The Rest of Your Life (v3.0)

Hey guys,

Another plug for some vids I’ve got up on Youtube – one’s an (older) original track of mine, and the other is a remix of the new Vile Evils single I just did the other day (slow day at work hehe).

As always, let me know what y’all think …

Listening To: Hard NRG 8 : Various Artists (MOS)

Current Horn Factor :

Quote of The Day
MyBumMyChum please describe web 2.0 to me
MyBumMyChum in 2 sentences or less.
mynameizzzEarl you make all the content.
mynameizzzEarl they keep all the revenue.

If you can’t tell already (by the fact I haven’t posted anything for the last few weeks), BB07 apathy has well and truly set in for me now dear readers. I don’t know if I can see it through to the end of the series, and I definitely can’t be arsed blogging about it at the moment. Besides, this blog is about so much more than just Big Brother, isn’t it gang ? So instead, I’m going to tackle a completely different topic for today’s enthralling TROYL installment, namely that of “collecting”.

Whether it’s stamps, football cards (baseball cards for our seppo friends), comic books, those poxy porcelein figurines off the back of the TV guide, or explicit polaroid photographs of their numerous sexual encounters, most people have at one time or another, kept a ‘collection’ of some sort. I myself started out collecting Tintin comics when I was a young lad (still have the whole set somewhere in storage), before moving on to “Australian Plastics Modeller” magazine, and a brief flirtation with philatelly (although stamps are a lot less exciting than your average Tintin, which is why the latter was a ‘passing phase’ at best). I also went through a stage of collecting scars in the latter half of my “difficult teens” and early 20′s, but thankfully the appeal of that eventually wore off also.

Now, some would argue that these days what I mostly collect is pornography and parking tickets, but I beg to differ. “Collecting” would be far too methodical a phrase to describe the chaotic nature of my prOn stash, and the parking tickets are not something I purposefully amass, they simply come to me as a consequence of being too lazy to ride my pushbike to work, and choosing to drive instead. Rather, I like to think of myself as ‘collecting’ something far more ephemeral. This particular “pashion” (or compulsion ?) for ‘collecting’ has been with me since around the mid 1990′s, and is a direct consequence of my being a (bedroom/part-time/amateur) musician.

You see gang, the “thing” (or things) I spend a fair bit of time collecting these days are – SOUNDS !

Hold up, hold up ! Before you shut down your browser in disgust (“Sounds ? You purple-haze, hippy, motherf$ka !”), let me explain.

Back in the mid 90′s, when my friends and I first moved away from our guitars and drumkits to PC-based music production, the ‘tech of choice’ for the bedroom musician was something called “software trackers”. I can see a grin of fond memory spreading across some of the faces in the crowd (“FT2″ … “Pro Tracker” … “MMedit” …. ring a bell ?), but for the rest of you I’ll give you a very quick run-down. A software tracker (A.K.A “grid-based, sample pattern sequencing program”) was a way of arranging ultra-short snippets of sound (samples) into meaningful compositions. The upside being that the resulting music file would only save a copy of each “sample” once, along with a very simple record of the order (and pitch) at which all the sound snippets were strung together to make the actual song.

Think of it as a very early version of the humble MP3. Just like MP3′s, a lot of the resulting ‘compositions’ were nothing more than simple ‘rips’ of popular commercial tracks, streamlined for quick downloading and music piracy on the (pitifully slow … 3 hours to download a 300kb file @ 2400 baud) pre-internet data networks. However, just like ‘ground-breaking’ hip-hop and electronic musicians + DJ’s such as The Beastie Boys and The Prodigy could with their ‘hardware’ studio gear, some of us used the “tracker” software to produce original tunes. We’d grab samples from far and wide (a drumloop from an old disco record, a single note from a mate’s Juno synth, 5 seconds of dialogue from a 1970′s ‘Blaxploitation’ flick), and … viola … a cheesy 90′s ‘underground’ techno track to share with our mates in Helsinki, via the wonders of Fidonet.

Being in this ‘scene’ for a few years, I think it’s inevitable that everyone starts to build up a ‘collection’ of their favourite samples (sounds), which they tend to use more than others. There’s a whole array of ‘classic’ samples from that era now, like the so-called “Amen Loop” (a drum loop used on a plethora of 90′s break-beat hits), various TB-303 acid-bleeps (coz not every uneployed teenager could afford a 303, even back then when they were still relatively cheap), and so on. Yeah, I’ve got them all, just like every other man and his dog. MY big thing though was dialogue samples. Too much time listening to obscure bands like Cabaret Voltaire, My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult & Ministry, and before you knew it I was raiding the bottom shelves of Blockbuster for all the Z-Grade Roger Corman and horror movies with titles like “The Demon Bimbos from Planet X”, just to get my hands on the same original sample sources they used.

This was before the days of DVD as well kids – much harder to get decent sound reproduction when you’re recording at only 16-bits from a vintage early 80′s VHS player using a coax cable and your crappy 90′s (unshielded) soundcard. Just like other groups of “collectors”, my muso friends and I would trade samples between ourselves, try to ‘out-do’ eachother with particularly “good” examples of sampling, etc. To this day, I still remember feeling really cut when one particular mate of mine used a great sample I’d taken from “Return of the Living Dead”

(the line was “I love you, and you’ve got to let me eat your brain”)

in one of his online tracks, before I’d had a chance to use it in a song of my own. It was gold dammit (!) … one I’d sourced entirely myself (instead of being inspired by one of the aforementioned obscure bands). To add insult to injury, he’d only swapped me a bunch of crappy 8-bit 303 sequences for it

I could go on and on about samples like a true obsessive, but as we all know – nothing stays the same, people and technology evolve. I got out of writing music for a few years, then started slowly moving back into the fold. Used samples & trackers again for a while initially, before discovering the newly evolving “modular studio software” technology epitomized (at the time) by “Buzz Composer”. No longer limited to simple samples, instead for a while there I was collecting “Buzz Instrument (and effect) Plugins” – which were basically little bits of independent software code that you could “plug-in” to the Buzz environment to generate sounds in REAL time (like little software versions of physical studio hardware). Buzz plugins are the pre-cursor to today’s VST plugins, basically. I’m not strictly collecting sounds (as such) at this point I guess, but sporadically gathering sound-producing tools.

