talent, there’s at least twenty
everyday, ordinary citizens whose lives will
never rival that of Clark Kent or the X-Men.
And that is precisely what inspired these
people to start turning their lives into stories.
Just as zines challenged traditional notions of
publishing, young artists have also helped to
dispel the myth that a comic must consist of
characters who soar above the clouds, battle
monsters and lead double lives. The monsters
in these comics take on different forms: the
ruthless boss, the intolerant racist, characters
we’ve all had to deal with.
In Australia, the underground comic scene
has grown significantly with the creation
of Silent Army (http://www.silentarmy.com)
a resource centre for artists established by
Kieran Mangan and Michael Fikaris.
“Our society is generally not aware that
comic books could be anything but Manga
and super hero stuff,” says Mangan, who has
Detained children hospitalised : Vanstone thanks frying pan and fire
25
been self publishing for eight years now.
“We decided to start creating anthologies
and exhibitions that pushed the traditional
concept of what comic art is to encompass a
wide variety of art.”
Growing up, Mangan did not read many
comics apart from occasional copies of Tintin
and MAD. He finds his inspiration through
other artists ranging from those that are a
part of Silent Army through to Francis Bacon
and Radiohead.
As a result, his work had often been
interpreted as dark or sad but he insists that,
“The best way to show optimism is by getting
bleak and sad, because in the end there is only
one way out of bleakness and that is to start
searching for happiness.”
Anthony Woodward, (http://awcomix.blog
spot.com) a Ballarat artist who has been
making comics since 1998 was also attracted
to the autobiographical element of comics.
This was largely inspired by fellow artist Joe
Matt and his work Peepshow.
“Then this whole world of autobiographical
comics opened up to me,” Woodward says.
“I wanted my stories to have a bit more
resonance with real life and things we do,
conversations between people and such.
There’s just something more authentic and
daring in baring your life that way”.
So too, did a host of young girls who were fed
up with appearing in comics only as damsels in
distress. These girls didn’t need anyone to save
them, they just wanted to tell stories about what
it was like to be queer, to suffer at the hands of
patriarchy and claim some space as their own.
In the New Millennium, comics are no longer just
a means of entertainment, they’re also a way of
changing the world. “Mass media treats us all
like foolish children, but they are the fools,” says
Mangan. “Self publishing isn’t dead and nowhere
near dying. It is a huge key to opening up true
expression, free from advertising and common
plod.”
Being a hero is easy, according to Mangan and
Woodward. You don’t need a cape, boots or super
strength. All you need is pen and paper.
“Get together with others and collaborate. Always
talk about what you do, because then people will
learn that it is great,” says Mangan.
Comic artists all agree that, like any form of art,
practice is essential and so too, is courage. “You
just have to keep going with it,” says Woodward.
“And remember that if someone really hates it,
there’s probably someone out there who really
loves it.”
Like Mangan, Woodward has also been
criticised for the supposedly self indulgent
nature of his work. “I often think of the
Seamus Heaney line ‘Tell the truth, do not
be afraid’,” Woodward says. “So I take a punt
and think maybe someone will find my story
helpful or interesting, maybe even relate to it
in some way.”
If the main assumption regarding comics is
that they’re all about superheroes, the second
is that it’s a male orientated domain. This too,
has changed with time.
Following the rise of feminism, the riot grrrl
movement inspired women to create art
which told their stories, regardless of training
or qualifications. Bikini Kill did it with their art,
Tracey Emin did it with her installation art.
Immigration head shipped to Indonesia : ‘Mistake’ claims Howard
26
10 Mins
Sarah Blasko
Will Never, Ever Get Back
of REM albums. Also, I really like Wally, he had
a really good idea of where I was coming from
– lots of deep organic sounds, and he found
some way for them to fit all together.
Sarah Blasko has, over the past
several years, come into her own
as a force in Australian music.
On the heels of the release of her
first album, The Overture and The
Underscore, she has completed a
national tour and a whistle-stop
jaunt through the USA and Canada.
With more shows in North America
and Europe scheduled for August
and September, Blasko took some
time out to chat with us.
On living with musicians:
There are four of us in the house, and most
of us play music, but we keep it pretty quiet
most of the time. Darren [Hanlon, flatmate
and singer-songwriter], is pretty secretive
about his music… He’s very lacking in ego –
definitely making music for the right reasons.
On press reports that she spent
her formative years as the child of
missionaries on an island paradise:
[Media] people sort of got it wrong. I wasn’t
actually brought up there, I was just conceived
there. The reason I decided to make a point
of it, apart from sounding exotic, is that the
reason my parents left was that my Mum
was pregnant with me. It was something that
shaped my early experiences – something my
parents talked a lot about.
On Church-hopping:
After my parents came back to Australia, they
had a very hard timing finding where their
place was. So a lot of my childhood and early
teenage years were spent going from Baptist
to Anglican to Uniting. Pretty much any
denomination, we went to it.
On religion and music:
[Religion] has had an effect on my music,
because it’s had a really strong effect on my
life in general… It’s probably given me a very
extreme way of looking at the world. I think
anyone who has had a religious upbringing
has a very strong sense of gloom and doom.
I went to a really full-on church as a teenager,
a Pentecostal church, and every week the
preacher would sort of say “have you got your
life right, with God?”
On being a “female recording artist”:
It’s just a bit of a let down, really. It’s an
odd kind of thing to be judged on. The
comparisons are hilarious. It always comes
back down to Missy Higgins. It’s like, what
are you talking about? It’s ridiculous. Just
because there happens to be one recording
artist who is female, and has sold 300 000
records in Australia. Suddenly every [artist]
who’s female is like, the new Missy Higgins.
The funniest one, though was Stevie Nicks,
because I couldn’t work out which end of her
career they were referring to.
On playing in Wollongong:
Last time I was there people had sparklers,
which was quite nice. They lit them during
one of the songs. It was very cute.
On recording in LA:
At that point in time it was really good to be
somewhere completely different. I’d worked
on the demos for six months, and was at that
point where I needed a change of scenery. It
wasn’t necessarily my plan to go over there,
but one of the things that made it irresistible
was Wally [Gagel, producer] was planning on
getting Joey Waronker to play drums. He’s
played with Beck, on Seachange and a couple
Health forecast grim : hospitals put on funds waiting list
On a follow-up album:
I have a few songs written, but I definitely
need some more time to really get down to it.
More than anything I have been just thinking
a lot about it. It’s sort of… You’ve done the
record, and then you’re just playing those
songs live, you have a bit of space from them
in some odd way, and you think about where
you want to go next.
On songwriting:
You look at where you see the song fitting,
work out what the personality of the song is.
When there’s no-one home I sit in the living
room and play very loudly.
On influences:
I think no matter what you listen to or go to
see, you’re always thinking about… When you
go and watch another musician play, you’re
not seeing it as someone who doesn’t play
music – you’re thinking about the intricacies
of what they’re doing, the choices they make.
And those things can come from anywhere. I
guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t feel
at this point like I’m narrowing in on three
people and drawing on what they do. I feel
like whatever I go and see, it’s resonating with
me in some sort of way.
On questions for Madame Helga:
I haven’t got any.
On student-budget food:
Those instant noodles with quick-dried teas.
That was a pretty low point. Actually, I quite
liked it.
27
Little Fish is a
fabulous Australian
film starring Cate
Blanchett and
Hugo Weaving
in a cast that
reads like a rollcall of notable
Australian actors.
It impressed critics
and judges at
the Toronto film
festival, and has
been described as
the best Australian
drama since
Lantana. It opens
around the country
on September 8,
and we have five
in-season passes
to see the film.
For your chance to win,
simply email [email protected] with “Little Fish Tix
Comp” in the subject header, and tell us the following.
1.
2.
Your name, and student number
Your favourite Australian film. Ever. And a brief reasoning on your decision should you be so moved.
Bombs rock London : ‘not funny yet’
28
HITTING
THE HIGH
(AND LOW)
NOTES
WITH DAN
BULL
By Mitchell Jordan.
Performance and music go hand in
hand for Dan Bull.
The young Perth artist has recently released
his debut EP ‘Dan001’ and has been busy
touring across Australia.
Bull, who has always enjoyed music, did not
initially aspire to being a musician, interested
in other forms of performing such as gigging.
“The great thing about playing music is that
you can do both,” he says.
Bull’s history as a pianist dates all the way
back to the tender age of ten, but he is
quick to dismiss any notion that he was a
child prodigy. Bull admits that, “When I was
a youngster I absolutely hated it [piano]! I
would go to lessons an unhappy little one.
And practice…no thank you!”
It took years for Bull to realise that playing the
piano didn’t have to be all about eisteddfods
and technical work. “It’s such an expressive
instrument and the type of music you can
play on it is so diverse,” he adds.
The full range of the piano is demonstrated
on ‘Dan001’, an impressive offering which
alternates between up-beat, bright tracks
like ‘Getting Caught’ and melancholy, dark
numbers such as ‘In Your Room’, songs which
are infused with the hint of poignant tragedy.
Bull enjoys working in both styles and refuses
to limit himself.
“Playing live, the more boppy numbers
obviously get the adrenalin going a bit more
and the crowds’ initial response is often more
exciting,” he admits. “But if you nail a beautiful
dark song and the audience can relate to the
lyrics then that’s just as great to performsometimes greater.”
Though it’s still early days, Bull speculates
that the follow up to ‘Dan001’ will probably
come in the form of another EP. Listeners can
expect more melody and harmony orientated
songs, but Bull also warns that, “I’m writing a
bit less dreamily at the moment.” He describes
the subject matter for these songs as a little
darker, which will be reflected in the music.
But fans of Bull’s brighter numbers should still
be pleased with the end result. “I can’t help
but write the odd pop ditty,” he says.
Like his own material, Bull’s musical influences
span many genres from local Perth artists
through to Paul McCartney, Brian Wilson, even
N*E*R*D.
The music scene in Western Australia is
described by Bull as a supportive one. Not
only have his songs made their way across
airwaves, he’s also received support from
the hive of musicians that reside in Perth,
including Eskimo Joe, The Avenues, Little
Birdy and End of Fashion to name a few.
“The scene here is so creative and happy
at the moment,” he says. “While there is a
healthy level of competitiveness, it’s not nasty
at all. People just want to write the best songs
they can and if we can help each other out
then we do.”
The connection between music and its
audience is one of the most satisfying and
rewarding part of Bull’s role as a musician. He
has enjoyed entertaining his fans, seeing their
response to his work and hopes to continue
to do so.
“The cool thing about music is that for
the musician you own the songs and their
meanings until you present them to someone
else,” he says. “Once that’s done, the meaning
of a song is the ownership of every listener. If
one person loves a song which I have written
and recorded that is pretty amazing.”
29
OVER THE EDGE
Writers Catherine Rey,
Sonya Hartnett and Anne
Bartlett speak on Emotion
and Excess. By Mitchell
There’s a common assumption that writers are a
dramatic, nervy, even neurotic breed. Maybe it’s a
stereotype, or maybe there is some truth in such a
judgement. After all, literature has been filled with death,
tragedy and sadness, but how do authors know when
enough’s enough?
Catherine Rey, Sonya Hartnett and Anne Bartlett have each dealt with
the dark side of life in their work but the three writers hold differing
views over what role emotion should play in literature.
Jordan.
Danger, darkness and despair are all themes which are commonplace
within the work of Sonya Hartnett, who has been publishing since she
was 15 years old.
Hartnett, whose work has continuously caused controversy, sometimes
even outrage, is a strong, confident woman who dismisses any belief
that writing about emotion is cathartic or therapeutic, but rather a
necessary measure in order to mirror the everyday.
“The purpose of art is to evoke in its audience an emotional response,”
she says.
Knitting is Bartlett’s first novel and tells the story of two lonely women,
Martha and Sandra, whose friendship blossoms through an interest
in knitting. The book begins with Sandra, who is alienated and lonely
following the death of her husband. But the novel moves through the
gauntlet, finally ending with dance and celebration.
She admits that, “I am a dark writer. My novels have generally explored
a world that is recognisably our own, but with the screws turned a
touch tighter”. So tight in fact, that after reading her award winning
novel Of a Boy, her editor cried for two days.
“I never intended to write dark, excessive fiction,” says Bartlett, an
otherwise optimistic woman whose work was a reaction to a period of
personal turbulence which shifted her life for some time. Written over a
three year period, Knitting became both an escape and way of making
sense of what was going on around her.
The sense of darkness is perhaps most evident in her latest novel,
Surrender, a tale of two boys, Gabriel and Finnigan and the events
which shattered their world. The novel begins with the words, “I am
dying: it’s a beautiful word…” and reaches into the reader’s heart,
chiselling away at the psyche with a result which is unforgettable.
“Writing fiction provided me with a safe place where I could emerge
from this chaos,” she says.
But dying, isolation and sorrow seem to move Hartnett little. Openly
admitting to liking rats, bad weather and South Park, Hartnett says
that, “When I wrote Surrender I didn’t think ‘I’m going to face danger’, I
thought ‘I’m going to write a horror story’”.
Catherine Rey uses writing for a similar purpose, openly admitting that
“when I don’t write I start to be grumpy, hate the world and wanting to
kill everyone around me. It (writing)’s a bit like a drug”.
Her novel, The Spruiker’s Tale (published in France as Ce que racontait
Jones) is often dark and at times confrontational. Yet according to
Rey, this is all a necessary part of writing. “A text that doesn’t flirt with
danger belongs to entertainment, not literature,” she says.
Whether their reasons for writing are personal or professional, all three
agree that books without emotion, that cease to stir something after
the last page has been turned, are something of a failure.
“It’s important to be sucked in,” says Hartnett. “I want books that stay
with the reader, to leave a scar”.
Ashes squad reviews security : Warne dropped, Ponting sobered
Nirvana
Beastie
Ben Harper
Ben
Modular
hink about the best show you ever saw. Actually, think about the classic
hows you just missed out on.
or the
at Selina’s? Pavement or
/
at the Metro? Record label owner and concert promoter
teve Pavlovic is responsible for bringing some of the most significant
dependent artists to Australia, shaping a whole generations musical
ndscape. Currently running Modular Recordings and
, Pav sat down at his Sydney office to reflect.
found myself in the position, about 17 years ago, where I was working
some clubs and had the opportunity to book some local artists and be
ble to bring some bands out from overseas”, describes Pav. “It’s funny
hen I think back then, how naïve we were in some of the things that we
d, but that’s life”.
An interview
good
summary of with
those Steve
bands Pav
were featured on
line-up. Promoted by
By Pete Kelly
av, the festival toured across Australia in the summer of ’95 / ’96.
he bill included
Boys
Lee
30
Touring
Modular Gumbo
the
Summersault Festival
The
Beastie
Boys,Noise
Foo
Fighters,
Beck,
Rancid,
Addict,
Pavement and Sonic Youth
o name but a few. Pav was also involved in setting up the Fellaheen
ecord label. Throughout its short run, Fellaheen released classic albums
y Gerling, Superchunk, Pavement
and
a young Ben Lee.
Think about the best show you ever saw. Actually,
think about the classic shows you just missed out on.
Nirvana or the Beastie Boys at Selina’s? Pavement or
Ben Harper / Ben Lee at the Metro? Record label owner
and concert promoter Steve Pavlovic is responsible
for bringing some of the most significant independent
artists to Australia, shaping a whole generations musical
landscape. Currently running Modular Recordings and
Modular Touring, Pav sat down at his Sydney office to
reflect.
“One of the best shows, easily, would be the first Beastie Boys tour we
did in ’92, it was pretty exceptional. They were pretty magical at that
point. I’m not saying they’re not now, but that was a real highlight for
us”.
Ben is someone I met when he was 13 and lots of crazy things have
the one and only
Nirvana knee
tour bookedhigh
by Pav to to a
appened. I mean, he went from beingAnother
justhighlight
thiswasyoung
kid,
warf [laughs]. Seeing him play it wasplayhilarious.
signed
him
the Big Day Out andWe
a handful
of sideshows. Their
albumbecause
had just
hose original demos he gave us were reached
justtheincredibly
inept.
They
had
top of the American Billboard
Charts, and
‘Smells Like
Teen this
reat character but were just sloppy, fucked
up
and
really
weird,
but
the
Spirit’ was the number one song throughout the world.
yer underlying all of that was this good
pop sensibility.”
“It was pretty exceptional because it was just crazy weird everywhere,
He released
some stuff with us initially
and then we got him involved
“I found myself in the position, about 17 years ago, where I was and people were just going nuts about them. There was so much
ith the
Grand
Royal
people.
Watching
him
bekinda15
or 16
and
going over
They werearound
changing the
world or
the music landscape.
in some and
clubs anddo
had thesome
opportunity to
book some
local hysteria.
o the working
States
little
tours,
travel
and
make
records,
and be able
to bring some bands out from overseas”, describes It was exciting to be part of that”.
was artists
pretty
great”.
Pav. “It’s funny when I think back then, how naïve we were in some of
Currently focused on Modular Recordings, the label got early
off to a on,
the things
that we did, but that’s life”.with
orging
a connection
blistering
start, signing and
The Living
debut album.Royal
ellaheen were responsible for the local
release
ofreleasing
a slew
ofEnd’sGrand
bumsA good
in summary
Australia,
as
promoting several Beastie Boys tours.
of those bandsas
were well
featured on
the Summersault
Festival line-up. Promoted by Pav, the festival toured across Australia in “That was the first Modular release in August ’98. That record came out
One of
theofbest
easily,
the one,
first
Beastie
Boys
we
went number
a multi-platinum
selling record
that didtour
really,
summer
’95 / ’96. Theshows,
bill included The Beastie
Boys, Foowould
Fighters, andbe
d in the
’92,
it
was
pretty
exceptional.
They
were
pretty
magical
at
that
Noise Addict, Pavement and Sonic Youth to name but a really well. Then on the back of that we released Ben Lee’s ‘Cigarettes
oint. Beck,
I’mRancid,
not
saying they’re not now, but that was a real highlight for
few. Pav was also involved in setting up the Fellaheen record label. Will Kill You’ Single and it went on to do quite well and that album
s”. Throughout its short run, Fellaheen released classic albums by Gerling, became a platinum record in Australia as well”.
Superchunk,
Pavement andwas
a young Ben
Lee. one and only
nother
highlight
the
tour successful
booked
by
“The Avalanchesand
album came
about
which was hugely
both
av to “Ben
play
a
handful
of
sideshows.
internationally.
It was a platinum
plus selling record Charts,
for us
is someone
I met when
he was
13 and lots of crazy
things have
heir album
had
just
reached
the
tophere
ofandthe
American
Billboard
the UK, with
theirnumber
album
nd happened. I mean, he went from being just this young kid, knee high here and they also had a top ten record inwas
the
to a dwarf
[laughs]. Seeing him play
it was world.
hilarious. We signed him going gold status. So initially the first 12 – 18 months we had quite a bit
ne song
throughout
the
because those original demos he gave us were just incredibly inept. of commercial success with the label, which was great”.
t wasTheypretty
exceptional
because
had this great
character but were just sloppy,
fucked up andit was just crazy weird everywhere,
nd people
were
just
going
There
was
soBluesmuch
Most recently them.
Modular has released
albums by The
John Spencer
really weird, but the layer underlying all of that was thisnuts
good pop about
ysteria.
They
were
kinda
changing
the
world
or
the
music
landscape.
It
Explosion, Cut Copy, Rocket Science, Evan Dando and The Presets. With
sensibility.”
as exciting
to be part of that”.
the much anticipated Wolfmother album currently being recorded in
“He released some stuff with us initially and then we got him involved the states and due for release in September, the future looks bright for
urrently
focused
onhim be 15 or 16 and going over Modular. Whilst Pav’s role continuously changes, and he still holds the
,
with the Grand
Royal
people.to
Watching
he label
got
off
a
blistering
start,
signing
and
releasing
to the States and do some little tours,’s
traveldebut
around and make
records, dream of owning his own AFL team, it is certain that he will continue to
album.
provide an influential role in developing the Australian music scene.
it was pretty great”.
That was the first Modular release in August ’98. That record came out
on Modular
records visitthat
their website
at
Forging a number
connection with theone,
Beastie Boys
on, Fellaheen were For details
nd went
aearlymulti-platinum
selling
record
did really,
eally well.
Then
on ofthe
back
that
we released
’s
responsible for
the local release
a slew of
Grand Royalof
albums
in www.modularpeople.com
Cigarettes
Will
Kill
You’
Single
and
it
went
on
to
do
quite
well
and
that
Australia, as well as promoting several Beastie Boys tours.
bum became a platinum record in Australia as well”.
album came about which was hugely
uccessful both here and internationally. It was a
plus
the Beastie Boys
Nirvana
the Big Day Out
‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’
Modular Recordings
The
Living End
Ben Lee
The Avalanches
platinum
c
e
nr
t
rl
g
e
y
e
31
The Art of Hero
Worship [or how to
ey
.
o
e prostrate yourself for
h
n
ts supreme satisfaction]*
e
a
e
s
e
d
r
,
,
l
e
t
r
y
.
,
r
,
h
t
e,
t
,
s
t
y
s
Everyone has a hero. For some it
might be a sportsperson, others
might find comicbook superheroes
do a better job of fulfilling their needs.
The important thing to remember is
that the theory is always the same.
So take my advice and you’ll be able
to worship whomever you desire…
The first thing to remember is that the
worshipped is God, and you the worshipee,
are nothing. As far as your heroes are
concerned you exist merely to fulfil their
every need. They want you to make their bed
and brush their hair and make them dinner. If
you are worshipping them from afar, then it
might be a little difficult to do these things.
One should always remember, however, that
there is nothing wrong with presents through
the post and I recommend sending the most
personal things you can. Used condoms,
clumps of hair and half eaten bowls of cereal
are a good place to start, most heroes really
appreciate getting to know their fans (or
friends, who am I to judge?) intimately and
find this kind of stuff particularly pleasant.
Another great way to express your love for
your hero is murder. OK, so it’s not a new
method of hero worship, but it gets results.
When John Hinckley Jr. tried to assassinate
Ronald Regan, he did so for the love of now
somewhat reclusive actress Jodie Foster.
Unfortunately, the escapade did not get the
sort of result that Hinckley was looking for,
and landed him in an insane asylum forever.
That’s probably not the sort of relationship
you are looking for with your hero. I don’t
imagine that abject terror is the kind of thing
you want your hero to experience, so you
may decide to run with something a little less
terrifying.
Some people have a need to worship and
it is often the famous that we fixate on.
Whether or not it is because these people are
so painfully out of reach, there is something
about them that we fancy. We want to be
like these people, and in some cases, we
want to be these people. Therefore, one of
the best ways you can worship your heroes
is to emulate them. You can dress like them,
listen to their favourite music and eat their
favourite foods. Or you can become them.
Have you ever seen the movie Single White
Female? You need to weasel your way into
their private lives, one step at a time. Maybe
you can become their gardener, and then the
maintenance guy, and finally, the personal
assistant. Once you’ve gotten this far, you
have to tread carefully or they might become
suspicious. All you have to do is pitch yourself
like a fan wanting to help, while you slowly
take over their lives. It’s the ultimate form
of hero worship. Everyday, you add a minute
piece of their lives to your own. Maybe start
with a new haircut just like theirs and work
your way up to a new wardrobe, a little plastic
surgery even.
You should create a shrine to your hero
in your home. Put up a poster, or perhaps
devote a whole room to the exercise. There is
no need to be afraid of making your adoration
Sir Ronald Wilson remembered : barely
public. Make it known that you are a devotee
of your particular hero. Start a fan club and
bully others into joining. Make them all wear
the same t-shirt and pay huge membership
fees (which you can use to buy more “insert
hero here” merchandise). Turn yourself into
the Supreme and Venerable leader of a cult
who worships only your hero. You can use
this opportunity to ‘channel’ your hero, until
finally, you become them.
When this happens, it is time for you to begin
the search for a new hero. Many have tried
and many have failed to worship themselves
in a sane and safe manner, only to find that it
ends in tears. As soon as you like yourself too
much, your ego inflates and you start thinking
that you really are a hero. You forget that you
are a pathetic, small, stupid individual and
too utterly unimportant to ever be anything
other than normal. You need a hero, you can’t
be one.
When at last you reach this stage, you need to
cast of the shackles of your old hero, and trawl
the interweb for another suitable candidate
for your affection.
Goodluck!
*
This article is just a joke, alright?
You stay away from those heroes of
yours.
Mariantonia Cara
32
SUPER HERO OR FELINE FELON?
by Maddy Phelan
Prowling the streets after dark,
the crafty cat burglar in skin tight
spandex is out to get what she
wants. She may be the alter ego
of timid artist Selina Kyle, but by
night the meek mouse becomes a
fearsome predator. Wielding her
whip with style, she is always poised
and ready to pounce. Agile, stealthy
and slightly aloof, this cat holds
her head with pride. She’s a match
for any man, even Batman. She’s a
sexy, smart swindler - and whether
she’s a villain or not, she’s in it for
the money.
But is she a good guy or a bad guy? We all
know she can be very, very naughty, but
Catwoman has done some good deeds in her
time. She may be dangerous, but she’s not a
killer - if anything, she’ll just bat you around
and set you free. Whilst Batman is normally
busy preventing mass destruction by evil
foes, Catwoman is more of a marauding
menace he needs to chase off from time to
time. You might even say that Batman and
Catwoman respect each other, though the
sexual tension can’t be overlooked. Only time
will tell if Catwoman ever chooses the man
over the money, but knowing cats, we’ll be
waiting some time for her decision.
like our beloved Lady of the Night.
Oh the wonder of cultural influence. During
the early seventies Catwoman adopted a
trendy mod outfit, buccaneer boots and all.
But fashion trends don’t last and she was
quickly returned to her classic fifties costume.
CATWOMAN IN DC COMICS
Batman #1 (Spring 1940) A young woman
known as The Cat makes her first appearance.
She manages to steal her booty and Batman’s
heart. But being a good Super Hero, Batman
recovers the plunder, though he does let the
cat burglar slip. Wouldn’t you?
It was several years before the Cat developed
into the feline fatale we know as Catwoman.
The refined version came dressed in a sexy
outfit and equipped with a cat-o-nine tails.
Me-ow!
During the 50s sex and violence in comics
were censored under the Comics Code.
Luckily, the Batman TV show inspired a
renewed interest in villains and villainesses
NY orders subway searches : sandwich threat ‘realistic’
Over the next few years Catwoman
underwent some significant changes. In 1977
she ‘died,’ although this DC comic was set
in an alternate universe where she married
Bruce Wayne. Ten years later she was brought
back as part of the Batman: Year One series,
but with a different persona - Selina had
become a former prostitute seeking revenge.
Thanks to the success of Batman Returns, DC
comics awarded Catwoman a starring role
in a comic of her own. In August 1993 the
changeable cat appeared in a form-fitting
purple costume, more buxom than ever
before.
33
CATWOMAN IN THE MOVIES
Batman
Based on the popular TV series, ‘Batman’
the movie was released in August 1966. The
low-budget profit-grabbing flick starred
Lee Meriwether, a former Miss America, as
Catwoman. Although she looked convincing
in her catsuit, TV star Julie Newman was the
real 60s Catwoman. The movie saw Catwoman,
along with the Joker (Cesar Romero), the Riddler
(Frank Gorshin), and the Penguin (Burgess
Meredith), attempting to kidnap delegates of the
United World Security Council. Memorable scene
include Batman (Adam West) repelling a rubber
shark and trying to dispose of an interesting
bomb.
Batman Returns
Tim Burton’s dark thriller was released in July 1992,
his second Batman movie, but the first starring the
Mistress of Malevolence. In this movie, Gotham City
is plagued by slinky, mysterious Catwoman (Michelle
Pfeiffer) and the sinister Penguin (Danny DeVito). Bad
businessman Max Schreck helps the Penguin become
Mayor, but to complicate things a little, Schreck’s
secretary Selina Kyle is thrown from a building and
transformed into Catwoman. With her black latex catsuit,
stiletto boots and whip, Michelle Pfeiffer presents a jawdropping version of our favourite feline felon.
Catwoman (2004)
As for the recent reworking of Catwoman’s character, I’ll just let
the critics speak for themselves:
“Putting Halle Berry in a tight leather suit is a good idea. The rest
of the movie is not.”
-- Boo Allen, DENTON RECORD CHRONICLE (TX)
“Here’s a movie that has nothing going for it except good bone
structure.”
-- Joe Baltake, SACRAMENTO BEE
“A stinky hairball on the soiled rug of the summer blockbuster schedule,
gruesome enough to have been ejected from the esophagus of Bill the Cat...”
-- John Beifuss, COMMERCIAL APPEAL (MEMPHIS, TN)
“Arguably the worst superhero film ever made.”
-- Jay Boyar, ORLANDO SENTINEL
“So bad that I actually recommend you see it. It’s the movie you and your friends will rip on all
summer long.”
-- James Brundage, FILMCRITIC.COM
“Catwoman has nothing on its mind but random movement and the airing of every lipstick shade from
Revlon’s Fall collection”
-- Jeannette Catsoulis, LAS VEGAS MERCURY
“Law & Order: Feline Investigations Unit.”
-- Sarah Chauncey, REEL.COM
“A thriller you wouldn’t inflict on a laboratory rat”
-- James Christopher, TIMES OF LONDON
Australia to sign friendship treaty : just needs a partner
34
?
IS SHE A
WONDER
BY MONIQUE MUELLER
Does the name Diana Prince sound
familiar? Throughout the television
series in the 1970s, she would spin
on a dial, whip out the lassoo to
defend good, kind men and women,
and not just with her bullet deflecting
bracelets.
Or perhaps she was
viewed as a kind of porn star from
another universe who just happens
to posses supernatural powers?
The Wonder Woman television series, released
in 1976, featured a young United States Air
force secretary, Diana Prince, opposite a
Colonel, Steve Trevor. Diana Prince, aka Lynda
Carter, was the bane of threats to society,
fighting off Nazis, androids and even using
birds to telepathically alert her to danger.
Wonder Woman was created in the 1940s
by William Moulton Marston, an educational
consultant for Detective Comics (now known
as DC Comics). Marston also created the
systolic blood-pressure test, a precursor to
the lie detector (polygraph), and his theory
was that honesty and reliability were more
feminine qualities than masculine. In a 1943
issue of The American Scholar, Marston stated
“Women’s strong qualities have become
despised because of their weakness. The
obvious remedy is to create a feminine
character with all the strength of Superman
plus all the allure of a good and beautiful
woman.”
Throughout the 1940s, Wonder Woman
was transformed from a feminist to a more
traditional American hero. Then over the
period of the 1950s, her backstory was
revamped so that her powers were derived
Brave battlers bowled over : sub states alliteration addiction
from a variety of Roman and Greek deities. In
the 1960s a scripter called Robert Kanigher
applied Superman gimmicks and similar to
Superboy et al, and a teenage Wonder Girl was
launched, followed by Wonder Tot, an infant
Amazon princess. Kanigher then decided to
combine all three ages of Wonder Woman
in Impossible Tales, which also featured
Hippolyta (her mother) in the adventures of
Wonder Queen. Wonder Woman surrendered
35
her powers at the end of the 60s as a
consequence of choosing to live in a ‘man’s
world’ instead of accompanying her
Amazon’s on an interdimensional
joyride. The storylines changed to
that of secret agent-style plots
and occult tales, with one
rather controversial cover
depicting Diana Prince
bearing a machine gun
and firing at an airplane.
Heroine!
In the 1970s Wonder
Woman’s powers were
restored along with her
original 40s costume. She
was featured on the front
cover of a 1972 first issue of
Steinem’s Ms. magazine, which
also featured a patriotic essay
on the character. The women’s
liberation movement acknowledged
the change in format. In the I Ching era
controversy was not enough to hold back
the inevitable live-action adaptations of
the comic book. In 1974 the telefilm, Cathy
Lee Crosby (a blonde, non-superpowered
Amazon Wonder Woman), as well as second
and third seasons of the television series
featuring Lydna Carter, closely reflected the
character of the early 1970s version of Diana
Prince. The original Wonder Woman returned
to the comic books. For two years the heroine
fought for readmittance to the Justice League
of America (JLA), which she had resigned
from when she gave up her powers. She
underwent 12 “trials”, similar to Hercule’s 12
labours, to prove to JLA her worthiness. Each
trial was secretly monitored by a different JLA
member.
While DC did order another format change,
the popularity of the television series, set in
the 40s, ensured the comic was also kept in
this era. Two multiverse (multiple fictional
versions of a universe) concepts of Wonder
Woman were purued, living in two separate,
yet parallel worlds - namely in the 1970s
“Earth One” and in the 1940s “Earth Two”.
Hence the comic book following the
1970s television series in its change of
setting. The alluring eyes that secretly
desired Steve Trevor and wistful hair
that came undone when she twirled around
to transform from Diana Prince into Wonder
Woman carried subliminal sexual innuendo.
To downplay the sexual imagery, her
relationship with Steve Trevor was
always represented as platonic.
Throughout the 1970s and
1980s Wonder Woman fought
myriad battles.
She was
featured in the animated
series Super Friends as a
team character. However,
Wonder Woman was
killed in the comic series
of Crisis on Infinite Earths.
But fear not, she was not
dead for long. In 1987, DC
created Wonder Woman as a
reincarnated Diana, an agent
and princess from Paradise
Island in a man’s world. Sound
familiar? At first she was not a
“superheroine” and was described
as a “babe in the woods, innocent
without guile”. She was trained as a warrior
who spoke only classic Greek, post arrival
in America she learnt English. Her dealings
involved war, inequality, injustice, death and
conflicts involving the Olympian Gods. Comic
relief was had as she was overpowered by
a ferocious feline-humanoid creature, The
Cheetah, who transformed into a woman and
challenged Diana to combat. Wonder Woman
was depicted in sexual poses and revealing
outfits, which annoyed the feminists, and this
brought her mother Hippolyta back into the
comic series to soften ‘the blow’.
Throughout the 1990s it was rumoured
a Wonder Woman feature film would be
possible, however Lynda Carter was a heroine
in her portrayal of Wonder Woman and that
made it virtually impossible for another actor
to be cast.
However, in the year 2005 Joss Whedon
(Buffy the Vampire Slayer writer and director)
has declared a new Wonder Woman movie
and the heroine will not wear “star-spangled
panties”. Wonder Woman will continue to
reign as a heroine in the upcoming DC and
Marvel Marvel vs Capcorn fighting games.
You’re a Wonder, Wonder Woman!
Vizard share deals motivated by greed : McGuire sheer stupidity, ASIC finds
September 15
Machine Tranlsations 6:30pm Bulli Heritage Hotel $12
Fizard 9pm Oxford Tavern Free
The Undersided + Archie Wah Wah’s + Ill Starred Captain 9pm Palm Court Hotel Free
Hermitude Unibar $10/Free from Unicentre
September 8
The Millers Tale + Natalie Gillespie 9pm Oxford Tavern Free
Lost in Line + Ohana 9pm Palm Court Hotel Free
Sonicanimation + Soma Rasa Unibar $15/18
September 1
Austen Tayshus 6:30pm Bulli Heritage Hotel $15
The Go Set + Brazen Hearts 9pm Oxford Tavern Free
The Watts Riot + Devil Rock Four + Psychosis Summer 9pm Palm Court Hotel Free
Uni DJ comp final Unibar 7:30pm Free
August 25
Simon Bruce 6:30pm Bulli Heritage Hotel $8
90% + Against All Odds + The Fray 9pm Palm Court Hotel FREE
Regurgitator + The Minted Chicks + SnowmanUnibar $20/15 from Unicentre
Untainted + Escape Route 6:30pm Wollongong Youth Centre FREE
Ritilin + Solvent 9pm Oxford Tavern Free
August 18
Clare Bowdich + Soda Stream 6:30pm Bulli Heritage Hotel $10
Ash Avenue + The Velocity Monks (Launch) 6:30pm Wollongong Youth Centre FREE
Stiffler + The Looks + Fire Underground 9pm Palm Court Hotel FREE
28 Days Unibar 7:30pm $10/20 from Unicentre
Bluebottle Kiss + The Sandcasters 9pm Oxford Tavern $15 Tix From Oxford, Music Farmers and
Redback
August 11
Arrive Alive Uni Band Comp Final Mug + The Brazen Hearts + Mirror Sessions + Throsby Drive +
Joshua Wellington + Blackbird w/guests The Dawn Collective 7:30pm UniBar FREE
Don Fernando + 9pm Guests Palm Court Hotel FREE
Unhinged short play festival. IPAC 8pm. Tix $20/15 from IPAC.
Weapon Like Stereo + Ohana + Lost in Line 6:30pm Wollongong Youth Centre FREE
thursday
TUESDAY
August 26
Holidays on Ice 6:30pm Bulli Heritage Hotel $15
Tension + Fingerprint Resistant 9pm Oxford Tavern Free
Angela’s Dish + Stiffler + Self-Titled + Writing Yourself Over 7pm Wollongong Youth Centre $10
August 19
Doug Ashdown + Ross Ryan 6:30pm Bulli Heritage Hotel $22
Cantolibre 9pm Oxford Tavern Free
August 12
Pod People + Omerata + Peeping Tom 9pm Oxford Tavern FREE
Unhinged short play festival. 8pm. IPAC Tix $20/15 from IPAC.
friday
September 21
Wons Phreely + guests 9pm Palm Court Hotel Free
Modular Lounge UOW Duckpond Lawn 12:30pm Free
September 14
The Boat People 9pm Oxford Tavern Free
Don Fernando + Van 9pm Palm Court Hotel Free
The Suitable Few UOW Duckpond Lawn 12:30pm Free
September 7
Toy Not Suitable + Escape Route 9pm Palm Court Hotel Free
August 31
Smak Pony + Jay 9pm Oxford Tavern Free
Neanderthal Junkie + Guests 9pm Palm Court Hotel Free
Abby Dobson UOW Duckpond Lawn 12:30pm Free
August 24
Hell City Glamours + Sebasrocket 9pm Oxford Tavern FREE
Patterns on a screen + Lick 9pm Palm Court Hotel Free
Tokenview UOW Duckpond Lawn 12:30pm Free
August 17
Floyd Vincent 9pm Oxford Tavern FREE
Lost in Line + Semi-colon 9pm Palm Court Hotel FREE
August 10
Bingo Steve And The Magic Markers + guests Palm Court Hotel FREE
Mug 12:30pm Duckpond Lawn UOW FREE
Order of Nature Oxford Tavern 9pm FREE
Unhinged short play festival. IPAC 8pm. Tix $20/15 from IPAC.
wednesDay
GIG GUIDEAugust/september
36
Items for Tert gig guides and notice boards can be sent to [email protected] If you include something like ‘gig guide’ in the
subject header it makes things easier on this end. If you want to review one of the events listed (or another), email to same address.
Wollongong Youth Centre
Cnr Keira & Burelli St. Wollongong
IPAC
Burelli St. Wollongong
Oxford Tavern
Lower Crown St. (Back on to Burelli), Wollongong
Palm Court Hotel
Princes Highway Corrimal
UniBar
University of Wollongong Gwynville
Duckpond Lawn
You’re probably sitting on it. Big grassy bit of
UOW between library and bar.
VENUES
September 11
Gyroscope Oxford Tavern $10 from Oxford, Music Farmers & Redback
September 4
Ash Grunwald 6:30pm Bulli Heritage Hotel $10
August 28
Loud and Local III Palm Court Hotel $6 at door.
PINK FITZ + NABILONE + LOST IN LINE + STONE OX + AGAINST ALL ODDS +
OHANA + GOLGOTHA METHOD + ZEBEDEE + BLACKBIRD
Darren Jack Band 6:30pm Bulli Heritage Hotel $10
August 21
Mal Eastick + Jan Preston 6:30pm Bulli Heritage Hotel $12
August 14
Serena Ryder + Hawksley Workman + Renny Field 6:30pm Bulli Heritage Hotel $20
sunday
September 16
Rhubarb 6:30pm Bulli Heritage Hotel $12
The Disables + Epic Flagon + Memorandum 9pm Oxford Tavern Free
September 9
Peabody + The Vandas + Tucker B’s 9pm Oxford Tavern Free
Wollongong Workshop Theatre are currently accepting submissions for 20/20 Theatre: Live in a Day. Plays are written, rehearsed and
performed over 24 hours. Entries close 29/5. See http://www.theatreillawarra.info/wwt/2020.html for details.
New community market with live music. Second Saturday of the month, cnr Church & Wentworth st, Port Kembla. 9am-3pm. For info call
Jenny, (02) 4276 3433
Create Illawarra – web space dedicated to the promotion of arts and arts groups in the Illawarra. Provides web hosting for arts groups, lists
events free of charge, provides links to grants programs and initiatives. www.createillawarra.com . For more info contact Tania Daniels on
[email protected]
Local group Hy-Test have scored a Wed. residency at Surry Hills’ Excelsior Hotel for August. They have also been recording the “Little Band
that Could EP” and are hoping to tour interstate soon, so see them while they’re still here.
Blues harp player seeks collaborators or session work. Infl. include Neil Young, Waifs, Dylan and Jim Conway (Backsliders). Contact Drue on
[email protected]
Any young (12-25) person wishing to perform at Wollongong Youth Services’ New Performers’ nights should contact Alison on 4226 5969
Sydney gallery and performance space Space3 (151 Regent St.) have had their lease terminated. They invite interested parties to consider
investing to save the site. www.space3.org
A community forum on the future of Community Cultural Development is to be held on Tuesday the 9th of August in the Cringilla
Community Centre’s large hall. Beginning at 9:30am, the program runs all day. RSVP is requested, to Caro, Illawarra Ethnic Communities
Council, on 0401 846 616.