Finally then we come to the present (or near present) day, when my 10+ year participation in that ‘orrible thing called the “workforce” finally starts to reap measurable ‘rewards’, and therefore my budget for spending on music production gear (not counting electric guitars, effects pedals and four-track recorders … I had THAT shit when I was a teen … over it hehe) actually becomes more than non-existent. Ergo, I finally start buying real music HARDWARE again, instead of just producing with software (and the occasional midi-controller keyboard, like the EVO mentioned in an earlier blog post). I buy my first ‘proper’ hardware synth on Ebay – a venerable 1980′s workhorse called the Korg-Poly 800. Shed-loads of tweakable parameters, lovely 80′s Depeche Mode synth-pop sonic possibilites. Unfortunately, the programming is a bitch (bugger all physical controls, just membrane buttons and lots of scroll menus). The synth comes with oodles of patch programming sheets the previous owner had squirelled obsessively from the ‘net … and

suddenly I’m back to collecting sounds again, but now they’re not samples, they’re rows of LFO settings, VCO routings, and DCO waveforms.

I get rid of the Korg after a few months of fiddling, but the ‘collecting’ bug has well and truly bitten by then. I go through a few bits of gear on ebay (the Korg, an Alesis-SR16 drum machine), lust over some brand new synths (and sounds) while I’m overseas, and eventually settle for a classic 90′s techno BEAST called the Roland Alpha Juno (gotta luuuuurve ebay !). Just like the guy who sold me the Korg, by this point I’m madly downloading patches and sysex editors for my ‘new’ pre-loved synth off the ‘net, the user groups, wherever I can find them. I’m making my own patches (the Juno being easier to program than the Korg), organizing the ones I’ve already got into “sets” … basically obsessing about all the phatt SOUNDS I can get out of this baby.

Some time after THAT, I get my Novation X-Station. Suffice to say, if i was drooling about the sonic possibilities of the Juno, I positively cream my jeans when I get my hands on the X. It’s not actually that easy to find patches/presets (i.e. sounds) for THIS baby on the ‘net, it’s only been out a few years after all … but believe me, I ALWAYS keep an eye out I’m so tragic now, I actually publically scoffed at the recent ‘new’ patch-set the manufacturers made available on their website (programmed by the keyboard player from Jamiroquoia supposedly) in one of the bigger user forums because “there aren’t enough NEW sounds in there – we’ve heard most of these patches before”.

And THAT, my friends, is my story. YOUR TURN NOW TO FESS UP – WHAT’S YOUR SECRET ‘COLLECTING’ SHAME ?

So, I’ve been keeping busy lately battling the flu, moving office, moving webservers (and all the associated hassle of setting up mail redirects, moving the blog etc etc) and 1001 mundane things like installing our new clothes drier (a rant for another day).

I’ve also found a bit of time to venture out in a new musical direction, namely doing a bit of film scoring.

Now, I did a very basic job of ‘scoring’ my own (ultimately short-listed, but non-winning) Tropfest short earlier in the year. However, this just involved cutting down the duration of one of my own music tracks, and dropping it in as background sound.

The film score I’ve been working on lately, however, is a much more involved piece of sound engineering for a short ‘teaser’ trailer for some accquaintences off an Aussie film-maker’s board. They’re basically trying to get funding to be able to shoot the film proper, and have shot a short trailer to show potential investors. It’s essentially a horror / thriller flick, and the preview looks fairly slick. Apart from incidental sound / dialogue, I’ve had to do the whole sound-mix and music from scratch, trying to build suspense and work together with the visuals.

It’s been an interesting experience, and I’ve been using it as an opportunity to learn the ins and outs of my new DAW (finally upgraded from using Jeskola Buzz and Modplug Tracker to the ‘pro-sumer’ choice of SONAR HS 6 XL) and get some decent use out of the X-Station. I’ll post the trailer (or links) up here once it’s done and the guys are happy with the result (we’ve gone through a few versions now with the last beat sequence causing headaches, but they’ve FINALLY managed to clarify what they actually want).

So – any other musos out there looking for something ‘new’ to try – I’d definitely try posting on some of the film-maker boards out there, and offering your scoring services for free. If you’re lucky, you’ll find a film project that interests you, and you’ll be helping out the film-makers as well.

That’s all for now

UPDATED 26/04/07:
——————-

‘K gang, the trailer is finished, and viewable here, and on my MySpaz band page

12. You dig Kellie Osbourne’s Moog-inspired synth tattoo. 

11. You read the Sound on Sound back-catalogue of hardware reviews almost obsessively, especially whenever a particularly sweet looking synth comes up on Ebay.   

10. The top favourites in your browser include VintageSynth, the Harmony Central user reviews, and the Musical Instruments > Professional Audio & DJ Gear > Synthesisers category on Ebay.

9. Instead of subscribing to Yahoo groups involving celebrity porn like the rest of humanity, your subsriptions include groups like “Synth Programming”, “Alpha Juno & MKS-80″ and “Polyphony for the Masses”

8. You get involved in passionate debates on the InTheMix forums about the relative merits of ‘true’ analogue vs VA hardware.

7. Not only can you wax eloquently about extended ADSR envelopes, aftertouch and oscillator pitch drift in said arguments, but you actually know what the terms you’re bandying about mean.

6. Although you live in a relatively small two bedroom apartment, and wouldn’t really know how to operate it properly, you occasionally have dreams about breaking into Jack Dangers’ house to steal his Synthi 100.  

5. You find yourself listening to early 80′s records by bands like Depeche Mode & Ultravox, and thinking “hmm yeah, I think that’s preset 32 on my Poly 800″ or “Oberheim OB-X solo - I like it !”.

4. Your partner complains that you sometimes wake her up, mumbling things in your sleep like “Yes, but the real question is – does it have any LFO’s ?”, and “If you sign it Mr.Moog, I promise I’ll blow you right here !”.

3. You abuse the arpeggiator on your synth to make ringtones for your mobile phone, having graduated from downloading the MP3 patch demos of obscure 80′s keyboards on Sealed’s page for said purpose.

2. When you take your fiance overseas to see your homeland for the first time, you take time out from visiting historic sites and family, to drag her around a bunch of dodgey musical instrument stores, trying to find the elusive “too good to be true, they’re Eastern European and too niave to realise what they’ve got” synth deal.

1. When you finally do get married, and score yourself some cash in the process, not only do you buy whitegoods for the both of you to use, you also blow a good chunk of it on a new synth, having compared potential purchase candidates for literally months on end beforehand

Listening To: Electroluv : Mr.Gelatine (Magnatune)

Current Horn Factor :

Quote of The Day
CMadz I have myspace so I can keep in touch with certain friends …
f8kt1tZ nigga, you need 2get yo’self some new friends !

Thanks to the magic of Sanrio Corp & Fender U.S.A, I know what I want for Xmas !!! Forget your Kirk Hammet signature edition B.C Rich Walocks, your Joe Satriani custom Ibanez Strats, even your increasingly rare Saul Hudson (Slash) signature edition Gibson Les Pauls. Walking past Bondi Inter-Music (normally a shop for serious musicians), I saw one of these babies in the window, and knew a new legend in high-demand collector guitars had been born. Mark my words people … in five or ten years time, these things are going to be worth an absolute MINT !!! ;-) 

It kills me Just to clarify, this isn’t some cheap ‘novelty’ guitar either – it’s a fully working, ‘proper’ stratocaster from Fender (Squire), albeit in a “smaller size for younger players”. Now I know the guys at Sanrio have been trying to expand the (evil) Hello Kitty empire of late. We actually have a Hello Kitty toasted sandwich maker at home (for sheer kitsch value), and have been also tempted to buy the Hello Kitty alarm clock & television, among other things. A Hello Kitty Strat though ? That’s just …. tres bizzarro !

Was the product manager at Fender smoking crack when he agreed to this unholy partnership ? For that matter, was the purchasing guy at Inter-Music smoking a similar bag of crack when they decided (a) to not only carry these things, but (b) to give them pride of place in the display window displacing various Roland Grooveboxes & Korg Electribes ? I know it’s coming up to Christmas, but honestly these things should be sitting in a dusty corner of the store somewhere, not taking up valuable display space near the front door, where they’re likely to cause injury to serious musicians who see them and double over in paroxysms of laughter ?

 

To be honest, I’m not even sure if these things are targetted at boys or girls. I mean the pink colour, and the Hello Kitty motif would make you think it’s aimed squarly at girls. But then if you look at the kid on the packaging, it could conceivably be a pre-pubescent Hanson-esque looking boy. Granted, you can’t see all that in too much detail on the box shot above, but just trust me on this one.

You’d think it would all end there gang, but it doesn’t ! I noticed something else looking at the box-shots just now, which I missed when I was photographing it with my phone in the window. There’s actually a website – www.fenderhellokitty.com 

From looking at said site, it would seem the version of the Hello Kitty Strat we have here in the Asia-Pacific region is actually a bit watered down, in terms of its Kitty branding. The American version of the strat appears to have a HUGE facsmilie of Kitty’s noggin taking up most of the body of the guitar, whereas the one I saw in the shop only has the smaller logo (as found on our toastie maker). Oh … and yes gang … from the website I’ve also discovered there’s a companion Badtz-Maru bass guitar as well - perfect for those wanting more low-end out of their Sanrio-powered sound.

Rrrrrrrawk on, boys and girls

 

Listening To: Greatest Hits : Sheep on Drugs

Current Horn Factor :

Quote of The Day
Blauw If i die and i get reincarnated, i wish i was my girlfriends pussy
Argy Why ?
Blauw Then i would be able to see all my friends again

Well gang, it’s another shameless plug from me for some ebay auctions I’ve got running. Any keyboard players / musicians in the house, please check out the following:

Korg Poly 800 – {SOLD}

Perfect for 80′s Synthpop + Trance & Techno. My first hardware synth, so it’s my baby … but it’s gotta go

Novation XioSynth 25 {UNSOLD}

The new combo Midi-Controller, Audio Interface & VA (Virtual Analogue) synth from acclaimed UK innovation powerhouse Novation. As luck would have it, I can get these to you at significantly below the RRP of $699 (and upwards) that most retailers in Australia will sell them to you for. We’re talking only $599 people … so snap one up NOW before my suppliers wise up and stop letting me have ‘em at this price !