The WUSA Short Film competition has been CANCELLED due to staffing and resources issues. WUSA apologies for any inconvenience.
NOTICES
September 17
Die Die Die + The scare + Eupohonic 9pm Oxford Tavern Free
September 10
Renny Field + Sime Nugent + Andrew Morris 6:30pm Bulli Heritage Hotel $10
Nuncukka Superfly + Pure Evi Trio + 4Dead 9pm Oxford Tavern Free
September 3
Iota 6:30pm Bulli Heritage Hotel $15
Stiffler + Self-titled + Boy Meets Ground 9pm Oxford Tavern Free
August 27
Mark Seymour 6:30pm Bulli Heritage Hotel $25
Nunchukka Superfly + The Nice Folk + Double Agents 9pm Oxford Tavern FREE
August 20
Grand Fatal + Ohana 9pm Oxford Tavern FREE
Dave Graney 6:30pm Bulli Heritage Hotel $15
August 13
Bingo Steve and the Magic Markers + Sin City + The Nice Folk 9pm Oxford Tavern FREE
Unhinged short play festival. IPAC 8pm. Tix $20/15 from IPAC.
Mick Thomas + Dan Warner 6:30pm Bulli Heritage Hotel $17
August 6
Horsell Common + Your Black Star (USA) + Staying At Home 9pm Oxford Tavern FREE
saturday
September 2
Intercooler + The Suits + The Chargers 9pm Oxford Tavern Free
37
38
HELEN OF TROY
A vital character without whom the war of Troy would have been
fought in vain. By leaving Menelaus for Paris, Helen paves the way for
the ever popular stereotype – the second-wife man. Possibly the least
popular female character around, she remains a woman who knows
what she wants.
BEOWULF
Literary
Heroes.
by Centine Wilbers & Adam Norris
Dating back to some time before the tenth century, the very
manuscript this epic poem was written on has been through its own
series of hardships, surviving religious persecution, the extremities
of the elements, and the fire which gutted most of the library it
was housed in during the 1500’s. While the poem itself is filled with
great battles, fiendish monsters and a body-count to satiate even the
most seasoned action-veteran, the real importance of Beowulf is as a
historical record of early Anglo-Saxon customs and oral storytelling.
That, and the ever-important lesson not to face any warrior-kings if
you happen to have lost one of your arms. Also one of the earliest
philosophy textbooks we have.
Grieve not, wise warrior. It is better to avenge one’s friend than mourn too
much. Each of us must one day reach the end. Of worldly life, let him who
can win glory before he dies: that lives on after him, when he lifeless lies.
TRISTRAM SHANDY
Every now and then, the world of literature pops
out one of those unforgettable heroes/heroines.
Since Cervantes pitted Don Quixote and his
chubby sidekick Sancho against the windmills of
the world, readers have held a soft spot in their
hearts for a good adventure story, with heroes
and heroines risking life and limb for elusive (and
often nonexistent) rewards. As such for your
convenience, in close to chronological order,
some of our favourite (and least favourite) literary
heroes.
The narrator of Sterne’s Classic ‘The Life and Opinions of Tristram
Shandy, Gentlemen’ is one of the first examples of the literary antihero.
Much of the book is spent in digressions, and the poor darling isn’t
even born until page 267. Though this slight alone would send
most protagonists scuttling for compensation, Tristram goes on to
suffer the indignity of being unintentionally circumcised by a falling
curtain. Add to this a graphic description of the pillow talk during his
conception (Lady Shandy: Did you wind the clock? Shandy Senior:
Bloody oath woman!) and you have the least appealing character in
literature. Please, a round of applause for the ever unfortunate and
conceptionally challenged, Tristram Shandy.
JANE EYRE
A pioneer into the male-dominated world of protagonists. This sweet
governess deals not only with a cold, cold leading man – Mr. Rochester
– but possibly the most intimidating ‘other woman’ of them all, his
wife (that is, of course, until the good Mrs. Rochester throws herself
from the roof of a burning building). She fights for love, stands strong
against the odds and never let reason (or madness) stand in her way.
Despite moments of near incest, Jane Eyre remains the epitome of
English stoicism.
TARZAN
A pre-SNAG bachelor, orphaned in the wilds of some random jungle,
is the bestknown charming barbarian around. His small talk set a new
standard for miscommunication (“Me Tarzan, you Jane”). And despite
not having read a single novel with a Tarzan character, he’s iconic
enough for me to be able to ramble off at least three sentences.
KFC denies offshore potatoes : admits bank accounts, assets
39
SHERLOCK HOLMES
Who hasn’t heard of Holmes? Perhaps the most famous literary
detective, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s (Doylie, to his friends) creation
Sherlock Holmes delivers London from a number of diabolical
schemes with his trademark pipe and deerstalker cap (at least in the
films). To this day, at a certain time in late afternoon you can still stand
outside 221 B Baker Street and hear the cries of “The game’s afoot!”
and “Elementary, my dear Watson” if you have someone nearby to say
them. Hollywood has bastardised him countless times, but for the best
rendition see Ian Richardson in The Sign of Four and The Hound of the
Baskervilles. The best way to judge the merit of a hero is by the name
of their arch nemesis, and Holmes has a good one; Professor Moriaty.
Can’t quite recall what he did exactly, but with a name like that I’m sure
it was nasty. Real nasty.
Holmes died when he fell off a cliff.
Then he came back.
any effect on the big man’s popularity. Of course that could just be
because of the gadgets; no Bond film is complete without nifty little
fountain pens that shoot out brilliantly coloured gasses, machine guns
you can hide behind a strand of hair, and cars that can fly, turn invisible,
shoot ballistic missiles and fill out tax returns.
ROLAND DESCHAIN
The word-weary gunslinger from Stephen King’s Dark Tower series,
Roland is the epitome of the American Hero. Part John Wayne, part
Dirty Harry, he sacrifices his near and dear in the quest to reach the
Dark Tower and prevent the end of the world; he accidentally shoots his
mother, he sees a variety of one-true-loves perish (one roasted alive as
a human Guy Fawkes effigy, another transformed into a cluster of small
scarab-like beetles), deliberately pushes a companion underneath a
subway train and drops his adopted son from a cliff. Twice. He journeys
crosses time, space, through a variety of different literary styles and
classic tomes to stop the Crimson King from undoing, well, everything
from his perch atop the Tower. Best of luck to ya, Roland ol’ buddy.
HERCULE POIROT
Agatha Christie’s diminutive Belgian detective, he of the “little grey
cells”, sleuths his way through a number of the Great Dame’s novels,
and has found himself portrayed in countless movie adaptations by
the likes of the late great Peter Ustinov and that small French guy
whose name nobody knows. We never really learn much about Poirot;
Christie’s grasp of character development seems limited to a series of
amusing anecdotes set ten years ago on Greek islands being related to
a small group of people who inevitably include a local doctor, several
young debutantes, a blustery ex-colonel, a do-gooder relative of the
victim to help investigations along with their arm in a sling from the
surprise attack they received around page 150, a county detective who
stumbles around like he’s just climbed out of a well outside a pub in
Glasgow, and a drunk vicar gathered in the smoky drawing room of a
towering manor somewhere in Launceston that somehow overlooks
a croquet field, a hedge maze, a stagnant tarn where young Michael
mysteriously drowned last summer, a garden of headless stone statues
and a small cobblestone path that winds between a taverna and
a haberdashery on the outskirts of Sicily. Oh, and a railway station.
Curiously, Christie’s best book, And then there were none, contains
neither Poirot or her other famed creation Miss Jessica Marple. Go
figure.
FRODO BAGGINS
Where would Science-Fiction fans be if Tolkein hadn’t brought a
certain hobbit into the world. This jewellery-loving Halfling travelled
through Middle Earth and Homosexual scandal, proving once and for
all that the short man isn’t entirely worthless.
JAMES BOND
Originally devised by author Ian Flemming, Bond found his niche in
Sean Connery. The spy-catching, villain-defeating, ever-on-the-sideof-England Bond has our best interests at heart, and our best lookers
in his bed. Notable baddies include Dr. No, Goldfinger, Jaws, and that
willowy-haired pansy Christopher Walken played in A View to a Kill.
Numerous bad movies (including the last shocker) don’t seem to have
BRIDGET JONES
Her diary is the modern day sacred text for the increasing hordes
of confused women. Through example, disciples are taught how to
combat ‘Fuckwittage’ with copious amounts of wine and cigarettes. The
modernised Darcy (originally form Jane Austin’s ‘Pride and Prejudice’)
battles with the dastardly Cleaver for the affection of a protagonist we
can actually relate to. Helen Fieldings’ bumbling Bridget tells us how
it is in a way we want to hear. She is indeed the heroine of all modern
women.
40
HORNBAGS OR HEROINES?
Carla Weber and her second best friend Mitchell Jordan take a look at what
it is we love about those Foxy Ladies.
Wonderwoman, Charlies’ Angels, Xena there’s so many female role models to chose from, but
what about something closer to home? If you don’t aspire to saving the world or venturing
out of the suburbs then Kath and Kim are the perfect source of inspiration. Those foxy
ladies have been tizzying up our lives for years now, altering our minds (not to mention our
wardrobes) with their unique style. Here’s why we love Kath and Kim.
41
Kath
Kim
There isn’t much to dislike about the foxiest lady this side of Fountain
Lakes. On the wrong side of 25, Kath is an unmistakably self-assured
and fiercely independent woman. She has managed to put the brakes
on ageing with a beauty regime that consists of huffy puffy on the SkiTime Buttock and Thigh Toner, and the occasional pine light.
For anyone whose ever dreamed of being a trophy wife/husband (and
who’d want to work if they didn’t have to?!) Kimmy is the ultimate role
model. In between flutes of bubbly, bowls of footy franks and dishing
out abuse, Kim still finds time to do nothing- hers (and my) favourite
past time.
Kath takes pride in her appearance, from her beautiful mange of
poodle-permed hair (which she maintains through regular at-home
rooting…to save on the moolah) to the mango espadrilles she displays
proudly on her feet. Not one to shy away from the limelight, (whether
it be her lead role with the Fountain Lakes Players or in the High and
Dry advertisement) Kath’s reputation for being high-maintenance took
centre stage in the organisation of her fairytale wedding (complete
with pumpkin-style coach) to make her beautiful, sensual relationship
with Kel a mere formality.
From the Air Diet to the Celine Dion Diet, were always being told how
little to eat, but what if you just want to let it all hang out? Exercise is
all well and good, but with no promise of results at the end, I’d much
rather stay parked on the setee with a slice of low fat cheesecake or
maybe even some fruit (a cherry ripe) by my side.
Her most endearing quality would have to be her ability to speak highly
of herself. Always the socialite, Kath proves that you can combine small
talk with issue based conversation and dazzle your myriad of special
acquaintances (Ravi and Shona Sidharta, Ng and Gung Ho).
Kath is one of the very few women who believes they possess a
headful of locks sleeker than the average Hollywood A-Lister. She is
certainly no fashion-victim. Take, for example, her impeccable ability
to throw together a hot little outfit, favouring jeans with a 12” fly (in
stretch denim) teamed with a high-necked stretch lace snap-crotch
teddy. She teaches women that making the effort to put a little bit of
face on for the man in your life may be all that is needed to give him
a boost.
Always open to hot suggestions, Kath epitomises what one would look
for in a self-help book: she is never short of dishing out sound advice,
whether it be strategic ideas for Kim to achieve an effluent-style look,
or devoting a millisecond of attention to ever-present Sharon before
bringing it back to herself. And, like any self-respecting woman, Kath
knew the best way to deal with an unfaithful husband was to choose
something disco-dolly and hit the club scene. Clearly, Kath Day-Knight
is high-maintenance, but frankly she enjoys it!
Kim is unique in many ways. Not only does she refuse to conform to
our evil workaholic lifestyle where success is measured by the length
of your job title, she also refuses to grow up. Just as she treasures her
Care Bears and Bumballina, my Masters of the Universe figurines still
take pride of place in my bedroom.
Kim takes the cake (literally) by her lack of education. Apart from a TAFE
course in Cake Decorating, my favourite hornbag proves that you don’t
need a university degree to leave your mark on the world. All you need
is a second best friend to do the work for you.
So after all this, I suppose you think I’m nothing more than a fat, lazy
slob who’s extremely rude? Maybe you’re right, but even so I’ve only
got one word to say to you: Pfft!
Never mind Barbie and Ken, we want Kath and Kim dolls, dammit!
42
Madame Helga
Dear Madame Helga,
My boyfriend is into bondage. I've had a very conservative
upbringing and its taking me a while to get used to the idea. Have
you ever dabbled in this kind of thing?
~ Afraid of the Fetish ~
My precious child, do you even need to ask that question of Madame
Helga; a woman whose sexual exploits have become the water cooler
conversation topic of every workplace in Australia? Darling, of course
I’ve delved into the shadowy, sensual world of S & M.
I believe we should all live under one universal motto: “Try everything
once, twice just to be sure. Three times just in case the first two times
were really shit”. These words should be displayed on banners across
the nation, we should all be taught from a young age to keep an open
mind. It is the only way that we can possibly experience every delight
that this world has to offer us.
To Helga,
I'm twenty-two years old and have had what I consider to be a
decent number of lovers for a girl my age. I met my boyfriend at
the end of last year and he was a virgin before that. We have a
great sex life but now I'm concerned that he will get a wandering
eye and be keen to sow his wild oats so to speak. Do you think I
should be worried?
Name withheld
Well, my child, if we are to assume that your boyfriend is around
the same age as you then you may in fact have a problem. It would
not be uncommon for him to want to “catch up” with your worldly
escapades, as the members of the male sex seem to fuel themselves
with jealousy and tripe nonsense when it comes to sex with their
partners. He is merely a young man blinded by feelings of inadequacy
and estrangement. It has been my experience that such jealousy will
eventually surface and instead of sowing his wild oats (if he is an
honourable young man) he will withdraw emotionally and this will
turn your sex life – in weather terms – from sunny to overcast. The
solution is communication with your lover – tell him how much you
cherish the physical expressions of love you give to each other and let
him know with sincere eloquence that he’s really good…and shit.
To Madame Helga,
I'm holding a cocktail party for my friends. I really want to impress
some lovely ladies and since you're obviously a vixen of the higher
echelon yourself I thought I'd ask what is your favourite cocktail?
And what are the ingredients for throwing a dignified bash??
Adam
A good question my dear, and one I’m very happy to answer for you.
My favourite cocktail is The Screaming Orgasm; let me tell you it tastes
as good as it sounds. You mix one shot of Kahlua, one shot of Irish
Cream, one shot of Amaretto and one shot of Vodka then shake it like
maracas during Mardi Gras. Pour it into a cocktail glass and enjoy.
There is no one secret to hosting a good party. Arrange your party
space so there is a comfortable place to sit, a good place to dance
and appropriate lighting. If you want it to be a “dignified bash” then I
suggest putting on some mood music and turn the lights down just a
fraction. I must warn you that cocktail parties have a tendency to get
less and less dignified as the night progresses. I wish you luck in your
amorous escapades.
Dear Madame Helga,
I have found my dream girl. She sits in the row in front of me
in my History lecture. Can you provide me with any sure-fire
pick up lines?? She's so gorgeous every time I even think about
approaching her I go to jelly.
“Heeeey! You look just like my next girlfriend!!!” “Come in this lecture
often? Do you require digital assistance?” “How do you like your eggs
in the morning? Unfertilised?” Unfortunately these, and many other
phrases, will not win the girl of your dreams. My dear, nothing will
win this girl as she is just a fantasy – the unattainable – the intelligent
George W Bush quote. Never gonna happen. It is with great regret that
I crush your dream with my iron gavel of romantic judgement. I am
sorry, my child. If, on the off chance you do get the chance to meet her –
do not – EVER – use a line. No woman has ever responded favourably to
a line. Let me rephrase: no intelligent, non-mutant, university attending
woman has ever responded favourably to a line. So save your face and
ego and resolve to accept the ever impending friendship, if you get
that far. Until then, sit next to her in lectures and nominate to do a
group assignment with this lusty enchantress.
43
To Helga,
For the past few months I have been topless waitressing. One of
my friends found out and now everyone is telling me I have to
quit because it is wrong and degrading. I know it is not the ideal
job but I really need the cash. It is so hard for students to get by
these days.
Ultimately this is your individual choice. You have to discover within
yourself, if this is the view that you commit to, or simply the values
of your friends being imposed upon your free will. I was in a similar
situation in Amsterdam, where lap dancing at private functions on
houseboats fed my appetite for space cakes. I do not regret my times
in Amsterdam and did not let my prudish, uppity friends stop me from
riding the essence of mellowness. Also during this time, my friends
benefited by my fiscal situation in the form of superb birthday gifts.
My suggestion is to follow your true desires (if that be continuing
topless waitressing) and show your friends with heartfelt price tags
how dedicated you are to your job and lifestyle. If you wish to leave
your waitressing job, may I suggest working in a call centre as a viable
alternative? Although, many would suggest this would be just as
degrading and soul wrenching.
Mmm, this Agony Aunt has got the
goods!
If you have any questions, no matter
how weird, hairy, or awkward
they may be, send em’ to me at
[email protected] and I’ll make
sure Madame Helga gets the message.
Come on people don’t be shy - Helga is
ready and waiting.
44
QUICK QUIZ:
So, you’re disenchanted with university life and unsure of your future? Oh… and you like
wearing underpants on top of your clothes. Is it just a bizarre sexual practice or do you have
what it takes to become a Superhero? Find out with this quick quiz:
chinchilla).
for a relationship… and you live with your Mum (who is possibly a
comes with maximum sex appeal. It’s just a pity that you’ll be too busy
become a Superhero you won’t get paid well (or at all), but your job
you’re morally upright and have faith in humanity. If you decide to
chinchillas on some deserted island or something, because it seems
all that …um… stuff. You must have been raised by a bunch of
Wow. You’re actually Superhero material – fighting for justice and
2. You’re in your car and you hear sirens – what do you
do?
a) Curse and scream, “Oh the pain!”
b) Speed up and take off your balaclava.
c) Track the offenders, catch them, and turn them in to
the authorities.
CHECK YOUR SCORE:
Natalie Aylward
1. What colours are you most likely to be seen in this
winter?
a) Whatever I can pull out of the St Vincent’s clothing
donation bin!
b) Neutral tones. Actually, just black
c) Something absolutely ugly, like blue and red.
Mostly (c)s:
enough free time to calculate complex plans for destruction and
– the kind where there are leather chairs and good coffee, giving them
score sought-after jobs in local government or business management
creativity while expressing your true evil nature. Most Super-villains
suited to a position such as Super-villain, where you can utilise you
Well, if you’re ugly and fond of cats – like myself – you’re probably
Mostly (b)s:
4. What most sounds like your home?
a) A fortress made of empty pizza boxes and bottles of
bourbon.
b) An underground lair in a secret location.
c) An immaculately kept home with shrubbery shaped
like animals.
domination.
3. When you wake up in the morning, your first words are:
a) Arg! Where am I? I need a beer…
b) What a horrible world. I think today I shall destroy it.
c) Mumsy, where is my latex bodysuit? It’s dry clean only!
– in another 40 years you can retire and watch Jerry Springer all day.
have what it takes to become a Superhero, but look on the bright side
masturbate, cry at the end of Bambi and work at McDonalds. You don’t
It seems you’re a completely normal member of society. You frequently
Mostly (a)s:
5. Aww, how cute! A lost puppy. What do you do?
a) Stick it under your coat and take it home – those
things come in handy.
b) Use it as live bait, sending your nemesis footage of the
poor little thing whimpering.
c) Return it to its grateful owners or take it to an animal
shelter.
Miss Philippa
FASHION WITH
45
A WEIGHTY ISSUE:
PHAT WITH AN F
By Miss Philippa
In the outrageously funny Girlfriend 44 the main character, Harry
Chesshyre, laments that he is too fat to be depressed. Revealing what
must surely be one of the world’s more brutal truths, he tells the reader
that for him, depression is simply not an option: People will just think
that I’m a sad fat nutter.
Which of course, begs the question; with so much of today’s fashion
based on what Valentino has described as the pencil physique, can a
budding stylemiester be both funky and roly-poly? Or, to borrow from
the musings of Harry, will people just think that said stylemiester is,
quite simply, a sad fat nutter?
A quick flick through the top fash mags grimly suggests that the
answer to the first question is probably not. From Twiggy to Kate Moss
and the waif crew, heroin chic to Gisele, modern fashion has always
been dominated by skinny minnys. Sophie Dahl aside, no top model
has ever had a BMI nudging the fatso category. Even the lovely Sophie
came in a gang of one and then quickly went on a diet.
But why? The idea that clothes hang better on bodies that are akin to
coat hangers is a bit lame. If that was so, how come coat hangers don’t
come with stupendous mammaries whilst Brazilian supermodels do?