 That’s all for now y’all …

Listening To: Fear Of A Black Planet : Public Enemy

Current Horn Factor :

Quote of The Day

Miyomei2 I had my portable CD player,
Miyomei2 and took it in the bathroom with me while I went to pee.
Miyomei2 And the second I whipped my penis out,
Miyomei2 the theme song to ‘Rocky’ started playing.
Miyomei2 I’ve never felt more manly than in that moment

It was Mardi Gras on the weekend, so today groovers I’m going to give a little blast from the past, so to speak. A little glimpse of personal darkness from less than two years ago. It’s a story about a girl … although you might have to read between the lines to divine that, considering the ostensible subject matter. All I can say in hindsight is – I’m soooooo very glad this person isn’t in my life anymore. It started out well enough of course – these things always do. In the end though it all went very much to shit, as this story so amply demonstrates.

I live in Sydney, Australia … one of the universally acknowledged ‘gay-capitals’ of the world. I’m prone to wearing tight little singlet tops (slightly less-so at the moment considering I’m having another of my bi-annual battles with the bulge, although they’ll be back on a daily basis again once I shed the pounds), baggy hipster flared jeans (or REALLY tight, black stretch ones), black leather armbands, and spiky, product-rich haircuts. I use various male skincare products, still remember how to apply my own nail-polish and eyeliner (damn those teen-goth days), know the difference between Manolo Blahnik & Fendi, and will freely acknowledge that Jai Rodriguez is a bit of a cutey. Given the preceding information, you may therefore be surprised to learn I’m actually straight, if you haven’t met me before or are a new reader to this blog.

I’ve documented elsewhere my brief teenage flirtation with ‘dating’ a guy (which essentially boiled down to a few bad kissing sessions while we were both conveniently ripped on various substances), and the few occasions since in my early 20′s when I snogged random guys at clubs. I won’t rehash old ground here – the point is simply that I can safely say I’m very secure in my heterosexuality precisely because I have flirted with the idea of ‘playing for the other team’, and know without a shadow of a doubt it simply isn’t for me.

At times though, this can be a bit of bummer (pardon the pun). Mainly because sometimes life would be so much simpler if only I ‘swung the other way’ – or even swung both ways. Y’see gang, ever since my late teens, and for reasons which still remain a mystery to me, I’ve found that gay guys will often be attracted to me. I’ve literally lost count of the number of times I’ve had guys come up and offer to buy me drinks at clubs over the years, proposition me, try to do the ‘bump and grind’ on the dancefloor or whatever. From the sweet-looking 60 year old grandpa at someone’s 21st in Sweden (who asked me if I wanted “some gay sex” in front of the girl in question, and when I replied in the negative, made sure to try his luck again a mere twenty minutes later “just in case you’ve changed your mind”), to the chubby, stalkey fuck who took my refusal of a drink with a scowl and then proceeded to follow me to every goth club in Sydney for the next 3 months and would try to ‘catch my eye’ on the dancefloor (or worse … try to dance up close behind me until I’d tell him to “fuck off dickhead, I tell you I’m straight every time – can’t you take a hint ?!”), it seems sometimes like every queen and his corgi have tried to cop a feel of the package over the years.

“Where am I going with this ?”, I hear you ask. Let me take you back now, to a warm spring night around August of 2004. I’m drunk, half-lying, half-sitting on the bed in my ex-girlfriend’s room in Paddington. She is also pissed to the eyeballs. We’ve just been out for drinks at the Fringe Bar with our boss, the bosse’s boyfriend, and the bosse’s obnoxious friend Howard. I’m not entirely sure (since I’m way too drunk to make sense of anything much), but it appears someone made a revelation a little earlier in the evening about my ex, the boss and the boyfriend of the boss having a Boy-Girl-Girl 3-way pash-session.

My own relationship with my ex has been slowly deteriorating for ages – she ‘broke up’ with me almost 6 months ago, we’ve both been going on dates with other people, and the sex has been getting less and less frequent to the point where we haven’t done it at all for the last month. This ‘no sex’ policy was instituted by yours truly just before we started working together (again), and just after I found out she’d slept with a sodding male model (of all things) who she’d specifically assured me she wouldn’t sleep with when she’d first met him. She’s also started ‘seeing’ someone else in the last fortnight – a scumbag commercial litigation lawyer; but that hasn’t stopped the ongoing flirtation on her part, or us regularly hanging out to drink and talk after work. Predictably enough, even with all these balls twirling up in the air, it doesn’t take my ex-girlfriend long to try seducing me again. Horny as I am in my drunken state, from somewhere deep within my sense of indignation rises.

“Piss off, N ! I’ve told you before … I’m not sleeping with you anymore !” I tell her.
“Why not Pete ?” she asks.
“Well coz you had sex with a fucking male model, for one thing ! How the hell is that supposed to make me feel ?”!” I spit back (it makes me feel like shit, of course).
“I told you I’d start sleeping with other people sooner or later. Besides, that thing with S just kind of happened” she says, not at all apologetic
“Oh really ? What about P ? You’ve been ‘seeing’ him now for what … 2 weeks ? What would he think about all this ?” I ask sarcastically.
“He’s not here right now, so forget about P. We’re both horny, we’re both drunk, and you know we both have a good time when we do it … so why fight it babe ?” my ex replies slyly.

I can’t believe the shit I’m hearing out of this girls mouth ! I can’t believe I used to be in lust with this person, let alone in love. The love did a Black Eyed Peas a while ago … but in that moment, it feels like the last stray tatters of lust flutter in the wind for a second … then … whoosh … they’re gone. My anger crests in a wave that actually manages to cut right through the alcohol haze for a few heartbeats, and quicker than you can quote the Poppies with “Wise Up Sucker”, I’m out the bed ‘n out the door. I manage to run safely down the first flight of stairs from the second floor before my drunkeness re-asserts itself. Consequently I stumble down the second flight and wind up in a crumpled heap at their foot, painfully smacking my ankle against the solid wooden runner in the process. “Fuck !” I scream in frustration, past caring what all the losers who live in this ‘rooming house’ complex along with my loser ex-girlfriend think.