The phenomenon of the fat goth, witnessed with increased regularity
at this years Big Day Out, may provide some clues. The jaunty arrogance
that comes with wearing something out-there, that arch haughtiness,
is, tellingly, lost on the larger than life frame of the big boned. Its not
that the more rotund goths look bad with their pudgy paleness set
against their tattered black garb. Even the skinny ones do. It’s just that
the fat ones don’t seem to be able to garner the same edginess. They
just look a bit soft.
And therein lies the problem. In the 1970s trendsters lay on their bed
with coat hangers hooked into their zips trying to get the fly up on
their super-tight bell-bottoms. If you couldn’t get it up, you wore
the dreaded kaftan or stayed home. Now, with everything made of
lycra that problem rarely exists. The clothes fit, and ergo, fashion is
seemingly more democratic.
Or is it? Whilst there is nothing stopping a size 16 slipping into a pair
of, albeit possibly Katies, lo-riders, the end result is two fold. On the
one hand, clothes that are generally flattering and easy to wear quickly
acquire a large following. Fat arse? Hipsters will cut it in half, giving
you a flatteringly tiny derrière. The garment becomes a modern staple.
On the other hand, those with a fashion bent get tired of the look. It’s
not exclusive anymore. It’s not cool. It’s not edgy. The tide changes and
the demise of said staple begins. Note the current rise of high-waisted
jeans. In Britain, this bum-unfriendly development has been blamed
on everything from lo-rider fatigue to, more pointedly, the ubiquitous
muffin tops and whale tails that have accompanied the growth of
hipsters.
But where does this leave the chubby fashion victim? Swilling cabbage
soup à la Karl Lagerfeld? Possibly not. There are lots of plump style
icons. Just look at… Sophie Dahl or someone. So really, who knows?
Greater minds have pondered this question, and no answer seems to
be forthcoming. Just ask that sad fat nutter in the headband and pirate
boots. RJP
2
QUEEROES:
46
Any references to Mariah Carey are
unintentional and extraneous – please
pretend you have never heard the song
‘Hero’
Everyone needs a hero – someone
to measure themselves against,
someone to inspire and educate
them. How you see yourself, your
place in the world effects who you
choose as your hero. Australia
has a glut of ‘suitable’ heroes, role
models for our children, inspiration
for our people. Unfortunately, due
to our climate, social make-up and
national pastimes, many of our
heroes are sportspeople. If sport
isn’t your thing there are always the
Neighbours/Home and Away girls
who have gone onto international
stardom singing second rate songs
in third rate film clips. Or we can
join the world in worshipping
Hollywood’s prefabricated, whitebread, heterosexual superstars. So
where does one go for inspiration
when they are of a more alternative
cast?
I really tried, I promise. I watched the large
sweaty men fling themselves around and
clutch each others parts. I flicked through
channels on weekend afternoons trying to
find stimulation, calluses forming on my
thumbs as I tried to find my one true hero. I
sat through soap operas, block busters and
Miss Universe pageants. Nothing appealed to
me – I was left spinning, hero-less in a world
full of z-grade heroes.
In 1997, suddenly everything shifted. It was
another shitty Saturday night, sitting at home
because nothing could inspire me to go out,
pizza in my belly and a heavy, heavy heart.
SALVATION FROM
MEDIOCRITY.
I knew I needed something, some
catalyst to shake me out of my
ennui, some tsunami to wash away 22 years
of detritus. Five minutes later I was plastered
to my lounge chair, forced back in my seat
by the woman who filled the screen in front
of me. Xena: Warrior Princess had arrived and
shaken my world. It sound ridiculous, a grown
woman slathering over an invented princess,
the spin-off from some shitty boy-ego show,
but the feelings pulsing through me were
uncontrollable, irresistible. Her tight leather
breastplate, the height of her kicks, the curve
of her lips. I was entranced.
Xena was a special kind of hero, setting new
standards for the girls (and pseudo girls) of
today. A single woman, traipsing the ancient
worlds with her faithful sidekick Gabrielle,
ignoring the rumours of lesbianism, kicking
bad guys’ arses left right and centre, the
buxom princess showed grrls the world across
what it is to be a strong female, flaunting the
rules of convention and struggling daily
with the battle to be a ‘good’ person. It was
an addiction that lasted from the very first
series (when Gabrielle’s outfit covered her
from the neck to the knees) through to the
end (carefully following the shrinking of the
aforementioned outfit from series to series).
Through Xena related chat rooms I moved
onto other obsessions and heroes, each more
exotic than the last. Tank Girl (played in the
movie by Lori Petty) was first on the list –
another bent girl, tough and nasty but with a
heart of gold. I dyed my hair blond and started
ripping up all of my clothes, following my
memorable scissor assisted strip for a lover’s
birthday I realised this obsession had passed
and I needed to move on. Rebecca (Tank Girl’s
other name) got put on the shelf with Xena
and my feelers went out again. Alanis, Gwen
Stefani and Bjork all had their moments. But
when I developed a crush on Ellen Degeneris
things finally started to slot into place; the
reason I was so offended by my childhood
hero options was that hideous queer gene
hidden deep in my genome. Some accident
of nature made me a queer and my queerness
was desperately trying to make itself known
through my selection of idols.
Revelling in the new found freedom of
embracing my oddness I leapt into the
world of queer. Everything suddenly seemed
brighter. I watched all the old Madonna clips
and read the Sex book with a new eye for
details. Dennis Rodman became someone I
could respect for his courageous opinions. I
even developed a crush on Ru Paul.
All this time later and I have moved on from
needing a template for myself. A few weeks
ago I came across a cardboard cut out of
Xena in a junk shop. My friend kept yelling
at me to stop embarrassing her, but I just
pretended I was wearing a leather breastplate
while I nestled up next to one of my heroes
and clicked a pic with my mobile. It is good
to be able to worship someone, whether real
or imaginary, but when your admirations
lead to you finding your place in the world,
that is the greatest gift you can give yourself.
Don’t be afraid to admire the unusual, the
unacknowledged – there is something in
you that is drawn to those things and by
examining your desires you will find (dare I
say it?) the hero in your self.
Angela J Williams
2
20/ 0
47
20/20:
2 /2
0
Live in a Day –
Theatre on Speed
Lajos Hamers’ latest project had
some of his friends questioning his
sanity. And the idea does sound
a little deranged, a tad given to
chaos. It’s a simple formula. You
put on a series of short plays that
have all been written, rehearsed and
performed in a 24 hour period.
Modelled on similar projects that have taken
place in Sydney and Newcastle, the project,
called 20/20, Theatre Live in A Day has been
taken on by local theatre group Wollongong
Workshop Theatre.
“I read about a similar project being done
in Sydney, and became really excited at the
prospect of doing it down here in Wollongong.
I found workshop theatre were interested in it,
and here we are,” Hamers says.
Lajos happily admits that he has no idea
what sort of theatre this severely compacted
process will produce. While he is experienced
in improvisatory theatre, having been involved
in forum theatre, in which performers enact
audience members’ own stories, he has not
seen the outcome of this particular type of
theatre before.
“I would like to think the results will be
various, interesting and hopefully a little
absurd,” he says.
However, he does think that the result will be
different.
by Lachlan Williams
“With 20/20: Live in a Day we are removing
some formal structures to see what kinds of
theatre immediacy and improvisation can
produce.”
The emphasis of the project is not on
competition, but it is more, says Hamers
of a “celebration or festival of theatre or
performance.”
“We are asking people to form or be put
in teams and work towards the goal of
producing a decent piece of art in the
shortest possible time. It’s a tough ask, but not
impossible.”
Instead of competing for prizes, contestants
are asked to bring a plate of food for a
communal meal after the performances.
Expressions of interest from writers, actors
and directors are invited, though the word is
to get in soon, as submissions close August 30.
The organisers are also calling for filmmakers
who may be interested in documenting the
event.
The plays will be staged at Wollongong
Workshop Theatre in Gipps Road, Gwynneville,
on the 29th of October at 8pm, with the script
written on the night of the 28th. Tickets
will be available closer to the event from
Wollongong Workshop Theatre on (02) 4225
9407. There will be a limited number of tickets,
so bookings are advised.
48
STANDING IN THE SHADOWS OF AN AFFIDAVIT
Signed, sealed, delivered, arraigned…The children and
“the entertainer”…Bring me the head of the King of
Pop.
It was so much easier for The Beatles. You could be a cross-cultural
idol to millions and have to do nothing more than have a bad haircut,
get high, and write songs about walruses and holding hands. All over
the world, teenage girls would scream, and teenage boys would get
matching bad haircuts and Nehru jackets. Being a bad boy was easier,
too. Jim Morrison got drunk, spouted incomprehensible bollocks, liked
to fuck, and wore tight pants. He’s the Lizard King, but very few people
under seventeen know who Axl Rose is.
In the first days of the new millennium, the Time of the Torts, there’s
a lot of tedious noise made about the responsibilities of celebrities,
and their apparent duties to young, stupid fans. To say nothing of
the flood of angry Concerned Citizens that has at any given time a
lamb bearing the sins of their children. They demand either blood
or perfect behaviour, and do so noisily and inconveniently, probably
before going home to flog each other with plaited willow branches
and take cold showers. Never mind that plenty of ‘role models’ fail to
understand exactly why they’re so adored, or why legions of frustrated
demographics bleach their hair or slaughter their classmates. If Kurt
Cobain had known the kind of influence his suicide would have, he
probably would have just got a haircut and enrolled in a marketing
course.
Since the sixties, it’s been okay for stars to have the kind of delightful
eccentricities that would be considered mental defects in anyone else.
But famous people should avoid being accused of anything they can’t
do in front of their mothers. It’s okay if they do it and everyone knows,
of course, but when someone steps up and brings the law into it,
they’re doomed. It could be common knowledge that Jack Nicholson
flies Thai street girls over to LA and pays them huge amounts of money
to eat raw meat in the nude…but if the District Attorney ever issued a
summons over it, his name would be mud. And even then, it wouldn’t
be certain. Jack could wriggle his way out of it, especially if he made a
joke about it. If you can laugh about it on network TV, you’ll get away
with it.
But there’s some crimes that no-one walks away from, whether you
committed them or not. If you ever want to know what a sudden
pothole in the fast lane looks like, you could ask Jerry Lee Lewis. Or
Mike Tyson. Or Roman Polanski. And if you’re really curious and want to
see what it’s like after you’ve wiped out, you can now go ask Michael
Jackson.
Pack your bags, grab your credit cards and passports, and flee. SWAT
teams are coming. Sweat on the distant sounds of helicopters, full
of highly trained men with solid boots and fury in their nuts. It’s
your second indictable strike (allegedly) on a crime that any decent
citizen will hunt you down like a rabid mongrel for, knowing that they
are Good and Righteous. Innocence is a secondary consideration;
assuming there’s enough left of you after the first howling rush, then
you’ll have your say. If you manage to escape, they’ll burn down your
house and execute your staff. If there’s even a hint of your guilt, your
scalp will split from the size of the price on your head.
It wouldn’t take much imagination to assume that this was exactly
what was going through the head of the King of Pop when he found
out they were coming for him. There must have been an element of it,
guilty or not. It’s always assumed that the innocent are the only ones
who never need to hold their tongues or run…which is broadly true.
But there’s some crimes that generate such mindless rage at their very
49
mention, that the only way to avoid being killed on the spot is to run
and hide, guilty or not. Plenty of time afterwards to decide that they
had the wrong man.
And all this, of course, is assuming he didn’t do it. If he is guilty, then no
force on God’s green earth can or should even attempt to save him. He
should be shot like a diseased animal in a back alley and covered in his
own mildewed press clippings. Despite the fact I have been a fan for
my whole life, if it were proven to my satisfaction I would gladly be the
one to pull the trigger. But how to prove it, one way or the other? He is
Rich, but he is also Weird. It’s not a good combination for innocence – it
will always be assumed that you are guilty of something.
And there’s the problem. When child molesters are Rich and Normal,
proceedings become ugly and unfair. Priests, ambassadors and
CEO’s don’t have their mattresses slashed in a search for evidence
– llama-owning surgical addicts do. The perception is that ‘normal’
people simply can’t do this sort of thing – and to admit that they can
raises hard questions about the great, honest majority. Like any other
perversion, it’s solely the domain of the odd and the strange. Good
people don’t do it. Money doesn’t make good people, nosirree; but rich
weirdos apparently have a taste for unnatural penetrations, trusting in
their money to insulate them from justice.
Michael Jackson has every definition of material wealth. Or rather
had; his financial straits are so dire that he is reportedly faced with the
prospect of having to sell not only the copyrights to the Beatles songs
he owns, but also his own back catalogue – a rather ignominious end
for the man who holds the record for the all-time highest selling album.
His choice to spend his fortune on something other than trophy wives,
fast cars, football leagues and bling-bling have made him an obvious
target for accusations of being a crackpot. When Wacko Jacko built
a theme park and bought a chimp; he was surely mad, we knew it
was so. His Peter Pan complex had the kind of money behind it that
unsatisfied adults would kill for, to have the same chance at reclaiming
their unfulfilled dreams. Children loved and flocked to the Candyman;
but as soon as he started having friends to stay, the dark rumours
began. And when the first serious accusations broke, everyone but his
fans and those with good news sense called for what little blood they
could extract from his semi-organic frame.
It’s never been noted well that the first allegations were shaky, coming
as they did on the heels of Jackson knocking back the kid’s father for
an undisclosed sum requested for film production. But the out-of-court
settlement was all the proof many required, incontrovertible evidence
of guilt. It was also never publicly asked what kind of parents would
take any kind of cash settlement if their child had been interfered with
sexually when in a position of complete trust.
With the most recent barrage of charges, there seemed to be no hard
evidence beyond contradicted affidavits and paranoid conjecture over
Jackson’s admitted habit of sharing his bed with children. That last one
can’t be argued with or defended; he has admitted it. It is an action that
would cause raised eyebrows if any adult male did it, no matter how
innocent they are. But it requires a fair stretch to see Michael Jackson
as a sexual predator; despite the many paedophiles who have seemed
too good to be guilty, there are just as many poor bastards accused
with barefaced lies.
Right or wrong, Michael Jackson was doomed from the first moment
he realised that the wealth his talent had earned him would let him
try to recapture the childhood he lost, ironically, while becoming a
star. He’s a sad and pathetic man now, abandoned by everyone but his
fans – and his most vocal supporters come off sounding like idiots. His
former label-mates, Motown’s Four Tops, once sang about ‘standing in
the shadows of love’. But Jackson is now under a much darker shadow;
he has been accused of a crime that is beyond any kind of redemption
or forgiveness. His own strangeness has damned him in the stead of
evidence – even before there were allegations, either time, and the
worst part is that no-one seems or even ever seemed inclined to stop it.
He hasn’t gone to jail, but for all his life is worth now that comes off as
a pretty hollow victory.
The minute there was a hint of serious evidence, Jackson’s only viable
option would have been seppuku, or some similar ritual. Even without
proof, all it took was one small finger pointed at him for the hunt to
begin and every inalienable detail of his private life, shy of a blow-byblow description of the Jackson Genitalia published in most full-colour
dailies. If he had blustered forth, issuing denials and alibis, the public
mind would have seen it is a desperate move to hide guilt. He could
have done anything – even produce hundreds of sworn statements,
every last one etched on diamonds, denouncing each and every one
of his accusers as Justin Timberlake’s hired goons – and he still would
have been fucked. Child sex charges are like napalm; they will stick to
you tenaciously, burning both you and anyone who tries to help…and
it won’t even matter even if afterwards they publicly admit that they
missed their mark. There will always be the unspoken belief that the
people who made the charges must have had something to go on.
Those whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad…or accuse
of unspeakable acts with your sons and daughters.
It seems that no matter what the truth of the allegations, Michael
Jackson has been eternally deemed by the public prints to be the
lowest of beasts, and there has been no saving him from everyone’s
worst fear of backing the wrong horse. Hunter Thompson once said
that “even a goddamn werewolf is entitled to legal counsel”, and
Jackson certainly got his. But when a member of the jury that acquitted
him publicly stated that despite a lack of conclusive evidence of any
guilt, Jackson was still a child molester, it proved that the private judge
of a human heart has no true justice for anything it cannot understand.
At least in the good old days, you could get rich by being a freak. Now
you’re public enemy number one.
Lamar Jordan Ico
serious Peter Garrett dance moves during
the electronic ‘Room to Bleed’ from his gold
selling album Hey You, Yes You.
GIGS
Ben Lee
Wollongong Unibar
19/5/05
Reviewed by Pete Kelly
It was Ben Lee's first visit to Wollongong. The
little guy with the big personality (and hair)
treated Wollongong Uni to his new touring
band, covering aspects of his last three studio
albums and the odd cover.
Shedding his band mid-set, he performed
acoustic versions of ‘Get Gotten’, ‘Breathing
Tornado’s’ and, as a tribute to a hospitalized
Kylie, a cover of ‘Confide in Me’. His ever faithful
keyboardist Lara (ex-Sneeze), who Brad Wood
described in a recent interview as “the secret
weapon”, came back on stage for an intimate
version of The Bens classic ‘Bruised’.
Although there was no Mary Lou Lord or Nic
Dalton for ‘Catch my Disease’, the audience
was participating in some pretty serious
handclapping. With 50 Cent, Tumbleweed
& Missy Higgins being played on the radio,
it was a crowd favorite for the night. Saved
as an encore, the band returned for amble
Everything for Love (equal parts reggae and
country), a cover of Neil Young’s ‘Take A Lot of
Love’ and ‘All In This Together’.
Photo: Florencia Chen
Geoff Turnbull
+ A Shift in
Verticality
Oxford Tavern
6/7/05
Reviewed by Joel Turner
The night got off to a start with the debut
performance of local band, A Shift in
Verticality. Much of the crowd was made
up of friends and well-wishers of the band,
contributing to a generally positive and
supportive atmosphere for this newly-formed
group to make an impact.
The acoustic guitar and wailing vocals of
front man Matt Power dominated the fourpiece, underscored by percussion, drums,
and a bassist who played so little as to be
REVIEWS
Deep into his professional music career,
Lee’s popularity and creativity appear to be
continuously developing. He walks a tight line
between mainstream and alternative music,
possessing the unique ability to capture a
truly dynamic fan base. Supremely optimistic,
his latest album is easily his best to date. With
a combination of catchy singles and a deeply
introspective tone, his new music continues
his fascination with spirituality (is it good or
bad to have right angles in your life?) and a
quest for a deeper understanding of how stuff
works. Tonight’s show was centered around
the new album, Awake is the New Sleep.
Out the front of his new band, Ben looked
extremely comfortable and relaxed. His most
recent tours have been strictly acoustic,
however tonight the back catalogue got
a significant reworking by the 5-piece.
Although mostly tucked away behind his
acoustic guitar, Ben even broke out some
50
A Ben Lee show is always interesting and
insightful. Why it took Ben Lee so long to
actually make it to the Unibar is a little
complexing? Gauging by the speed the
tickets sold out and the number of people
singing along, he has developed a healthy
following down here. Currently on the Odd
Man Out tour with Ben Folds and Rufus
Wainwright in the states, fingers crossed the
next time he visits he brings a couple of his
friends along.
nearly inaudible. The general style was a fairly
familiar acoustic blues offset by the electric
bongos of the percussionist, and Power’s
occasional vocal variations into territory more
emo than folk or blues.
A Shift in Verticality got off to an awkward
start and never really recovered. Though
Power attempted to banter with audience
members, and made an effort to introduce
each of the band members through the
course of the set, the audience were rarely
more than passive observers.
The crowd had thinned slightly by the time
Geoff Turnbull took to the stage. This was a
loss only for those foolish enough to walk
away, because Turnbull demonstrated in
supreme style how a muso should connect
to an audience.
Following a brief introduction about
himself, Turnbull starts in with his guitar,
and immediately the remaining audience
members are enraptured. The sheer drive
of his rhythm is infectious without being
aggressive, and this is a hallmark that remains
consistent throughout his set. From the
moment he starts until the final chord of
the closing song, Turnbull has the audience
members echoing the rhythm of the songs
on the table-tops and laps without ever
having to ask.
That 1 Guy
Bulli Heritage Hotel
Reviewed by Maddy Phelan
Turnbull also demonstrated the he could find
balance between maintaining an individual
sound and keeping the songs diverse and
interesting. Mixing up techniques like
slide guitar and tapped harmonics with
wah and echo effects gave each song an
individual character, all underscored with an
individual leaning towards strong rhythm
and passionate delivery, both musically and
lyrically.
Comparisons to more familiar blues and roots
men like John Butler and Xavier Rudd are
inevitable (particularly the latter, given his
multiple instrumentation and one-man-band
approach), but are largely misleading. Though
he has a lot in common with Butler, Turnbull
is much more rhythm-driven (just count how
many times I’ve used the word ‘rhythm’!), and
writes songs so intricate and lengthy, they
make Butler seem concise. Turnbull also has
much more variation in his music than Rudd,
making for a more interesting performance.