I hobble out the door and into the night. Five minutes of walking, and I’m starting to feel a little sorry for myself. Ten minutes, and I hit Oxford Street. I ponder going back to Fringe Bar for a moment, “but the place is full of wankers” I think to myself and elect to press on. With no set agenda, a head full of alcohol, and a 1001 confused thoughts racing through my brain, I start walking towards Town Hall station. Another quarter hour later, I’m starting to feel really bad, and really lonely. As luck would have it, that’s when I realise I’m walking (nay – stumbling) past Stonewall Hotel. For those of you unfamiliar with the Stonewall, let’s just say it’s to the ‘Naughties what DCM was to the 90′s. In a city full of gay clubs, the Stonewall is to many the glittering jewel in Queen Barry’s Sydney gay & lesbian party ‘scene’.

Now as I’ve mentioned already I’m strictly hetero, but gay guys have always hit on me. Right now, I’m feeling pretty damn lonely – I don’t think words can really do justice to just how bad I feel. So on the spur of the moment, I decide to venture in to the Stonewall. Now let’s be clear about this. It’s not that alcohol or my feelings of self-pity have eclipsed my judgement to a degree where I would actually do anything with any of the guys inside. However, right at that moment I need to feel ‘desired’, and it needs to be by someone other than my clearly demented ex-girlfriend. “Any port in a storm, eh guv ?”

Now I could go on to give you a blow by blow (pun fully intended) description of the next painful hour, but I won’t. Suffice to say, the one time in my life that I was actually looking forward to the pink brigade approaching me with their usual directness, they let me down big-time. No-one offered to buy me a drink, no-one tried to catch my eye across the bar, and no-one tried to grope me as I sweatily danced with my gammy ankle and my baggy hipsters, to exactly the same music you hear every Saturday @ The Slip Inn and a thousand other generic nightclubs for the disaffected trendset. Essentially I think it came down to one thing – they could all smell the loneliness, self-pity and desperation just rolling off me.

Ultimately then, instead of making me feel better, my little sojourn to the Stonewall just made me feel worse. “Fucked over by my ex, rejected by queens … nobody fekkin wants me !”, was the disjointed line of thinking running through my mind as I finally stumbled back out the door. For a second I think I actually lost it altogether … one moment I’m standing on the pavement in front of Stonewall, the next I’m out on the road with an irrate Lebanese taxi driver honking at me and smoke drifting off his tires from the sudden stop he must have just made.

I babble out an apology and try to regain the safety of the pavement. Hands reach out to grab me … bouncers from the pub no doubt, but I manage to make a quick duck and dodge them. Then I’m running, running, running as fast as my feet will take me. Running away from the Stonewall, away from Paddington, and far away from the ex that’s messed with my head for so long until I sunk to feeling like this.

I’d like to say I never saw her again. That’s not quiet true – we continued to work together for another few weeks, and continued to be on ostensibly cordial speaking terms. That night finally killed any desire I had to be anything ‘more than friends’ with her though, and when ultimately even this casual friendship started to fade, I didn’t mourn the fact. Eventually in December I met my future fiance, and a few weeks later my ex (supposedly) moved back to India. Thanks to that fateful night in Paddington, I can safely say I have absolutely no regrets about the fact she’s gone – and I never will !

There ‘ya go peeps … that’s my Stonewall story …

Listening To: Public Domain Vs Ultrasonic : Various Artists

Current Horn Factor :

Hi Gang, I know it’s been a while between updates – same old story- too busy at work, and just spending quality time with the quality girl. I guess you’re officially entitled call me a neglectful blogger !

Anyhoo, just thought I’d update y’all on a great gig I went to see with my fiancé on Friday night @ the Yallah Roadhouse in Wollongong. Paul Greene is an old friend of Lisa’s from her Glebe days via Jervis Bay, who moved back to the latter with his family a year or so ago I believe – hence I guess the focus on more country gigs on his website of late. Paul’s also a very accomplished singer/songwriter/guitarist, about to put his next album – so this gig was also about giving his fans a taste of what to expect from the new record.

I’d never been to the Yallah before, and being a city boy I have to admit I was expecting to be underwhelmed by the venue. I was very pleasantly surprised then to find the Yallah wasn’t the run-down tin-roofed shed full of surly country-folk that I was expecting it to be. Tin-roofed – yes. Run down – no. Think warm-hued, freshly varnished timber and high ceilings. The food was pretty good too. Granted, by the time we’d arrived from Sydney after our 3 hour drive the kitchen had run out of the ‘home-made pies’ and the tandoori chicken, but if the Buffalo Wings we both ended up settling for were anything to go by, their chef definitely knows what he’s doing. The bar staff and other patrons seemed pretty friendly too, nary a true ‘bogan’ in sight, at least not that night.

You’d expect the acoustics of a shed to be pretty poor, but I guess the Yallah’s sound-tech knows what he’s doing because the sound levels were fairly spot-on for the majority of the gig. On to the gig itself then. First up we had the support act, a little trio called Note To Self, consisting of two female vocalists and a guy on guitar who looked like someone out of Radiohead but had the unfortunate (at least to my mind) name of “Dusty”. I’m thinking to myself “oh great … a guy called Dusty and a few chicks from Wollongong … this is going to be country-and-western cheese for sure”. Not so I’m happy to report, friends – not so at all. I’m not usually a fan of acoustic music, and the majority of these guys’ set consisted of deceptively simple arrangements utilising only the two vocalists and one or more acoustic guitars (the girls occasionally sharing playing duties with Dusty).

Nonetheless I have to say they blew me away, managing to sound in turns like Bjork, Alanis Morrisette, Hole (Unplugged) and … well I’m not sure really … at least to me, their sound was pretty unique (as I’ve said already, I’m not usually much of an acoustic fan). Expect big things from Note to Self, that’s all I can say.

Next up of course came the stars of the show themselves, namely Paul Greene & his band. I’d heard them play once before @ the Vanguard in Newtown so I knew what to expect, and they certainly didn’t disappoint. Paul’s voice and playing were both in fine form, as he and the band treated the audience to a mixture of old songs from Happy Here With You, This Way and one or two from The Miles. As already mentioned, we also got to hear some of the new material which is going on the latest album. They didn’t strike me as much of a departure from Paul’s previous material, but I don’t see that as much of an issue given that when you’re onto a good thing you should definitely stick to it !

The trio from Note to Self also got up to help Paul & the guys out on a few numbers, and by the end of the night they had the whole pub (including the girl trying her best to look like Shania Twain, complete with cowboy hat, figure hugging midriff top and pointy boots) dancing away to the ‘big sell’ tunes (if they were with a major label, which they aren’t – just another reason you gotta respect Paul) like Work Love Dance Trust. All in all, a fantastic gig !!! Well worth the $15 cover charge and 3 hour drive

Listening To: Cuz Its Hot : My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult

Current Horn Factor :

I know, I know – it’s a few weeks overdue, but here for what it’s worth is my Australian BB05 wrap-up. It’s going to be a fairly short one, since every other BB blogger has already given you the blow-by-blow account of the show itself. I’m just going to comment on the final outcome itself i.e. the shock-win of ‘Logan’ Greg, the former CUB sales rep, over everyone’s favourite housemate ‘Lefty’ Tim Brunero, erstwhile Newtown journalist & Workers Online contributor.

To say this result was a bit of a disappointment would be a major understatement. Don’t get me wrong – Greg seems to be a genuinely nice guy, and is certainly the nicer of the two ‘Logan Twins’. Nonetheless I feel cheated, as I’m sure many Lefties do, by the fact that for once the major prize of a contest which is essentially the ultimate televised physical manifestation of the right-wing paranoid psyche was within ‘our’ (Tim’s) grasp, but was snatched from us at the last minute by the nutty voting whims of Australias pre-teen & teenage female demographic. “FÇ”ck it !”, I say. Fuck it hard with the distressingly phallically-shaped Bratzâ„¢ “Electronic Spin the Bottle Game”, suitably lubed and primed for action. I think if we have a similar situation next year where we’re down to a likeable Leftie contestant (“pick me, pick ME !”) vs a good-looking, generally likeable but ultimately right-wing guy like Greg, I’m going to start spreading the rumour that voting for the ‘wrong’ housemate will give your Barbie syphillis. Who’s with me ?

So there you have it … that’s the ‘ending’ referred to in this post title. “What, pray tell, is the ‘beginning’ ?” I hear you ask, gentle reader. Thanks to the miracles of modern videotape technology and a grandmother with too much time on her hands, I’m proud to announce I will shortly become probably the only English speaking blogger in the world (and certainly I’m sure the only one in Australia) to hold the dubious honour of commenting on the first ever Czech series of Big Brother, kicking off this week just outside Prague. Yaaaaay !!!

This is being produced by the Czech “Television Nova” network, previously known in the Western world primarily for its nude late-night weather forecasts. This station is also renowned by the natives for its racey (Czech dubbed) Brazillian & Argentinian soap-operas, reruns of the ‘Red Shoe Diaries’ soft-porn series starring a pre-X-Files 1980′s David Duchovny, and Spelling Entertainment productions which are an average of only 5 years behind their current US counterparts – making them some of the most ‘immediate’ American soaps in all of Eastern Europe. As such I can almost guarantee you we’re going to see lots of T&A, and I’m also fairly certain to learn some new Czech vulgarities, which are certain to come in handy next time I’m in Prague and having to tell a gang of skinheads to fuck off without exposing myself as a traitorous immigrant who grew up overseas. I’m very excited, let me tell you !

To cap it all off, the current super-model & pØrnstar statistics would bear me out when I say that the majority of Czech/Slovak women are majorly good looking, so the Czech HM’s are all bound to be Jo Ashton & Kate, rather than Vesna & Sarah-Maree Fedell, if you get my drift. All I can say is – “DÄ•kuji Christe, za Sametovou Revolucy !” (Thankchrist for the Velvet Revolution !) Granted – my commentary is going to be somewhat delayed by the fact my grandma is streaming a feed straight to the antique 1970′s valve-powered, Russian-made fileserver grandpa has running in the communal boiler room videotaping it for me and sending the tapes over my snail mail once filled with a few episodes. Nonetheless I reckon it’s better than no commentary at all on this world-important, cross cultural event (in other words, I’ll let you know about the major T&A hotness and/or funny bits, lads).

However, before the hotness I’m going to give you a little teaser-pic of one of the other HM’s I’ll also be watching with interest when my videotape arrives from the Czech Republic. His name is Jaroslav, and I’m going to be watching him because … well dammit, I haven’t seen such a hideous permed-mullet and handlebar ‘tache combo since the 80′s. Man, are we Czech men stylish or what ? *smirk*

Finally then, “just another” night of clubbin’ to report on in the world of DB. Saturday night I made my way over to Bondi in anticipation of taking IG out to her first-ever goth club. Giving her a bit of glimpse into the ‘scene’ that was at least partially responsible for making me who I am today, what with my decade+ association with it in various countries and various levels over the years (to the point now where I’ve finally weaned myself off to maybe one goth club in 6-8 months if I’m lucky). ‘Twas not to be – Lisa’s copy of the Drum was a week out of date and the night in question had actually already occurred a week previously. Although we were both suffering from the flu, and somewhat tired, we were determined to go out so after some quick debating decided to head to one of IG’s old haunts instead, to whit the uber-yuppified “too cool for school” hangout of coked-up City investment bankers, known as The Tankstream Bar/Tank Nightclub.