Turnbull also has a tendency towards the
ferocious that both Rudd and Butler do
not have: an unexpected eruption of rapid
strumming burst out midway through the set,
drawings awe-struck gasps and spontaneous
applause.
The only obstacle to Turnbull replacing John
Butler as the figurehead of Australian roots
and blues is his fondness for long sections of
guitar solos. These make up the majority of his
music, leaving long stretches without lyrics,
and therefore making commercial radio an
unlikely prospect for him. For mine, I hope he
succeeds without changing his style, which is
individual, definitive and electrifying.
May I preface this review by saying that
the support act was outstanding. A soloist
playing moody acoustic rock, she sang like
an angel and strummed like a demon. She
performed mainly original songs which
captured emotions and experiences with
her simple yet meaningful lyrics. Her cover of
Maria McKee’s ‘If Love is a Red Dress (Hang Me
in Rags)’ from the Pulp Fiction soundtrack was
hauntingly beautiful - this Wollongong kid is
one to look out for. Incidentally, her name is
Maddy Phelan.
If you haven’t heard of That 1 Guy, you
don’t know what to expect. If you have
heard of him, you can’t begin to imagine. If
you see him, you won’t know how to react.
The bizarre alter ego of Mike Silverman, a
classically trained bassist, That 1 Guy plays
the Magic Pipe - an instrument birthed by
his own twisted imagination. I first saw That
1 Guy was at the Byron Bay Blues and Roots
Festival. People crowded around the tiny
stage, mouths open, ice creams melting,
eyes slightly glazed - it’s very hard to remain
composed when you’re seeing something
you can’t explain. By the end of the show, I
was convinced he was a fake - how could That
1 Guy make all those crazy sounds come out
of stainless steel, wire, duct tape and strings?
When I heard he was coming to Wollongong, I
set forth to investigate.
It was Sunday afternoon at the Heritage
Hotel - a music venue only one year old, but
earning an excellent reputation. The intimate,
seated environment was ideal, because with
That 1 Guy, it’s a good idea to have a chair
handy. The knees tend to sag a little when
observing Mike Silverman at the height of
his frenzied, sonic assault. His opening piece
was an ethereal soundscape building layered
crescendos with a cello bow on the Magic
Pipe’s two strings. At this point the Magic
Pipe sounded something like a sitar. But just
as he lulled us into dreamlike relaxation, the
craziness started. Picture a lone man in a
black fedora with an 7 foot pipe slung over
one shoulder, maniacally slapping both the
strings and pipe, dancing like a fire has been
lit beneath him. The facials say it too - That 1
Guy is a man possessed by music. Just for the
record, Mike describes his tunes as ‘highly
rhythmic, sonic and dense.’ That’s putting it
lightly.
That 1 Guy’s set included fan favourites like
‘Weasel Potpie’ and ‘It’s Raining Meat,’ and
just for good measure, a little impromptu
Black Sabbath. Throughout the show,
he supplemented the Magic Pipe with
performances on the cowboy boot and
the magic saw. That 1 Guy has the talent
to make footware sound infectiously funky,
and a gift for transforming household tools
into heavenly instruments. Mike is a modern
one-man band - the music he creates is more
than enough to fill a room and get all the feet
contained within to start tapping, shaking,
stomping and jerking involuntarily. You’d
forgive me for being sceptical. In fact, I had to
ask him just how on earth he produces such
a wide range of sounds and effects. Here’s the
truth: ‘Two strings on the pipe. Run through
lots of special FX. Also trigger contact pads all
over the pipe that I can hit with hands and
feet to add even more percussive sounds...’
Don’t believe him? I guess you’ll just have to
hear it for yourself.
51
Catpower +
The Redsunband
Bulli Heritage Hotel
12/5/05
The highlight of the performance was
‘Maybe Not’, an inspiring song which caused
Catpower fans to erupt into applause. As the
set progressed, Marshall became increasingly
confused and withdrawn, apologising for
her mistakes to a less than disappointed
audience.
Reviewed by Mitchell Jordan
The news that Catpower would be playing in
Wollongong was met with equal parts shock
and excitement. After all, local music fans are
used to travelling to Sydney to see such acts.
The Bulli Heritage Hotel has hosted some
impressive performances recently and is
refreshing in a town with too many generic,
boring nightclubs.
The Redsunband were a perfect choice for
the support act. Their melodic, soft rock
mixed with later moody numbers really
complimented Catpower’s style. Lead singer,
Sarah Kelly’s stage presence was delicate and
graceful and the band worked well together
as a three piece, delivering a performance
which left you wanting more.
As it grew closer to Catpower’s much
anticipated arrival, audience members
felt curious and anxious. Chan Marshall
has a unique reputation for delivering
performances which oscillate between
mesmerising and unusual, sometimes even
frustrating.
In the past, Marshall has been known to
terminate songs half way through, hide from
the audience and leave the stage altogether.
But as she began playing, the room grew
quiet, filled with only the haunting guitar and
voice of the woman behind Catpower.
Chan Marshall is a fascinating person. She
mumbles, laughs, makes quirky jokes and
shies away from photographers. She is as
gentle as a butterfly and her songs, as a result,
linger in a playful, transient way.
After playing several solo pieces, she was
then joined by her band members, Will and
Matt, and a bottle of red wine. The set was a
Catpower montage, performing songs from
Marshall’s solo albums, new, unreleased
numbers and the familiar tracks from the
band’s last album, ‘You Are Free’.
52
No longer able to continue, Marshall
disappeared from the stage and into the
crowds. There was no slick, rehearsed encore,
just silence. Catpower are not a publicity
machine, and Marshall continually defies and
challenges her audiences’ expectations. The
result was a memorable performance from an
artist who is widely respected and admired.
Hope 2005
The Unheard /
80s Machine /
Wave Mechanics
The Oxford Tavern was the venue for Hope
this year. Hope is an annual show designed
to raise funds and awareness for suicide
prevention. It was started after the local
music community lost on of their own,
Belinda Deane to suicide.
The Unheard (a name which if literally true
could really hobble a band) were first up,
and put in an impressive showing. While
ostensibly a rock band, they toyed with
funk elements and wandered in their more
unhinged moments into Mr Bungle-ish
diminished chord territory. They were
professional if a little reticent, playing without
a great deal of banter with the audience
or extraneous tuning and screwing about
between songs. The mix was unobtrusive, and
showed the band off in the best light, which is
I guess the point of it.
80s Machine, while popular with those
assembled, did not exactly turn the
analogue nobs of this reviewer, who may
have prejudices against the music of that
particular decade. Dressed the part, they
were an 80s cover band, complete with
analogue synth sounds, part tribute and part
satire. Comprised of members of Buggirl and
Baby Machine, two talented and established
groups from the area, they played a sleuth
of 80s covers, admittedly quite well. The best
advice I can give to those who go to see 80s
machine is the tune your ears to ‘ironic’.
The artists then known as the Wave Mechanics
(they have since changed their name to the
more rambunctious The Watts Riot), with their
blues-infused guitar lines, hard rock sounds
and driven drums reminiscent of rockabilly
entertained with their regular aplomb. Some
rock bands who incorporate or reference
their blues origins can sound overpowering,
but this was not the case with the Wave Watts
Riot Mechanics, who managed the various
elements of their performance well. They
have also in recent months gained a new
guitarist, which has pushed their sound in
different directions.
In all the night was fabulous. The change
time between sets was kept short, but not
at the expense of getting a decent sound
for the next act. The mix for each of the band
complemented the brand of music they
played, and the beer flowed from the taps
at the speed that it regularly does, which is
always a bonus. If one became momentarily
bored with the bands, there were sporadic
fistfights in the front garden – all the
ingredients for a pleasant night at the Oxford
were there, and all in aid of a good cause.
Literature
John Burdett
Bangcock
Tattoo
Random House
Reviewed by Jeremy Prangnell
Burdett is an ex-lawyer living in the Far East,
having retired from the law to concentrate on
his writing. His knowledge of the region seems
comprehensive enough to convince us that it
must have been acquired first hand, and the
mental pictures his writing encourages are
colourful in the broadest sense of the word.
He evokes a simultaneous attraction and
revulsion to an unfamiliar world infused with
sleaze and smells which ooze from this book.
However, the world within the pages of the
novel seems even more overpopulated than
the Bangkok he obviously loves.
Some suspension of disbelief is a prerequisite
to enjoying Bangkok Tattoo, which is related
to us from the perspective of one of many
corrupt Thai policemen. (Ironically the
author’s disclaimer that he has ever met one
suggests that he probably has, but wisely
doesn’t want to let on.) In collaboration
with his mother and a superior officer, our
narrator runs a brothel. No real surprise there.
However he’s not the mastermind behind
all the activity in town on which the novel
focuses. We go on to meet a corrupt Army
general who is in a power struggle with the
Police. And then what would a spy novel be
without the CIA? Then we look behind the
door and there, surprise surprise! Al Qaeda.
Looking under the bed there’s actually a
couple of real Moslems who slip into view
briefly without actually killing anybody, to
remind us that it only takes a few rotten
apples to spoil the barrel. But apparently
we do have to be reminded that politics is
a social construct inhabited by inherently
unstable metamorphosing demons, so
in come the Indonesians and Malaysians.
Gratuitous violence really can’t be justified by
idealism alone, so in come the gangsters: Chiu
Chow Chinese Triads and Japanese Yakuza,
come on down!
Focus skips back and forth across the Pacific
Ocean, from secret CIA deals and creepy
diplomats to drugs and hookers, poverty and
exploitation. For a Thai, a belief in reincarnation
seems to provide the only hope for a better
life. Life is cheap and so are the hookers, who
form a continuous backdrop to the narrative
without actually providing much of the
excitement. Although it will still make you
jump out of your skin, the final denouement
almost turns into an anticlimax as the book
has spent much of its energy scanning an
identity parade of the world’s lowest forms
of life, which cumulatively suggests that
they’re probably all in it together. This is
not the only moralising transmitted by the
central character. Smattered throughout
the book is an undercurrent of criticism of a
planet divided between those who strive for
control and those who are their victims. In this
book the mess is created by some nasty little
psychopaths whose personal agendas scythe
down bystanders on their way to the closing
chapters. As a character the narrator does
very little to ingratiate himself to us. Whether
he finally gets the girl it seems less pivotal to
her happiness than to his, especially as she
seems to fall in love with most of the men she
screws, which seems a trifle out of character
for a hooker. The metaphor is not lost though
as we are left with no doubt of the authors
opinion that the West has pretty much
screwed over the Asian developing nations.
They are then left with resolving their moral
dilemma by trying to redress to the karmic
balance by using the proceeds of playing the
games of drugs and prostitution to do good
works at home.
If you’re in the market for a good recreational
read, this will keep you interested to find out
whodunnit. However you’ll have to try and
ignore efforts by the author to get under your
skin using the narrative as an advocacy tool for
the Asian nations for whom he obviously, and
admirably, feels such great empathy. Western
philosophy has apparently left him with too
many of the big questions unanswered and
to this end occasionally Burdett comes up
with a one liner worth quoting e.g. “To name
this amorphous morass of self-pity, vanity, and
despair self is not only the height of hubris, it
is also proof (if any were needed) that we are,
above all, a delusional species.” Despite this
pithy indictment of the farang or Westerner,
the narrator comes across unconvincingly as
a Thai, and as the character grows the author
seems to become more evidently just a white
boy with attitude. In spite of the criticisms,
it was easy to read to the end of the book,
although sometimes you feel like you don’t
need to bother, unless of course you want to
know what a donburi is and why you should
have one hanging on your wall.
53
Chuck Palahniuk
Haunted
Random House, 404 pages
Reviewed by The Surly Kitty
Since his debut novel, Fight Club, Chuck
Palahniuk has time and time again produced
novels that mercilessly attack whatever is in
their path, through a mix of the grotesque,
the absurd, his singular intellect and sense of
humour black as the ace of spades. And with
Haunted, his eighth release, today’s target is
the growing culture of reality television; the
generation of fame through manufactured
adversity.
Of course, Palahniuk never does anything
halfway. Haunted is a story about stories; when
twenty-one people seal themselves away in
an ‘Artists’ Retreat, to escape everything that
has been preventing them from writing the
masterpieces they all know they are destined
to write. Trapped inside a decrepit theatre,
they convince themselves that greater fame
awaits their work if they can emerge from the
retreat as something just shy of martyrs. As
each person develops and acts upon the idea
that a little misery is just what they need, their
circumstances degenerate to a level of base
survival, with more and more brutal measures
being taken to ensure that as soon as they
54
are free, they will have become celebrities
by ordeal.
Although without a doubt one of the most
explicit books I have ever read, Haunted
maintains the level of ability that has been
Palahniuk’s standard. Shifting between
surprisingly adept poetry, an unnamed
first-person narrator (such as in Fight Club)
and the individual stories of the twenty-one
characters (with such names as Saint GutFree, Lady Baglady and the Earl of Slander
– cruel puns on their stories) and their
two keepers, the novel loses a lot of the
intense focus of Palahniuk’s other works, but
surprisingly doesn’t wander, and by no means
suffers. It elegantly plays on our fascination
with misery, so no matter how fractured the
telling becomes as the events of the book
begin to get out of control (and they really,
really do), you can’t look away. However, I can’t
stress enough that this book does contain
moments that I almost wish I hadn’t read.
Fans of Chuck Palahniuk will not be
disappointed in the slightest, whereas firsttime readers would do well to begin with his
earlier works. One of Palahniuk’s greatest skills
is to be entertaining despite any scruples his
readers may possess, and to compel them
to continue reading despite the many guilty
laughs, moments of absolute horror and in
this case, urges to toss their cookies from here
to wherever. I recommend it highly, and I will
read it again. And again.
Just not for a while, that’s all.
Ruth Balint
Troubled
Waters
Allen and Unwin
Review by Mitchell Jordan
Troubled waters run the deepest in Ruth
Balint’s debut book.
Winner of the 2004 Vogel Literary Award,
Troubled Waters is the exploration of Australia’s
northern waters and how this space between
the Timor Sea has become a highly political
terrain, guarded and armed by a government
whose greatest fear is invasion.
Telling the stories of refugees and fisherman
from West Timor, Balint muddies her
readers’ perceptions of a coastline which
on first impression appears picture perfect
by confronting them with a very serious
problem. First shown as a documentary of
the same name, Troubled Waters tells how the
lives of Indonesian fishermen have been put
into danger as the divide between countries
becomes more obvious and the repercussions
more severe.
As a historian, Balint’s depth of research and
understanding is obvious. She is able to bring
together a series of complex events and
stories in a way which is accessible for readers.
Though the book is a work of non-fiction, it
is impossible not to be moved by the lives of
those who have been confined to these brutal
detention centres. Balint’s writing is balanced
and fair, but her subject is one which should
manage to invoke anger, outrage and sadness
from those who read it.
Troubled Waters is a story which needed to
be told, and we should be grateful that Ruth
Balint has given it to us.
Gerald Taylor
Jesus Weed
Ebury Press
202 pages
Reviewed by The Surly Kitty
skimming through this to find the review of
the new Chuck Palahniuk. Which is fine, but
also a little unfair to Gerald Taylor’s (loosely
– my call) autobiographical account of his life
as a wandering adolescent before settling in
Nimbin. The initial ‘beware hippies’ rant was
just the grain of salt one really needs to read
this book. Like most autobiographies/travel
books, Jesus Weed relies more on entertaining
the reader than being particularly literary,
and that’s just fine with me. Anyone who’s
ever read Ulysses knows how strong the case
for fun over virtuosity can be.
The story of Jesus Weed is simple: a young
man leaves home at a remarkably early age, is
introduced to pot by Maori shearers, and from
there embarks on the thrill-a-minute lifestyle
of the professional drop-out. Taylor claims on
his travels to have been held as a sex slave
in Mexico, to have connected with God and
been given a divine mission to get wasted in
every corner of the globe, threatened with
castration by an Afghan hash-peddler, and
lived hunting boars with a knife in Opotiki.
Whether or not it’s all true doesn’t matter, at
least if, like me, you prefer illusion to despair;
because it’s amazing what a little salt can help
you swallow.
While I was constantly irritated by the ‘sacred
herb’ mentality of the book – but with a title
like Jesus Weed, I do ask myself what the hell
did I expect – this could be mainly because
I prefer gin to ganja. I did enjoy reading it,
and even had a joint and put on some Peter
Tosh to try and get into the spirit of things
(whereas I bought no souls reading I, Lucifer).
Read it if you’ve seen Half-Baked more than
once, and you’ll find another addition to the
Grand Pantheon of Wasted Talent. But for
anyone else, well...it beats an in-flight movie,
purely because you can put it down if it
irritates you too much.
Beware the words of hippies. Especially
reformed hippies, and always when they
regale you with stories of their misdeeds.
One of the easiest things to do is buy into the
nostalgia and complete denial of exactly how
badly the revolution failed and believe that
the nomadic, perpetually-wasted blur of your
parents’ errant youth was actually something
magical.
Of course, if you can do this, then you probably
wouldn’t be reading Jesus Weed of your
own volition, and are either counting down
the days until the next Harry Potter book, or
Tide 2005
University of Wollongong
86 pages
Reviewed by Mariantonia Cara
This is the second year in a row that Tide
has been published by an ambitious class of
Creative Writing students at the University
of Wollongong, and it seems only to have
improved. The intrepid students of WRIT315
took on the heady world of zine publishing
for their final assessment, and they have really
excelled themselves.
The anthology is visually striking, the faded
blue of the cover catching the eye and
drawing attention to the figure in the centre
of the page. The images inside the zine are
original works by photographer Graham
Ramsey, and they beautifully illustrate the
works with which they appear. A great
majority of the writing was done by students
of the university and people from the local
community. A great many of the works are by
the publishers themselves, and the quality is
outstanding. This anthology highlights a new
generation of writers emerging in and around
Wollongong. These talented artists represent
all aspects of the spectrum.
Many of the writers are from the universities’
Creative Writing department, and it is a
pleasure to see the quality of student that
the university is churning out. Among the
talented are Patrick Lenton, with his pithy
piece A Matter of Reputation, a treatise on the
beauty of the dead and a cautionary tale to any
amongst you who might be considering the
path of the serial killer. Rowan Ellis is another
of the contributors, with his charming prose
piece Beyond the Line. It is a departure from
his usual medium, given that the talented
Mr. Ellis has had two plays produced by the
Old Fitzroy Theatre Company. Of course, this
review would be bias if I did not give some
of the girls credit where credits’ due. Anna
Popoff is an amazing short prose writer, with
an amazing propensity for description. Her
piece, ad hoc [sic], is a masterpiece of minor
details and introduces one to Popoff in the
gentlest of fashions.
Poetry is equally well represented in the
anthology. The work of Alise Blayney, Daniel
55
music
Willis and Lisa Busuttil appear and are all very
interesting. Lamar Ico, long term friend of the
Tertangala, has contributed a poem entitled
Mah Dream, which provides one with a
dazzling imagery, hidden beneath the depths
of dialect. As always our talented friend
Jimmy Andrews (also your friendly WUSA
general representative), has come up with
gold! His two poems, Inspiration and Intake,
Compression, Ignition, Exhaust, show the poet
in a new light. The first is what I believe is a
haiku (14 syllables or 17? I don’t know. It’s
a good poem anyway). It’s short, concise
and to the point. The second is a symphony
of sounds, with each stanza ending in the
pseudo-sexual, dynamically repetitive “Suck,
squeeze, bang, blow”.
Andrews swears
the mantra comes from his car, but this
reviewer thinks otherwise. Moving away
from testosterone are the poems of Alinta
Goldsmith. Sunset at Berry Rodeo and Cento
denote the high quality of work that we have
come to expect from this talented poet. Also
worth mentioning is the poetry of Emily
Finlay, a graduate of the universities’ Creative
Writing course, and a poet to note.
Finally there is the writing that does not easily
fall into any category. We have the manifesto
of John Purvis, a comedic piece where the
Futurist traditions have been taken to pieces
and mocked. There are the microfictions of
Bonnie Lander, pieces of about 250 words
that still manage to tell their remarkable
stories and a novel excerpt by Daniel East.
All in all, this is a great read. With a range
of work as diverse as this, I’m sure everyone,
even you, will find something to enjoy.
56
Nine Inch
Nails
with Teeth
Nothing/Interscope
Reviewed by The Surly Kitty
someday you might find/Well, I’ll hide it
behind something/They won’t look behind”
are delivered flawlessly.
With Teeth combines the complexity of The
Fragile and the raw energy of The Downward
Spiral into an album that is as different from
each of his past releases as they are from each
other; it is matured and focused, and a heroic
attempt to do what Reznor intended it to
– “save us from all the crappy music out there”.
It is proof that Nine Inch Nails are one of the
best bands to ever make music, and worthy of
shelf space in any music collection.