Scanning the crowd at the door (Habibs with $200 designer-dishevelled haircuts, women in fur coats & Prada dresses, Patrick Bateman-types in suits), I got a pretty good idea of what lay in store for us, and some of those impressions were certainly spot-on. Dècor was a rough imitation of the kind of ‘big money decadence’ in places the elite (i.e. Mafia … haha) go to in Europe, complete with dancefloor area & downstairs bar in what appeared to be a genuine cellar. Having seen the real thing though I’m unfortunately hard to please when it comes to that sort of thing, so I was fairly underwhelmed. Particularly on finding out later that the cellar area seemed to feature no discernable ventilation at all, niavely trying to rely instead on its impossibly high ceiling (by normal above ground standards) to disperse the hot air generated by a dancefloor full of clubber shaking their bootay. Here’s a tip guys, if you ever stumble across this blog – mount some fucking fans on the big wooden pylon holding the ceiling up, because your stupid Aussie “we’re unfamiliar with how cellars work because Antipodean architecture doesn’t usually feature them” ventilation plan is utter bollocks, meaning anyone who spends any length of time on the dancefloor is in serious danger of developing heat-stroke !!!

In terms of the music itself, alas I must also confess this wasn’t really to my taste. I tried my best to enjoy it, and got a groove going with IG on a few songs, but either the DJ’s had stuffed up the EQ levels somehow or they were trying to emulate the Prague clubbing scene in more ways than one. With very few exceptions, Czech music always sounds like it’s had the bass surgically removed. No doubt this is due to its historical reliance on second-rate Russian knockoffs of early Moog synths and a few broken Yamaha DX-7′s ‘liberated’ off the back of a truck by Russian forces going on unauthorised rece-leave to West Germany. This is why all the good clubs in Prague won’t touch that shite with a 10-foot-pole, and choose to play strictly imported (American/European/UK) tunes instead. This is also why trying to emulate the ‘Prague Sound’ is a bad, baaad idea – since the only GOOD Prague sound is the one that resembles Rotterdam/Ibitha/London/Sydney … i.e. indistinguishable from the JBL-powered acoustics of a good club anywhere on the planet.

Finally then, lets talk about the club patrons. As mentioned earlier, the predominant motif seemed to be ‘the beautiful people’ / Spelling Entertainment refugees. Don’t get me wrong … I know I’m a wanker too – I love all the (other?) Merrivale venues (Establishment, Slipp-Inn, Hotel CBD, Angel Place), Greenwood on a good night, Commodore Hotel, Cockle Bay (on occassion … though not TOO often) etc etc. Yet somehow to me at least, it felt like this particular crowd epitomised my wankerdom taken to another level again. It’s taken me around two years to get really comfortable and stop feeling like I’m something that Pussy Galore, the Western Suburbs Moggie dragged in at the aforementioned places I usually frequent, but after all of 5 minutes in Tank I was already feeling that old familiar vibe of “oh my god, I don’t think I belong here”. Turns out I needn’t have worried though – as I stood at bar getting drinks for my fiancé and I, a drunken queen who looked a little bit like Andy from the Peregrine Gig proceeded to lisp in her ear “you’d better hang on to him girlfriend, he’s not gonna last long in here coz they’re a pretty pushy lot”. Not more than 30 seconds later, I felt my arse being fondled. I’d like to think it was the blonde girl and her brunette friend behind me … it wasn’t STRICTLY a gay crowd … but I’m not sure – it could have been Andy.

Directly after that, a drunk & fairly plain looking mediterranian girl came up to us and proceeded to start flirting with Lisa, and telling me what a lucky guy I was to be with her (“yeah thanks, I know”). A bit freaked out, we retreated to the other side of the bar to have our drinks, then headed to the downstairs area for a dance via the restrooms (which were freaky in and of themselves, with an entry area which made it difficult to asertain where the club-proper ended and toilet began, and which was the mens & womens loos). Now I’ve already talked about the dancefloor and downstairs bar so I won’t rehash that. Instead, I’ll just mention briefly that we ran into Andy-Clone & Drunkgirl again on the way (the former actually having to show us where the stairs were, the latter reiterrating how lucky I was to be with my girl), and that the dancefloor was packed as the Zion party-scene in Revolutions.

Andy-Clone turned up again at one point to point out a blonde chick and brunette guy he claimed were his “brother and sister”, although I didn’t see the resemblance and the couple in question both shook their heads as if to say “we don’t know what the hell this freako is talking about”. Perhaps he got it into his brain to set up the two ostensibly straight-couples for a bit ‘wife-swapping’ ? You can never tell with someone like Andy. Drunkgirl also put in an appearance to ask me if I “minded” if she dance with my fiancé ? I don’t think it would have mattered either way what I said, but all the same I answered good naturedly “of course not”, and she proceeded to twirl IG around in a salsa-esque display for about two minutes while the woggy guy standing in front of me (who had just arrived a few moments later and hadn’t seen the lead-up) gradually racked up his grin and attempted to get his crotch as close to both of them as he could without actually appearing to dance.