Dan Bull
Dan001
Independent Release
Reviewed by Mitchell Jordan
It’s been six long years since the release of
Trent Reznor’s last studio album. Since then,
Nine Inch Nails have more or less dropped
off the radar, to all but the kind of diehard
fans who have been waiting, secure in the
knowledge that one day Reznor would return.
And he has, in grand fashion. Fans will find this
album very much familiar territory. There are
many of the elements that characterise NIN’s
music – crunching guitars, finely sculpted
noise and surprising instrumentation. But
there’s also no cannibalism here; the album
is still innovative and compelling. The
production is superb and the songs have an
energy that demands repeated listening.
The lead single, ‘The Hand That Feeds’ proves
that Reznor still believes in the possibility of
the rock song. But it’s on the album’s more
industrial moments that it really shines; the
sad melody of ‘All The Love In The World’
(complete with jazz piano outro, courtesy of
the disgustingly talented Mike Garson) and
the building intensity of ‘Love Is Not Enough’.
The sure-fire pick for the next single, ‘Only’, is
possibly the greatest four and a half minutes
of the entire Nine Inch Nails catalogue, with
an almost disco drum line, swelling bass
hook, and fist-pumping, angst-along chorus.
Never a spectacular singer, Reznor’s voice
is still powerful and clear and charged with
emotion, whether a whisper or a scream.
At their best, the lyrics are the words of
someone in genuine pain, and lines like “I’m
writing on a little piece of paper/I’m hoping
For those of us who love heart felt, passionate
melodies and songs that aren’t afraid to delve
into the darker recesses of life, Dan Bull’s
debut EP will be a welcome addition.
Pianos soar and vocals fly on this beautiful,
impressive offering from a promising young
Western Australian artist. Opening with the
jazzy, light pop number ‘Mr Booth’, Dan Bull
just keeps getting stronger. ‘Getting Caught’,
the highlight of the collection, is an uplifting
song reminiscent of Elliot Smith in his happier
moments.
But ‘Dan001’ isn’t all sunshine and hope. Like
Smith, Bull’s songs also explore many of the
melancholy moments which the piano is so
suited to. ‘In Your Room’ is almost a world
away from ‘Getting Caught’, but it shows Bull’s
ability to capture and experience the full
range of emotions.
Bull’s positive songs do make for easier
listening, but his talent is still obvious. With
so much to offer in only five songs, this boy
deserves an LP.
listens exposes a depth. Likewise ‘It Is Such a
Pity’, sounding like The Cars at their new wave
best, is also a strangely touching song about a
couple who just can’t get along. Best song on
the album is ‘My Best Friend’, a stomping ode
to friendship and love.
Weezer
Make Believe
Geffen
Reviewed by Pete Kelly
With 12 songs spaced out over 45 minutes,
Make Believe is a really strong album.
Definitely worth having in your CD collection.
While you are at it, might be a good idea to
re-listen to their back catalogue.
Rastawookie
Rastawookie
INDEPENDENT
Reviewed by Daniel Menges
The Weezer story in short: Formed in 1992.
They released a double platinum self-titled
album in 1994, with classic singles ‘Undone’
and ‘Buddy Holly’ (best film clip ever?). Followup Pinkerton was a commercial disaster,
selling substantially less than their first effort.
Result - Weezer went underground. 2001 saw
the release of the second self titled album,
affectionately referred to as the Green Album.
Pinkerton recognized as an undiscovered
masterpiece. Result… Weezer are back! 2002
saw the release of Maladroit, with the Muppet
infected film clip for ‘Keep Fishing’. Building
a legacy along the same lines as Pavement,
Weezer have stuck around.
Make Believe is their 5th studio effort, an
album that has been gaining strong reviews
and support from those obsessive Weezer
fans. Produced by ex-Def Jam founder Rick
Rubin, the album isn’t a great shift for the
band, but that’s a good thing. With a body of
work built around River Cuomo’s persistent
self doubt, loneliness and quest for spiritual
uplift, Weezer albums provide a pretty
interesting insight into his life. Recently
described by Liam Gallagher as a “very
strange man”, Rivers has once again written
an album that is very satisfying.
It’s got hooks. The first single, ‘Beverly Hills’
is reminiscent of ‘Undone’, and has been
Weezer’s biggest selling single for the band
to date. It’s a catchy piece of bubble gum
pop, but like the rest of the album, after a few
Like many reggae groups, Sydney’s sevenpiece entourage Rastawookie creates
positive lyrics and grooving rhythms. On
Rastawookie’s self-titled EP, there is a blend
of reggae and ska instrumentation that is
energetic, youthful and vibrant.
The difficulty in making music with a positive
message lies in maintaining a balance
between originality and accessibility without
resorting to sappy drivel. Ideally, there
is a balance between content and form,
accessibility and innovation. Rastawookie
have emphasized accessibility and clarity
of message over what, when seen live,
could be a more unrestrained, passionate
and experimental session. This is evident to
varying degrees in all of Rastawookie’s songs;
they generally have chosen to focus on the
whole compositional arrangement and light
interplay between musicians over creating
powerful, well-crafted lyrics and a depth of
vocal range. In ‘Walk This Land’, for example,
MC Janny sings, ‘Together we sing’, which is
echoed by a female vocalist singing, ‘Walk
this land’. He continues on using the word
‘together’ suggesting unity, while eventually
adding ‘together in peace’. MC Janny’s lines
are often repeated and there is a call and
response effect, which is useful in itself, but
weakened by a seeming lack of confidence
and experience in singing. While the overall
arrangements of the songs are effective Ð
there’s a likely influence of gospel, hip hop,
ska and slam poetry - the vocals, however
clever and technical when a singer scats,
add little because of a lack of tonal presence,
passion and depth.
Overall, the Rastawookie EP progresses well,
developing skillful instrumental motifs and
arrangements. The most effective parts are
surprising and filled with confident energy
and rhythm. In ‘One Way Ticket’, this occurs
when a driving drum beat and strong trumpet
are interspersed with a chorus of voices,
which later fall away to a gentle panpipe
playing over airport sounds. ‘Good Timing’
contains uninhibited skatting between male
and female vocalists mixed in with various
percussive elements and scratching. This
turns into a bouncing beat, which eventually
encapsulates bass and turntables, panpipes
and percussion Ð building and transforming
into a complex and powerful rhythmic chant.
‘Good Timing’, and the secret, chilled out jam
track that follows, suggest where Rastawookie
are heading: to a place of positive energy and
assured rhythmic fusion reminiscent of, but
not limited to, artists like The Black Seeds and
The Porkers.
The Gear
The Gear EP
MGM
Reviewed by Leigh Couchman
Not even the hyped and pretentious claims
on the band’s website are enough to carry
what is, in all fairness, an EP that could very
easily have been bettered by the Tin Lids
when they were fourteen. Although the lead
off track on this offering, ‘I’ve Got Trouble’, was
licensed for use in the promotional trailer
of the recent action adventure film, Sahara,
The Gear have been given unfair attention if
the efforts on this EP are a showcase of their
finest talents.
Contrary to the claim on their website that:
“The Gear EP is a standout collection of songs,
combing the buzzing guitars of sixties pop
with catchy lyrics and killer hooks”, this EP
makes for a painful listen. Lead singer Jet
O’Rourke’s lyrics are awkward and clumsy,
and for all intents and purposes they seem
like lyrics he may as well have written when
he was thirteen. The song ‘Eight Arms to Hold
You’, a tune about fast food love, is particularly
57
abominable. The opening lines “I watched
you working yesterday/It’s just a gift how you
handle those trays”, hardly flow off the tongue
and are among the most cringe-worthy on
the EP.
The opening ‘I’ve Got Trouble’ also proves
that metaphysical heavyweights the Gear
are not. A simple theme with simple lyrics can
work, but there is a fine line between insight
and boring monotony. The music also is dull
and dime a dozen – the Gear fail to make
themselves heard amongst the myriad of
bands trying to revive old school rock. The
best offering on the EP is the third track,
‘Always Changin’’, which is passable and at
times genuinely insightful. It also has the best
line in any of the four songs: “We thought we
learnt our right or wrongs/from singing other
peoples songs”. It would be a fine lesser tune
on a strong collection, but here it has to carry
the weight of the whole EP.
In short The Gear EP is a non-event. It proves
that image and promotion can’t carry a
product that has no substance to begin with.
Sadly it also appears to highlight the direction
that mainstream Australian rock is heading.
Dream Theater
Octavarium
Atlantic
Reviewed by the Surly Kitty
Coldplay
X & Y
CAPITOL?EMI
&
It could be a good topic of discussion when
completely wasted that the pinnacle of
human culture can be summarised with the
guitar solo. Not that I believe it, of course,
but that’s as good a lead-in line as any for
a review of a Dream Theater album. With
studio offering number nine for this quintet
of revoltingly talented metalheads, it seems
the order of the day is filtering what’s in their
stereos now through their own unique sound
– an interesting idea that pans out more often
than you’d think.
It seems that someone’s been listening to a
lot of Muse; what with the shameless ‘Bliss’
rip-off, ‘Never Enough’, covered with skittering
piano work and excellent vocals; ‘These Walls’
begins with a sentimentally shredded tribute
to late Pantera axeman ‘Dimebag’ Darrell,
before breaking into a drop-d groove so deep
it can swallow small children. ‘I Walk Beside
You’ is the obligatory power-pop ballad of the
album, and the title track is a twenty minute
odyssey in homage to original smug-rockers
King Crimson. The best cut on the album is
‘Panic Attack’, with its Joe Satriani vs. Stuart
Hamm lead-in, before breaking into the last
waltz of the headbanger’s ball. Tragically, the
trademarked wailing-synthesiser solos aren’t
MIA, but are increasingly less of a focus than
the overall effect and energy of the band.
As a whole, Octavarium is an album more
concerned with cohesion than showing off,
and the music is all the better for it.
58
Dream Theater are regarded by many (well,
just me I suppose, but this is my review) as
one of the most accessible prog rock bands
around, balancing virtuosity with songwriting.
Sadly, Dream Theater simply aren’t breaking
any new ground; nor have they since 2002’s
Six Degrees of Inner Turbulence. Still, despite
its incredibly stupid title, Octavarium is a very
solid album from a very fine band. Not for the
casual listener who might want to see what
all the geeks in Megadeth shirts are drooling
over (if you want that, get Awake), but fans will
be well pleased. Now, if only we could get the
bastards over here to tour it.
Oasis
Don’t Believe the Truth
Helter Skelter
Reviewed by Michael Molkentin
Playing it great, but playing it safe on the part
of both Brit-rock heavyweights.
Sunday 5 June 2005 was a day of anticipation,
hope and expectations. It was the release date
for new albums from Britain’s biggest and
most successful in rock: Coldplay’s X & Y and
Oasis’s Don’t Believe the Truth. Experiencing
the two albums and their respective press
campaigns simultaneously has been an
interesting experience. For, despite the
obvious differences, both albums exhibit
similar strengths and weaknesses.
Coldplay was always going to have difficulty
in meeting expectations for X & Y. Between
their first two records, debut Parachutes
and follow-up A Rush of Blood to the Head,
Coldplay reinvented themselves. The cosy
intimacy and understated arrangements
of Parachutes expanded into a thick and
boisterous sound that saw them graduate
from playing clubs to stadiums, seemingly
overnight. What surprises then, does album
number three hold for listeners?
Not many, I am afraid to report. For X & Y, the
band has essentially stuck with the Rush of
Blood formula. There are the obvious stadium
shakers (‘Square One’, ‘White Shadows’, ‘Talk’),
in which Chris Martin pounds the ivory while
the band thumps away on straight-out
rhythms behind him. Then of course, there
are the types of songs that made Coldplay
famous: the ballads and unhurried, emotional
guitar anthems (‘Fix You’, ‘X & Y’, ‘Swallowed by
the Sea’). As on the previous releases, the
songs are well written and performed, but
seem to lack the staying power likely to
achieve the commercial heights attained by
Yellow, In My Place and Clocks.
In terms of sound and instrumentation, X & Y
seems to be stuck in 2002. Apart from a liberal
use of synthesisers for texture and warmth,
there really is not much new happening.
Martin’s whimsical voice and melodies,
although consistently pleasing to the ear,
are predictable and border on derivative;
and Johnny Buckland’s guitar parts have
only evolved by more closely resembling
the trademark sound of U2’s the Edge. While
they are making millions from it, it seems that
Coldplay is content to stick with the winning
formula discovered on A Rush of Blood to the
Head. With X & Y you get McColdplay- an
album of well written songs but few surprisesthat will satisfy some and bore others.
Oasis’s Don’t Believe the Truth is a good
album with some great songs, but alas
takes the path of musical conservatism.
Like Coldplay, Oasis seems to stick with
what they are known for. In this case, its
wall-of-sound-rock-and-roll and grandiose
Brit-rock power anthems ("flag wavers" as
Noel Gallagher calls them). Don’t Believe the
Truth follows this pattern, giving listeners the
key ingredients that made Oasis great in the
first instance. With all members contributing
songs (a first for Oasis) there are some great
moments, such as Noel’s falsetto vocal on ‘The
Importance of Being Idle’ and bassist Andy
Bell’s foray into gorgeous melody in ‘Keep the
Dream Alive’. Yet even this more democratic
approach to song writing fails to break the
mould. The songs themselves carry very few
authorial idiosyncrasies, and ultimately sound
like stock Oasis tunes.
The album opens with ‘Turn Up the Sun’,
a fantastic song from bassist Andy Bell. It
begins with an atypical guitar and sleigh-bells
passage reminiscent of all things post-1966
particularly the Byrds and Brian Wilson. Within
thirty seconds though, the characteristically
gargantuan guitars and Liam Gallagher’s
sneer take hold, and it is back to the Oasis we
either love or hate. Surprisingly, some of the
best tracks on Don’t Believe the Truth come
from Bell and front-man Liam Gallagher, who
began discovering their song writing talent
in earnest on the previous Oasis release.
‘Love Like a Bomb’ and ‘Guess God Thinks I’m
Able’ are melodic and pretty, and reference
the traditional song craft of the band’s self
admitted working-class-hero, John Lennon.
The album culminates with the final song, ‘Let
There Be Love’. A Noel composition, it is Oasis
at their most classic: deliberate, anthemic,
and reminiscent of every Beatles song ever
written, but none in particular. It is the type
of song that inspires Union Jack waving and
stadium sing-alongs. With Let There Be Love, it
is obvious that Oasis is indeed back with an
album that is strong and satisfying, but one
that is invariably unadventurous, and hence,
will not age as well as the classics that it so
sincerely emulates.
Ironically enough, X & Y and Don’t Believe the
Truth both began as grandiose, ambitious
projects. Coldplay intended to reinvent their
sound by incorporating different stylistic
and technological influences. After failed
attempts with different studios and producers
though, the frustrated band returned to
artistically safer pastures. Meanwhile, Oasis
were travelling a similar creative path for
Don’t Believe the Truth. Feeling confident and
inspired, they first attempted the album under
the production of Death in Vegas, a venture
that folded after just three weeks. Following
a second failed attempt, Oasis returned to
their vintage rock and roll roots and hired U.S.
producer Dave Sardy (producer of Jet’s retrocommercial mega-hit Get Born). In classic
Oasis form, the band completed recording
sessions in eight weeks and fashioned a nononsense, ballsy guitar album.
The latest efforts from Oasis and Coldplay
indicate that British bands are still writing
great songs, but that their albums are
becoming safer, and the bands less willing
to reinvent themselves. Gone, it seems, are
the days when U.K. rock groups led the way
in pioneering popular music; days when
artists approached new albums as a chance
not just to write some good songs, but as an
opportunity to deconstruct themselves and
sweep their listeners into uncharted musical
territory. Perhaps we have seen the last of
Sergent Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, Dark
Side of the Moon, OK Computer and the like.
* The author purchased both albums at full
price for this review.
Sounds like he should have burned them
instead - Ed.
Coldplay
X&Y
CAPITOL/EMI
Reviewed by John Mu
After their successful second album A Rush of
Blood to The Head, Coldplay are back with X
&Y. This album represents another evolution
in their style of music. It is on the whole much
faster than Rush of Blood and relies heavily on
upbeat choruses to carry the songs through.
This is especially evident if compared to their
earlier work in "Parachutes", which contained
melodic tracks such as "Everything’s Not Lost".
This new style they have adopted is a step a
not particularly desirable direction, as the
catchy refrains quickly become tiresome, as
was observed in "Yellow".
The tracks that stand out on the album are
"Fix You" and "Speed of Sound". "Fix You" is a
more traditional Coldplay song while, "Speed
of Sound" amply represents the new genre of
music in the album.
Overall, although this is a nice album to listen
to, it is a step in the wrong direction.
If you’re wondering what is behind the name
of the album. Chris Martin has been quoted to
say ”In mathematics, X and Y were always the
answers, but in life no one knows. To me the
album, is about those unanswered questions,
and what you should do about the fact that
you can’t explain all the unknown variables.”
59
started playing all those years ago, we can
only hope their own work starts sounding
this way.
Various
Like a version
Triple J/Universal
Reviewed by Tom McLean
Covers these days tend to fall into two very
large categories. There’s the cover by a band
who loves the original and wants to do their
damnedest to do the song justice, and there’s
the joke cover of an inane pop song or other
silly novelty. Most of the songs on this tight
little compilation seem to fall into the first
of the two categories, with only a few bands
opting for the easy way out.
The concept was simple; Mel Bampton
got one band a week to cover a song of
their choice, usually in acoustic mode, on
her morning radio show on Triple J. The
result is quite impressive with no major
embarrassments to be seen, though none of
the serious covers really try to make the song
there own. This is a good thing as the bands
are working with some pretty hefty material
here from megastars like David Bowie, the
Police, the Eagles, Bob Marley, Bjork and
Leonard Cohen, and any attempt to make
the song their own would be ridiculously
egomaniacal and a massive failure.
There are a few particular highlights, like
the Pictures cover of Kelis’s Milkshake is
everything it should be. It’s fun, upbeat and
stupid and it’s a great listen to get you in
the mood before heading out. The fact that
These Boots Were Made For Walking has been
a live staple at Little Birdy concerts for years
is definitely apparent as lead singer Katy
Steele sings the lyrics with much of the verve
of the original. She totally nails the ‘fuck you’
attitude that the song needs to work.
Lazy Susan’s cover of Are You Old Enough
is great cause it makes me laugh. I just get
reminded of how bad Dragon were and I just
start giggling uncontrollably, the other day I
had to leave the room to compose myself I
was giggling so hard.
The main highlight, and the album’s
centerpiece is Damien Rice’s transcendental
cover of When Doves Cry. Everyone who has
heard the song knows what I’m talking about
when I say the song sways and flows in a way
that is truly captivating, and Rice’s voice, while
beautiful, never takes itself too seriously. He
takes liberty with the original arrangement,
sneakily slipping in a few bars of a Led
Zeppelin riff for kicks, and it works.
There are few lowlights, and they all pretty
much exist purely because of my own
prejudices. The Cat Empire cover of the Eagles
‘Hotel California’ had me reaching for the skip
button even before the track started. I hate
the Eagles and I hate the Cat Empire, so this
song had to do a lot of work for me to induce
a single second of enjoyment out of it. The
song does do a lot of work, it’s sung mainly
in French (I think) or maybe it’s Spanish, but
this doesn’t negate the fact that vocalist
Harry has the single worst voice in the world,
ever; and besides, using an accordion as the
lead instrument in a song is very rarely ever
cool. Deep breath, continue. But you will all
probably love this song just to spite me.
I’m not sure a covers compilation is complete
without someone having a dig at Leonard
Cohen’s Hallelujah (though everybody knows
they’re covering the Jeff Buckley version)
and here Claire Bowditch delivers a sweet, if
uninspired rendition. But hey, no one wants to
mess with the gospel.
The other lowlight I can think of right now
is Goodshirt’s cover of the Pixies’ Gouge
Away. Me not liking this is, once again, all my
fault again as Goodshirt are faced with the
fact they are doing a cover of my favourite
song by my favourite band, and I have high
standards. The acoustic version of the song is
incapable of truly replicating the fury of the
chorus, and dang it that chorus needs some
mighty fury behind it. While I don’t find the
song particularly awful it’s a lowlight because
I’ve always liked Goodshirt and I had hoped
they would pull out all the stops on this one
and make it something special.
Jebediah deliver a fun and jumpy version
of Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head which
sounds like the band used to when they first
If you’re a fan of covers, a fan of a band on this
CD, or a fan of a band that’s being covered,
this compilation is worth a look. It is truly
60
fascinating to see what kind of songs your
favourite bands are inspired by and this CD
provides us with a little insight into that. Cat
Empire fans will just love the way the Cat
Empire made that awesome Eagles song their
own by singing it in a different language too.
Man that band is so awesome and talented.
FILM
War of the
Worlds
Dir: Steven Spielberg
Tom Cruise, Tim Robbins, Dakota Fanning
Dreamworks / Paramount 116 mins
Reviewed by Adam Norris
Spielberg was really taking a gamble when he
took the reigns on this. Ordinarily he seems to
be in best form when undertaking a project
either entirely self-devised, or at least one
that hasn’t been done before. With WOTW,
not only did he not have a hand in the script,
but he had several daunting precendents
to live up to; the original film, Jeff Wayne’s
musical rendition, and of course the Orson
Welles radio broadcast that sparked rioting
and suicides across America in 1938. Plus I
have a natural dislike for Tom Cruise, however
after his excellent performance in Collateral I
was willing to give him a second chance.
All in all, the new version of WOTW wasn’t
that bad. A lot of reviewers are breathless
right now claiming that this is the best
Spielberg to date, which is a complete crock
of shit. Sure, it’s the best thing he’s done in a
while, but his insistence on taking on a happy
ending – a ridiculously happy ending – really
undermines his ability as a storyteller. Sadly
this is what Spielberg does best.
The film did its best to follow the course of
H.G.Wells original story. Updated for a 21st
century audience of course, but the basic
ingredients are still there; Tim Robbins as
the paranoid gun-nut replaces the wounded
English soldier, an overcrowded cargo ferry
instead of the Thunderchild. There are also
several interesting statements on the duality
of religion and technology, and the effects on
everyday people when these are taken away.
Without giving too much away, one of the
more powerful scenes involves a huge mob
of people beating and stampeding over each
other to clamber aboard one of the few stillfunctioning cars while Cruise fights for his
family trapped inside.
The budget of WOTW must have been
huge, as we have some truly epic scenes
throughout the film. Spielberg has managed
what few directors today can by showing
images of mass death, destruction and
despair without cheapening the effect by
playing down the impact. Also, by revealing
the wider ramifications of the invasion to us
at the same time as the characters, we get a
sense of immediacy that works wonders in
cementing us in the film. The grainy footage
Cruise watches of the Martian tripods striding
through ruined cities was infinitely bleaker
than anything we could have been shown
directly. Similar scenes of the consequences
of the breakdown of mass communication
are equally thought provoking.
Of course the special effects are what will
attract most people, and they won’t be
disappointed. The shots of vaporised people
and the vast number of explosions, topped
with Spielberg’s take on Martian technology
are all quite impressive. I suppose it’s
ridiculous to criticize the level of unreality in a
sci-fi flick, but the element I just couldn’t buy
was how perfectly things work out for Cruise
and his family every step of the way. Or maybe
I’m just bitter for not getting my own script
of WOTW to Mr. Spielberg in time. We may
never know.
Oh, and Dakota Fanning was goddamn
brilliant.
Birth
Dir Jonathan Glazer
Nicole Kidman, Lauren Bacall and Cameron
Bright.
Reviewed by Mitchell Jordan.
Children can be a real pain and Jonathan
Glazer’s latest film Birth shows just how
fragile the bonds between adults and the
young can be.
one of Kidman’s most memorable roles, but
Glazer still manages to produce a work which
has the ability to challenge, confront and
perhaps even please his audience.
Little Fish
Dir: Rowan Woods
Cate Blanchett, Hugo Weaving, San Neil,
Noni Hazelhurst, Lisa McCune
Icon
Reviewed by Monique Mueller
Having lost her husband ten years ago,
Anna (Nicole Kidman) has finally begun to
overcome her grief. But a birthday party at
her mother’s (Lauren Bacall) sees her life
upturned once more with the emergence of
a young boy.
The boy, who calls himself Sean, claims to
be a reincarnation of Anna’s husband. Such
a claim appears ludicrous, to both Anna
and to viewers, but as the film progresses it
seems more and more likely. So begins the
film’s premise. Birth is a gentle, haunting film
which, depending on your ability to suspend
disbelief, can easily overlap into annoying and
nonsensical.
Nothing is black and white in this film which
relies largely on individual interpretation
and perception. If you want a move which
provides clear cut answers and neat
resolution, then Birth isn’t for you. But for all
its ambiguity and occasional pointlessness,
Birth is home to a talented cast.
It’s good to see Kidman and Bacall reunited
again following Lars von Trier’s masterpiece
Dogville. While Birth may not move you to
the same extent, the two actresses both
deliver stunning performances. Young actor
Cameron Bright has a difficult role as Sean,
but he mostly manages to pull it off with
a performance which is often chilling and
unsettling.
The film attracted considerable criticism and
outrage for a scene in which Kidman and
Bright share a bath together. Once again, this
will depend on your own beliefs but it is still
possible to see this moment as tragic and
poignant.
It’s fair to say that Birth will probably not be
The Australian film industry is at a crossroads.
Director Rowan Woods has been carving out
history by creating uniquely Australian films.
Little Fish is his latest film. Starring iconic
actors such as Cate Blanchett, Sam Neill, Hugo
Weaving, Lisa McCune and Noni Hazelhurst, it
encapsulates the underworld of drugs, denial
and human derangement. The film explores
deep motives and cultural boundaries to
portray a confronting and often inverted
reality.
Little Fish is set in a western suburb of
Sydney, otherwise tagged “Little Saigon”. The
Heart family are live in a largely Vietnamese
community under the watchful and
worrisome eyes of their mother Janelle (Noni
Hazelhurst). Janelle’s dreamy and depressed
daughter Tracy (Cate Blanchett) becomes
addicted to heroin after she is in a car accident
involving her brother Ray (Martin Henderson)
and lover Jonny Nguyen (Dustin Nguyen).
Her rather influential friend or father-figure
Lionel Dawson (HugoWeaving), an ex football
champion, supplies Tracy with a life changing
substance. His ‘sugar daddy’ Bradley “The
Jockey” Thompson (Sam Neill) oppresses
Lionel and creates a chain reaction amongst
the circle of dealers in “Little Saigon”.
Cate Blanchett plays the pinnacle role in this
somewhat sordid affair, and her mother’s
suffering almost redeems her character
at times. Tracey’s boyfriend Jonny and
brother Ray are in the hold of addiction. Ray
questions his own moral code through his
involvement with ex-policeman Stephen
Moss (Joel Tobeck). The tide turns for Tracy
as she is pushed towards self-realisation by
her relationship with Ray. Lionel’s affliction
pivots and Tracy’s spirit is somehow revealed.
Bradley and Moss are caught up in the chain
61
of events and the concept of “the deal” takes
on its own meaning.
Hugo Weaving’s portrayal of Lionel’s druginduced psychosis comes through in a rather
disturbing yet somehow likeable character
created by Rowan Woods. His strength of
submission to pain is a key aspect of this
character, however his dialogue at times
downplays his potential to shine.
Cate Blanchett’s intense enactment of
Tracy is simultaneously self-deprecating
yet liberating. Her versatility allows her to
capture the denial that stops Tracey’s dreams
from becoming a reality in the ‘struggle-town’
environment of Little Fish.
Hazelhurst’s performance as the hard-faced
mother of a drug addict is not fully revealed
as a façade, and this does not do justice to
Hazelhurst’s character.
Sam Neil plays Brad ‘The Jockey’ Thompson
and gives the character a scheming and
violent edge. Dustin Nguyen invites the
audience into his culture through his
demeanour which enables Johnny to
generate gentle yet powerful persuasion on
other character and the audience. Rowan
Woods went to great lengths to cast for Jonny
and this is evident in Dustin’s presence on the
screen.
Lisa McCune (Laura) opens out a new style of
support acting for Lisa and she carries this role
convincingly with body language bringing an
uncertainty to the charcter Laura. The simple
dialogue drowns out her potential, however
this is perhaps a deliberate choice to make
Tracey the more complex character.
Rowan Woods has married a cast and script
that is atypical yet not original. Through the
intricate weaving of themes of greed, desire,
and hope he captured the cultural interplay
of this particular setting in a unique style. This
film will hopefully be featured at the Cannes
Film Festival in 2006 and the Oscar buoyancy
and talent Cate Blanchett brings to Little Fish
may position Australia as a bigger fish in the
movie pan.
Little Fish is in cinemas September 8
62
A HOME AT THE
END OF THE
WORLD
Dir: Michael Mayer
Colin Farrell, Dallas Roberts and Robin
Wright Penn
Reviewed by Mitchell Jordan
Sexuality, drugs and the strength of childhood
bonds are central to Michael Mayer’s film
‘A Home at the End of the World’. Cavorting
through the wild 60s and 70s before closing
in the more sedate 1980s, the film tells the
story of Bobby (Colin Farrell) and Jonathan
(Dallas Roberts), two misunderstood, isolated
youths who find solace in one anothers’
company.
Journeying through adolesence, the two
develop a sexual attraction towards one
another. These humorous, touching scenes
are brought to life by the brilliant acting of
younger Bobby (Erik Smith) and Jonathan
(Harris Allen) who perfectly capture the
innocence and awkwardness of adolescence.
Years later and Jonathan and Bobby are grown
up, living separate lives before being brought
back together in the vibrant city of New York
where sexual energy flows like waterfalls, alive
and unrelenting. But adulthood has forced
a divide between the two. Taught to deny
their feelings, Jonathan and Bobby’s lives are
further complicated with the emergence of
the zany Claire (Robin Wright Penn) who falls
in love with both men.
Humour abounds throughout this refreshing
film where ideas of gender and emotional
outlet are pushed and defied. The chemistry
between Bobby and Jonathan is obvious
and well drawn. Later, as Claire gives birth
to Bobby’s child and the three work together
as a family, the film also manages to diffuse
common perceptions that a nuclear family
can be the only type of family.
While it is inspiring to see such ideas and
characters finally brought to life, the film is
not without its faults. Adapted by Michael
Cunningham (from his own novel of the same
name) the plot is at times a little loose, jarring
and repetitive. Mostly, the actors manage to
disguise this with believable performances
but one cannot feel that Bobby says “Man”
one too many times, that one scene ends
and another, all too similar, scenario follows,
offering little resolution.
Minor faults aside, ‘A Home at the End of the
World’ is a memorable film filled with likeable
characters to truly make you understand the
importance of human bonds.
events + theatre
Melbourne
Comedy Festival
Roadshow
IPAC
June 3 & 4 2005
Adult $29, Concession $24
and the Israelis being friends. Because they
both don’t eat pig. In fact the chorus goes
something like this, “You don’t eat pig, we
don’t eat pig, it’s been that way forever. You
don’t eat pig, we don’t eat pig, why not not
eat pig together.” I think songs like that could
really bring the two nations together, should
we recommend Minchin to the UN? Minchin
is a funny, funny man and he manages to
successfully combine song and comedy to
create hilarity.
Reviewed by Mariantonia Cara
Every year the Melbourne Comedy Festival
Roadshow makes its way to Wollongong
and every year I miss it. So how excited was
I when the Arts editor of this fine publication
knocked on my door and asked if wanted
to review the show. Being a budding
comedienne myself, I jumped at the chance
to see real comedians do their thing and I’m
glad I did.
Justin Hamilton was the host of the
show. An old hand on the comedy circuit,
Hamilton was an excellent choice for host,
instantly developing an easy rapport with
the audience. He is friendly and jovial and
basically inoffensive, though if you have
delicate ears, you may want to steer clear.
He managed to endear himself to the crowd,
whilst making fun of the place in which they
live. He may have mentioned Dapto a couple
of times. And the crimes they have there. And
a whole bunch of other things which may or
may not be true about the town and the
people who live there. Yes. When he wasn’t
bagging us out, he was making fun of himself,
his pathetic lovelife and his job. He warmed
up the crowd thoroughly and with the ease
of a seasoned professional, setting the tone
for the evening. Between each of the other
comedians, Hamilton would come out and
keep the audience laughing, making sure
that we were kept amused.
Tim Minchin is a newcomer to comedy, but
impressed enough that he won the Festival
Director’s Prize at Melbourne and is jetting
off to Scotland for the Edinburgh Comedy
Festival. His is not traditional comedy, but
rather cabaret comedy. He uses a piano to
emphasise his point, singing hilarious songs
that are at once supremely offensive and
most amusing. Not afraid to take on the
difficult donkey of political comedy, Minchin
sang a fabulous song about the Palestinians
Charlie Pickering has trodden the route
carved by many before him. What is it about
doing a law degree that makes people want to
become comedians? Micallef, Denton, almost
all of the guys from The Panel – they all did law
and then comedy – maybe they just needed a
change? Anyway, why ever Pickering chose
to become a comedian, it’s good that he
did because he is a very funny man. More
in the style of Seinfeld than Eddie Murphy,
Pickering’s observations on life cracked me
up. It is refreshing to hear someone make fun
of life, rather than celebrities and to actually
consider world events as a part of their life.
Not for Pickering the petty whinging about
his toast being cold – if there’s a war on, he’s
going to joke about it.
Kitty Flanagan was the last in the show, the
only woman and much to my dismay, the
least entertaining. Her inane tales of Ireland
just didn’t do it for me. I would have much
preferred her to be telling me something
funny about herself, instead of stupid holiday
situations. She began with potential, getting
laughs and keeping it going, but she couldn’t
sustain it for long and soon the laughter-filled
atmosphere dissipated and Flanagan began
to struggle. The harder she tried the less
amusing she became, at one point dying on a
joke about Dapto, something Justin Hamilton
had pulled off so well. It was a disappointing
end to a great show.
Mostly, the Roadshow was great, but the
lack of a convincing comedienne was a little
annoying. Other than that, it was an enjoyable
show which was thoroughly enjoyed.
END REVIEWS
63
CREATIVE
mail on thursday
by Daniel East
he did not move
like a little bird lost
he moved,
like he was drunk
or broken in some way
that I could not understand.
His steps faltered so falsely
at first I gave him a bad credit check
two pairs of carefully selected
‘old-man’ cardigans
brown and white and chequered
like the
patterns
on socks
but as I watched
he bowed his white head down,
this old grey asian man
a slick haired consultant
trotting past
( someone with a name like
Dirk
sporting a
bright
yellow
tie )
watching this stranger go
for so long
like nothing else would have been better
than a smile
or a nod from
Dirk
Then
he read his letter
standing on the grass
( for all I knew, it was
a gas bill;
a notice to vacate
the long brick apartments;
or a hand-written letter
from a child
now lost in the world )
with no change in his face
( which I had
to squint
to see ) and
he read that letter
like it was the reason keeping him
outside
sharing something with it
something so intimate
that he could read
out in the cold,
winter sun
where anyone at all could stare out their window
and still be alone.
He turned,
still reading
and took
three
unsteady
steps
not like a little bird
but like an old man,
two, maybe
three feet
towards home
64
Form
this poem is
a sweet gradual interconnection of time
and place. there is being
without form and my
sonnets linger in
empty howls of space.
layers are absorbed
within time. words are
contemporaneous.
all feeling is liquid.
- Sally Evans
Little Birds
The little birds are moving the sun
and I steal glints of words
guiltless. There is no remorse in shadow,
only lines of linguistic terror.
The little birds that can carry
the sun follow me through waves
of rhythm, shaking out their wings.
I am bitten by their sharp tail feathers,
left floating on my candlewax wings
while the sun moves
above, below.
- Sally Evans
My Heroes: A List
by Sally Evans
Anais Nin,
For ‘The Impresario’
Anyone can say 'move on'.
And anyone should be able to.
But when old things best forgotten
turn up at your door
smiling like gilt and glass,
anyone can go hang.
So a wistful dream gets put to sleep.
But just as you're done thinking it's dead
the little heart sets again to bleating.
And all of a sudden,
I'm not angry.
I'm not smart.
Things to remember uncoil into hopeless messes
and I smile right back.
We chat and flirt like porn stars of fine bone china
and as soon as you're here
you're not.
A quick hug that I don't mind,
and that's that,
again.
And before you know it,
I'm drunk and barefoot in suburbia.
Doing push-ups on strangers' cars
and trying to remember
the prettiest poem I ever did read
about indulgent smiles
and a dog's cock
- Lamar Jordan Ico
feathered fingers in
pink and silver places.
Allen
Ginsberg,
scratching loud through the night
and Howling in
alleyways.
Baudelaire crushed in
syphilis dreams
and absinthe murmurs.
Awakening
to light, pure
Platonic.
Borges for infinity
the unequal equation
I=N=F=I=N=I=T=Y
in Babel
(where the fish come from).
Vonnegut
I presume,
hurling in a full metal jacket,
a little part of the
infinite author
drunk and surly behind the wire mesh.
Apollinaire, savant extraordinaire,
(blurred in all known photos
vampire-faced)
French-auteur-voyeurflaneur-masked.
Plato taking it all off,
getting undressed and
under my skin
where we can be warm again
on the ideal table
served up like
tremblechested
transbacterialised
taintedloved
birds, on trial with
de Sade at the
gibbet.