It was just after the point where Drunkgirl attempted to stick her tongue in IG’s ear that my fiancé decided she’d had enough, and nimbly side-stepped wogboy and his mates to come back to dancing with me. That was a very thankful DB right there, let me tell you ladies and germs ! It’s not that I would have a problem with my fiancé pashing or even getting it on with another girl, particularly an attractive one (which this one wasn’t) – per se. That is after all the stuff many male fantasies are made of ! This particular girl however came across with a very scary “I don’t really wanna share” kind of vibe … and while I think I do alright at tongueing the pink pearl (see … watching lots of pá»™rn CAN be good for something hehe) I don’t have one of my own so it’s conceivable if someone that does and who didn’t want to share took IG to “the darkside of the force” – I couldn’t be guarenteed of getting her back

Eventually, all temptations successfully batted away and bodies drained from dancing to bass-lacking tunes in the poorly ventilated cellar, IG and I bade the Tankstream Bar farewell and stumbled off exhausted for a cab and home. Not before Lisa had almost backed inadvertently into Geneva from BB05 on the dancefloor mind you … which brings us neatly back to the start of this post.

Funnily enough – despite all my bitching above, I still wouldn’t classify it as a bad night. Certainly not the best night out I’ve had, but there were enough moments of quiet internal amusement, grooving with IG and curiosity at seeing an old hangout of hers to still make it an “OK” evening of clubbin’. Just lemme work on my tan and my beer-belly before I go there again

Bonnes noches, mis amigos !

Listening To: The Silence : Echoing off the four walls in my bedroom …

Current Horn Factor :

I swear … I am sooooooo over this abandoment shit ! As Boris The Mad Yugoslav would say – “Munted, FÅ©cking !” Except I’m not … I only wish I were. Had drinks tonight after work with K&A, a nice married couple Lisa and I know at my favourite pub ye olde St.Leonards Tav. Two beers and one $7 steak later, and we parted ways. I headed home to have a bit of kip. I’m chronically tired y’see … too many perrenial late nights on the ‘net doing things like writing blog entries or downloading prØn y’see.

After my very brief and unsettled nap, I decided it would be a good idea to have a shower seeing as I’d had a haircut earlier today and the little bits of hair down the back of my shirt were starting to itch. I also decided it would probably be good to jet the duck out of my apartment again, since my flatmate had arrived home a bit earlier and I really wasn’t in the mood for her shit tonight.

So … where to go on a Thursday night when you’ve already had a few beers, live on the North Shore, and are chronically missing the company of your fiancé ? Why – Greenwood Hotel of course, where else ? Yes I know; DB you’re a fekking twat ! I dunno … I had this crazy notion that maybe I’d have a few drinks, get happy and temporarily forget tonight is IG’s second last night in Fiji and the supposed highlight of the ‘Ultimate Lei’ tour she’s on. Tonight is Kava-drinking ceremony, and no doubt a party afterwards.

Hmm .. great … my gorgeous partner drinking mildy hallucigenic Melanisian ritual concoctions and dancing with a bunch of strange, male backpackers ! Just what you want to think about when you have an active imagination like I do, your partner has admitted to checking out other guys on occasion (guilty feelings not withstanding) which you noticed yourself a number of times even before said confession, she’s hinted at the fact she doesn’t find you as attractive as she once did since you’ve put on a bit of weight, and frankly you ARE feeling more than a tad bloated and unhealthy. Inse-freakin-curity

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t trust her. I just don’t trust anybody f ûcking else … and at times like these I just can’t help thinking I’m not exactly “all that”. So my active imagination gets a workout, picturing all the scenarios of what could go wrong. It’s stupid – the universe invariably serves up whats in your thoughts. That’s the reason you should always try to stay positive. Whatever energy you radiate, the universe will tend to reflect right back at you. It’s so damn hard though, not dwelling on your fears when someone who means the world to you is half a world away and you have no way to keep in touch !

So that was why I went to Greenwood – to try give myself a little psychic boost if you will, via the wonders of alcohol and choons, man ! I would have been better off staying home. For the first time I can remember there wasn’t a lineup to get in, but the place was even more packed than is usual for a Thursday. Full of 16 year olds and North Shore yuppies by the looks of it. Fux Me ! Got myself a V’N'C + shot of Shnapps to start, and did a circuit of the pub. Courtyard blocked off, hot and full of people I had no desire to talk to. Shee…it ! Stopped to check out the music briefly in all 3 dancefloor areas. Normally I would have gotten into the cheesy hip-hop – but tonight it just made me think of IG, and wish she was here to dance with. Faaaark ! Another round of drink are in order.

V’N'C + another shot later, coupled with my the two beers I had at The Tav earlier and I’m starting to feel a little buzz. Finally loosening up … maybe it won’t be so bad – couple more drinks and it could be a great night. Make my way to outside front area where it’s a little less crowded to drink my drink. Spot a space on the ledge and sit down. Then I notice the girl next to me. She’s a gorgeous girl with glasses who looks a fair bit like Lisa. Argh bollocks ! I try to ignore her for a bit, sipping my drink and ostensibly looking up at the tall buildings surrounding Greenwood. Then, just as I finally turn my head in her direction to checkout the dancefloor beyond her, someone comes up and embraces her from behind. “It must be her boyfriend” I think, and I try to do my best not to stare as their body language bears this out.

In the end it’s too much for me though … I finish my drink, get up and leave Greenwood to get a cab home. The night is a total write off. I’m still sober, I’m a cab-fare worse off, and instead of thinking about IG over in Fiji less, I’ve ended up thinking about her more. Abandonment … I hate it. True – it’s my karma for all those years in my youth when I would fůck off to Europe for a month or more on a regular basis leaving my ex’s behind to twiddle their thumbs. Nonetheless that’s two trips now in the space of less than 6 months which IG has made without me. I really hope it’s not going to become a pattern … I’m not sure how many more nights like this I could take !

Blah … need sleep *sigh*