65
CREATIVE
in preparation for
that fateful day
when the Colonel
finally uncovers my
whereabouts and comes
pummeling at my door
on the dry September
wind
by adam norris
i have hero, strung and quartered outside my
window for the good of every man woman
babe-in-arms of the street to file past my
transom on the world yearning to partake of a
death throe that lasted three days and seven
nights until the very last drop of mercuric
blood shining silver in the torchlight was
squeezed from his wounds into the goblet of
the masses and passed around anxious lips
like the ruby-studded flagons of old when
tragedy was never really that bad and the
presence of talking beasts holding court in
the forests kept the taste of death honeyed
for as most everyone knew in those fledgling
days just over the next mountain and past the
next valley and up yonder stream that flows
several feet above the waters of the ocean lies
a dieing chimera whose blood could be used
to bait those jaundiced shaman whose berry
bloated bellies contain the medicinal stones
and curative powders for all sorts of ailments
until such time a Great Law of the Sea was
passed to prevent time being lost between
continents and now the only shaman i know
of lives in the jungles of south america far
away from pharmaceutical regulatory bodies
and never leaves his lonely wooden tower no
matter what you may have to offer so your
best bet is to seek out one of the numerous
local guides that resemble those giant
canaries brought here by the spanish
centuries ago that so dazzled the natives with
their queaxacoatl colours and whisky-voiced
‘si senora la buenda dias!’ till the natives were
lost in the heat and squeak of silver-spurred
conquistadors pressing through the fragile
forests with musket and tobacco like cortez
before traversing valleys that dip so far below
sea level thallophytic fungi actually coat the
trunks like shimmering emerald gowns worn
and discharge minute pus-yellow spores that
eat away one’s skeleton and replicate those
66
pesky invertebrates over time so perfectly not
even their scent-partners can tell the
difference but not those clever spanish
marching past to sack the last of the organic
pyramids that towered over the last vast shale
of carnivorous plants that by now are so
attuned to human vice that they have
changed over time like every evolutionary
phyla in times of desperation to forsake their
old traditions and values despite the pleas of
doomed saplings that soon perished without
their wrathful adoration and developed legs
and breasts and walnut skin to better mingle
with the holiday crowds so that now they
snatch you as soon as you set foot off the
biplane to whisk you away to some tropical
steakhouse where the dancing girls are
nothing more than industrialised seedlings
whose areolas are obvious even to the most
naked of eyes to be little more than smooth
mounds of bark and though the canaryguides have awful eyesight they can still tell
the difference between a concierge and a
juniper vine using the kind of antediluvian
rites that only exist in these sort of places
amidst malt-smeared bar stools and rickety
ceiling fans where a tired alectryomancer
wanders with a fat black hen nestled in the
crook of his arm trying to entice a tourist or
two of his own but not even the serrated
alligator teeth strung around his neck nor the
soot-smeared symbols painted over the
graying hairs of his emaciated heart can
disguise the fact he has a mouth lined with
nothing but rank yellow stubs where his own
teeth once shone since his entire ration of
corn must go to the hen these days to keep its
accuracy less it start gobbling away the grain
willy-nilly and as soon as one person shakes
their head in disgust at the nonsensical
divinations of a starving chicken and turns
back to the flat-chested dancing girls nobody
else will pay heed to the barefoot old man
murmuring away to that bird in the corner by
the stage like it was his sweetheart or
something crazy old bastard but hell if you’re
that desperate or destitute or better still just
plain bored and your eyes are fixed
unwavering at some unspecified point on the
horizon you’ll eventually find my father the
shaman beyond the last set of crossroads
lying breached on that path of gravel and
sun-bleached bone amidst the ire of countless
water birds and the sundered virtue of my
own daughter, lest you happened to bring a
pint of rum and a handful of red pennies for
the old guy legba who rules dese parts with a
dusty fist and troubledsad eyes for he too
appeared through my window with the
syzygy of the first two planets waltzing above
the telegraph pole that brings me the quiet of
not enough people who cared till those last
moments when the night was still the quiet
blue of waking dreams and saw for himself
the place of worship that had never known
the acrid taste of turkey shit or the sweat of
lust and blood or the piss of children that
wandered lost through golden forests till
they stumblefell and landed too shocked to
scream on dogtraps left over from the final
glorious days of the revolution set at the base
of the tallest trees doused with bitch-scent
and rabbit guts and though i saw him but a
moment it was enough to bring back those
memories of the farm – walking to the beat of
creaking timber and the sweet scent of hay
along the drive of purple-topped scotch
thistle and patterson’s curse along bushels of
african love grass and .22-pocked horse skulls
in the far south coast of new south wales with
boer goats bellowing and chainsaws stalling
and fire-weed spreading across the fields like
the sunset tide sprouting in the cavities of
poor dead archie the miniature pony who
couldn’t get enough of those noxious yellow
flowers in life nor it would seem in death – yet
to my shame my shame my pityshame when
the crowd parted my crossroad papa was
gone and should you find the tower empty
fool yourself into believing that there is a
greater message there that absence lends
itself to divinity perhaps or some other such
new-age adage since anything else would be
the death of caverns and still water like the
time i sent my dog Lady to fetch our faggot
for the years of frost below the ephemeral
floating river and the weight of our
expectations drove her ‘neath the sheen of
brackish water and down down into some
place where even the light of my window
could not reach like that kitten i once
drowned in molasses because it was white
and i’d always longed for a black cat oh shame
though i was young so i leapt into the waters
and sank while my father screamed from the
shore and down i went down for an age down
past crumbling houses and collapsed garages
and broken stairwells and a narthex filled
with immeasurable roiling eels nipping at
each others tails to form a space of absolute
moving black which in time takes on the
galvanised properties of certain astral bodies
like the gaseous bridge that forms between
mercury and the sun to create a function of
ignotum per ignotis mathematics that
miraculously cancels out its own malleable
gradations so that you can effectively plunge
into the Great Eel Theory deadcentre and
meet with no resistance whatsoever save for
the infinite golden eyes of infinite eels of an
infinite wanderlust though to a child whose
religious upbringing was distanced enough
to refute most catholic architectural quirks in
favour of an indiana jones-inspired bravado i
never actually saw anything of the narthex in
my descent past decaying winter palaces
where giant clockwork aviaries were caught
in that moment of dream and awakening
leaving the birds to perish with mechanical
wings and fleshy corruptible hearts under the
reproachful stare of white-gold statuettes
fashioned to resemble nameless presidents
from the distant nations of the sea that lined
the broken boulevards and towered over
flooded florists and bakeries and banks and
schoolyards and metallurgists and a cinema
filled with sea-lilies and long-extinct cystoids
and blastoids and marble minarets and a
parliament house that still echoes with the
sad shuffling of lonely old harold holt and
philosophers corners and cafes and fountains
carved from the bones of sperm whales and
the inuit hunters who perished between their
kelp-starved jaws and pornographers studios
lined with crushed red velvet that somehow
never ages and gallery storerooms filled to
the crumbling ceilings with forgotten
paintings preserved all this time through the
hazy oil paint dream that someday their
Purpose would be served and fate would find
them hung by expensive hooks on celebrated
walls but the world was growing dim and i
cannot recall if the paintings simply slipped
from my eyes as i plunged or that their dream
finally came to a close and they died in those
sad depths where no one but a sinking boy
and his dead dog would ever pass but if
you’re still out there my silent chagall my
botero rest easy in the soft understanding
that the best hope for you lies in the halls of
the drowned anyway so what better place to
be appreciated than as the final floating
image in a world of dead birds and
extinguished miracles since with each
passing second the realisation that my dog is
forever lost was scraping into each vertebrae
of my child spine so even if i wasn’t literally
sinking i would still be drowning and when i
at last reached the silt of the waters bottom i
came face to face with not Lady but a
clamshell the size of everything whose
barnacled shell would one day be auctioned
off at christies for a cool fifteen mill though
whether that was because of the exquisite
purples and yellows and soft salmon hairs or
the sudden rarity of sea urchins who could
say but kneeling there before it with tears
drifting up from my eyes to the distant
surface the aesthetics of the ocean were of no
concern to me so that when the clamshell
began to groan and rock and shudder i paid it
no heed and with the last reserves of oxygen
tearing apart the capillary cities of my lungs
forced strength into my arms to vainly
pirouette home when the clamshell burst
open in a flurry of bubbles and blinding blue
light and rooted me to the spot while a
woman emerged from behind a pearl the
colour and texture of the sun and smiled
while her redbrown hair framed a perfect oval
face with fathomless eyes and lips the colour
of soft evening breezes oscillating through
empty parisian streets lit up like christmastime
and though i was a child then and immune to
such trappings the memory of my clamshell
girl has stayed with me all this time to haunt
my grown-up dreams with the slight cock of
her head the curve of her breasts and tremor
of her sex but this was in the days before
windows and transoms dictated my
ramblethoughts so instead of lust or
wretchedness i felt pity for this clamshell girl
stuck here below the ruins of resplendent
winter palaces and looked past her home of
ocean muscle and brine-fleece to a cluster of
abalone glittering away in the background
like some revelatory movie effect framed in
candy-cane coral so i drifted across and found
huddled in their succulent flesh a man who
looked like every other man to my child eyes
who could not speak for the crustaceans
glued to his gums or see for the seacucumbers gouged into his eyes yet still his
very presence there in that garden of aquatic
delight seemed to promise something
grandiose so i rescued him from his prison
after fooling the clamshell girl into searching
for Lady in the sludge and shattered tiles of
the ocean floor and with errant abalone still
clinging to his limbs like stubborn body-
armour we ascended past the palaces and
theme parks and film crews and oil-rigs and
below us the whole dizzying magnificence of
the ocean became encased in a soft blue
luminescence the colour of farewell to reveal
everything to me and look Lady look the
echinoderms are falling from the man’s eyes
to comfort you down there in the sandsludge
goodbye sea-cucumber good journey
abalone and all other mollusks and
brachiopods keep my poor dog happy and
safe so i climbed the slopes of diatomaceous
earth content that at least Lady will always
have company and found a surface awash in
crimson hues that made me cringe and thrash
as i could but assume it was a symbol of my
father’s retribution yet i could not linger in
the ocean beneath the river as the waters
were beginning to churn and scald my
childflesh so one two one two and through
and through i pulled the man back to the
above world with the fabled ruins of my lungs
to gulp down deep breaths of air and to
splutter and cry over the loss of Lady and
search the shore for my father when a
tremendous noise came tearing down from
the sky a thunder so fierce that at last the
chimera whimpered and died in its vale of
mango trees and lightning vaporised your
lovely floating river in a thousand-million
flashes that illuminated the oceans surface
and revealed to me the bodies of countless
canary guides floating face down and
bleeding from the holes where eyes and
beaks once graced like those alaskan rivers
that drift entire forests from pole to pole and i
screamed and the man groaned and the
thunder spoke in deafening words
unintelligible to me now but sounded like a
bell to my childflesh and directed me further
downstream floating the man on a makeshift
raft of sodden bloody feathers and a birdbone mast to where the last true canary
floundered and glittered in the surf and as we
approached i could hear its foreign weeping
and its platitudes to the elder gods that
forgot the earth long before jesu christi the
messiah-fox ate of the lambs tongue to
change the world and i paddled over and saw
clutched to the hollow of its chest an emerald
crown whose origin i learnt over days of
hiding in reeds and rotting logs that shunted
down the river with two of every insect
known to man which left millions more to
drown or prosper under the tutelage of dr.
67
CREATIVE
in preparation for that fateful day...CONTINUED
sparrow the faith healer who also died
singing la la tamba la la tamba on those
thunderous riverclouds and whose story has
never been told yet I still have her bifocals
and the cat she brought to life with louisiana
mud and ash sitting on my desk so perhaps
one day she will fly again to lead those few
chided and decimated insects who survived
the river journey to build lives for themselves
in the everwarmth of electrical appliances
scuttling behind the time displays of
microwave ovens and nestling safe and snug
against the precious radiation plates growing
fat on splatterings of heinz spaghetti and
meatballs that glisten beneath the revolving
glass and drollops of bega tasty melted
cheese that cling to the sides like pasteurised
glue but finally on the fifth night the canary
and i had learnt enough of each others
language for me to comfortably forsake the
man and the crown to the dying birds
direction and spend the next seven nights
dwelling over the canaries parting words
whose syntax adhered to no conventional
rules but to the internal rhythms of the
canaries own fading heart the beating of
which stirred the sympathies of every nearby
conversation and assimilated itself into
countless other jokes and laments and
explanations and mute deliberations so that
the entire history of the world was
reconsidered (and while i have no time to
chronicle the many and varied repercussions
felt i can nevertheless reassure you that it was
a pretty big deal when the whole planet
suddenly sits up and pays attention not
altogether dissimilar to the old story of every
person in china suddenly deciding to jump at
the same time and the force of their landing
would shake the earth off its axis and away
we would go tumblespinning to ricochet
along the trail of space junk left by the starstudded voyager as it skirts the silent expanse
that is a black hole or loop through the
cosmic fumbling of giant space-babies which
isn’t so bad at least this way the green
navigational L.E.D would light our way as it
bleeped off into infinity so that when our
children cry in the night that their oxygen has
gone that their bedrooms have perished and
their friends keep burning in solar flares we
can point to the sky and know that at some
point our endless gyration will bring that
errant satellite into conjunction with our
fingertip and whisper to them legends of the
68
before time when the santa-man created the
heavens and that flickering green light is
rudolph the morning-star {the troublemaker!}
still shimmering on his way into exile and
they will fall asleep trusting our words that
you need not fear child the light can never
touch you and we in turn rest easy thankful
that we know better than to trust in childish
placations how awful it would be to still
believe in such things as we slip into a
glowering new crimson age of ignorant
areocentric belief ) yet there as the canary
spluttered with swamp-water clogging his
throat i found myself drifting from bank to
bank delirious like the time i was marching
with lawrence across the desert sands all
those years ago sustaining myself on the
insect larvae and the decomposing bodies of
rabbits who struggled to the water’s edge to
sip their last before the White Blindness tore
them apart so there i foraged in the detritus
that collected amidst the clusters of dead
leaves and crumbling branches and oily
snakeskin at each bend in the river until the
whole world seemed one great littoral
discharge existing solely to nourish and
buffer me as the procession of dead birds as
silent and eerie as nightfall in foxground
swept ceaselessly away from the transient
ocean of automated menageries and the
missing Lady: finally on a day more or less
fateful than the last my waterlogged
contemplation was shattered as a screaming
came across the sky heard by roughly twenty
million three hundred and forty four
thousand seven hundred and sixty one
people yet alas only four people and two
heavenly presences were aware of just what
the screaming heralded so that when the
updated White Blindness ‘05™ painted the
town red it came mostly as a surprise but not
to me in my watery bunkergrave since i alone
had an unobstructed view of the crimson and
aquamarine waves that were breaking over
the horizon to the sweet artillery symphony
sounds of the 1812 overture while sheets of
purple flame burnt holes in the atmosphere
and four hundred and twenty thousand
english troops caramelised the shore and
there just as the last canary had promised
colonel haig rose into the air and split the
world apart with a mighty sweep of his sabre
sighing in his husky whisperbreath shantih
shantih shanith and all became the murky
twilight that sits in perpetuity beyond my
window where once in the before time an
alexandrite twinkling caught my eye and
crucified in its light i found the man smiling
beatifically despite a chest riddled with sabre
scars and dragline excavations so it took the
last of my resolve to climb the splintered
telegraph pole and undo him in the shadow
cast from my computer screen and even then
the echo of the english had not completely
faded so that within moments the streets
were clogged with wailing people praising
hero as their own since in rome every road
leads which-way from the seat of godhood
hence why so many grey-eyed folk still
wander past my window everyday to pluck
muscular shards of the one true cock to use in
stews and as talismans while the butchered
fellow does not even have the decency to
decay and perhaps dissuade those ravenous
creatures with its spoiled meat and even now
all four sexes slide screaming under my door
and fill the hollows of my life with endless
laments that they could not resist temptation
when their loved ones had fled the house and
left them there alone and cold and
hungryblind and disillusioned they took
those pieces recovered from the bottom of
pots and pans the world over and loved them
the way they wished to be loved the only way
they know how love can be and now their
bellies swell with the pride of a nation the
miracle of the age when at night they can
touch themselves there and feel that pool of
pleasure rise up and gather in the hollow
shore of my chest and feel the warmth drain
into my womb or wherever it may be that this
babe will choose to grow that heir of the loins
of the window man destined to quench the
colonel of the mud that lord of the reedy river;
and then and only then will this shambling
monstrosity this babe of the opal eyes that
was cursed to me in the ages before my own
sweet fumbleloved birth begin to crown and
that is not a horn bursting from its flesh my
love but a star.
69
CREATIVE
Dolly
Mummy buys me a dolly, it’s not new though, she says. Mummy says
she got it at a op shop. She says another little girl loved this dolly, and
now I can love it to.
Mummy can be such a bitch sometimes, why can’t she just get me
a new dolly? We’re really rich, and mummy could have got me a good
dolly. Mummy says why don’t I run along and play?
Daddy buys me good toys, he bought me Barbie and Ken and
Stacy and the Malibu Fun House, and a TV for my room what has
plasma.
Mummy locks her door and doesn’t come out. Mummy says she’s got
sick again and she needs to rest. She’s always got sick and needs to
rest.
I look at the dolly. She’s got bright blue shiny eyes and pretty blonde
hair what’s really not hair but really just thin bits of plastic. She’s got
on a white dress what’s all tored and dirty. Her face is all dirty too, she
doesn’t mind but. She stares at me, smiling. She has plastic lips and a
plastic face.
I really love the dolly, but I wish she was new. I would love her more
if I fixed her up. I look at her, and I love the dolly so much. I grab onto
her to give her a hug and a tune starts playing out dolly’s back, and
dolly moves her head round, she doesn’t stop smiling but. Her shiny
eyes look at me, then over at mummy’s fisher and piklet stainless steel
fridge, then over at mummy’s Vasarchy dress what’s hanging on a chair,
then over at mummy’s monogamy table what’s hand carved, then
back at me. The tune stops playing and the dolly’s head stops moving
round. Dolly’s got a winder on her back what makes the tune go, but
it’s broke so the tune goes anyway when you hug her.
Daddy says mummy’s nervous broke down, daddy tells me things like
that, secrets. Daddy plays with me. I bet mummy’s nervous didn’t really
break down, I bet she’s just a bitch and she doesn’t want to play with
me. I bet she keeps heaps of really good toys in her room and plays
with them because she doesn’t like me. New toys, toys that other girls
didn’t get their dirty hands on fore me.
It’s okay but, cos dolly’s really nice, even if mummy is a bitch. I love
dolly, she just needs to get washed and fixed. I go and get a sponge
70
from the kitchen sink and I wet it and I clean off dolly’s face.
It’s quiet and I can hear mummy crying in her room. I hate her. Daddy
says he gived mummy everything she wanted, and she’s just selfish. I
bet she’s not really crying, I bet she’s just faking it. She never wants to
play with me, she just wants to go to her room and do fake cries.
The sponge is getting off the dirt off dolly’s face, and she looks real
pretty now. I take off her dress what’s all tored and dirty, and then
dolly’s naked, cept for socks. She doesn’t have a wee wee hole, but, like
me. I put the dress in the sink and put the water on till the dress is all
wet. When I squeeze the dress all the water comes out on the ground,
and some of the dirt is gone and I go into the laundry and get a peg
and hang up the dress.
Daddy says when he met mummy he loved her. Daddy says when he
met mummy she was broken, and he fixed her. Mummy was a dirty slut
and daddy washed her till she was clean. Daddy says now mummy’s a
proper woman, a real wife.
I get mummy’s brush from the bathroom and brush dolly’s hair while
her dress is drying. Now her face is all clean and pretty and her hair is
nice and straight with no knots.
Mummy’s stopped crying now. She’s very quiet. Soon daddy will come
home, maybe he’ll bring me something.
Daddy loved mummy but he doesn’t any more, cos mummy’s selfish.
He says she’s never happy, and she’s never fun.
Mummy’s very quiet now.
When the dress is dry I put it on dolly and look at her. I move dolly’s
hair around. I make dolly do the tune. I look at her again. Someing’s
not right but. I shake the dolly and shake her and shake her and shake
her.
Daddy comes home. He doesn’t bring me anything but. He calls out for
mummy and she doesn’t answer. Daddy says what a pretty dolly, I say
I hate her. I hate the dolly. I throw her in the bin what’s in the kitchen,
and daddy says he’ll get me a new dolly tomorrow.
Daddy calls out for mummy. She doesn’t answer again but. Daddy goes
into mummy’s room.
In a few hours the amblance man comes to get mummy, he puts her
on a bed what has wheels and takes her in a amblance. Daddy says
mummy had to go away and never come back. Daddy says mummy
had to go cos she was a coward what’s selfish and weak.
The next day, daddy gets me a new dolly.
Dane Naoum
Metropolitan Bloom
The taxi drops me off in the city centre. The driver spoke no
English, so I had to show him the address in the directory. He cleared
the meter when we stopped, and wrote down a fare five dollars higher
than what was there. I paid him without question. Because I have a
definite goal in mind today. Something to do. It’s important, too. And
nothing can stop me, not even being cheated of five dollars.
The place I’m going is ten blocks from where I got out of the taxi,
a small florist run by a woman I think is Korean. It would have been
easier to have been driven there but life wasn’t meant to be easy. A
little challenge every day keeps the mind fresh, my mother always said.
The walk might not seem like much of anything, especially for me; I’m
obviously up to it. Once, when it was raining, I did the walk at a dead
run and I wasn’t even blown up at the end. But there are little things;
traffic, for instance. You never know how many times you’ll have to wait
to cross, or for how long. Some days you’ll be able to stroll all the way,
others you’ll take three times as long. I remember all of them.
There’s also concentration of people. I always come on the same
day, but I change the times so as not to get bored. I can’t come in the
early morning, because of the rush; the taxi costs too much. But in the
mid-mornings there are more older people, and early afternoons there
are schoolchildren. I very rarely see the older people more than once,
but I know some of the children; by sight, at least. I sometimes wonder
how they do at school, what subjects they’re best at. I can’t tell, of
course, but it’s fun to guess.
The biggest unknown of the walk is whether or not I’ll stop in a
shop along the way. I don’t do it very often, but when I do I’ll usually
buy something. I’ve bought some very odd things. I keep them on my
coffee table; just so if someone asks why, I can smile and shrug and say,
“Oh…no reason”, like some kind of eccentric.
I count the blocks. On an average day, with not too many people
and only five stops, I mean, it takes me ten minutes. I can do it in three,
but it makes no sense to rush when you’ve got plenty of time. I also
found out that it takes about seventy full steps to cross a block, and
about nine to cross a street. If I feel up to it, I count steps instead of
blocks. It’s not accurate if I’m quicker, but when I get held up it’s an
interesting technique. I could just use a stopwatch, but like I said, a
little challenge every day is a good thing.
When I get to the florist, the owner smiles at me. She’s talking
with a younger woman in her own language. I’m looking around at
some of the pre-arranged bouquets when they laugh at something. I
glance back and see them both grinning at me; I grin back. They must
be laughing at where my shirt has split. They talk for a minute or so
before the younger woman leaves. As she does, she points at me and
says something, smiling; the owner says something short. I guess she
thinks it’s not nice to make fun of my shirt. And it is hard for me to find
clothes that fit properly, anyway.
I walk up to the counter. “What can I get you today, sir?” She asks,
still all smiles. I screw up my face a little. I think some orchids would be
nice, and maybe some tulips. I pay for a dozen of each, and when she
hands them to me, I take a deep sniff of their perfume.
“They’re wonderful. Thank you.” I say. This is my favourite part of
the day.
“See you next week, sir,” she says. I think she was going to say
something else but the phone rang. I waved to her as I left, but she
mustn’t have seen.
I decide to catch the train home, just for a change. There are plenty
of seats, but I stand to stretch my calves. Sitting near me is a woman
with a little girl, and it looks as if they’ve been shopping. The girl is
staring at me, so I smile back at her. She slips down from her seat and
comes over to me. I drop down to one knee, and she’s chewing on her
finger nervously. I smile again, and she points at my flowers and says
very quietly, “They’re pretty.”
I pick out two tulips and an orchid and hand them to her. She laughs
and beams at me, her dimples as red as the petals. She runs back to
her mother. She shows the woman her flowers, then stands on her seat
and shouts, “Thank you!”
I’m smiling all the way home. The girl and her mother get off at the
stop before mine. When my station comes, I walk past where they were
sitting and see that they have left the flowers on the seat.
Lamar Jordan Ico
71
72
The Tertangala
(terten-gah-la)
is the official student journal of the University
of Wollongong Undergraduate Students’
Association (WUSA), with seven publications
per year. The Tertangala buys articles from
undergraduate students at five cents per
word, so for a 500 word article you could get
$25.
Contributions may be about:
Campus News
Clubs activities
Poetry or short stories
Satire or humour
Comics or pictures
Sporting teams
If you want to make a contribution and get
paid for it, you can find a style guide on
the website (http://wusa.uow.edu.au/tert)
or come to the WUSA offices at 12:30 on
Tuesdays for our media collective meetings.
If you would like to buy advertising in the
Tertangala, please email:
[email protected]